On Halloween, the night of the dead, an old haunted house stands desolate at the end of Maple Street. Overgrown hedges tower like a fort to protect the old dwelling. The hedges had once been the pride of the neighborhood, but now were no more than an eyesore. A mass of strangling vines entwines tall iron gates, and a broken lock is the only thing that escapes the suffocating tendrils.

“Creak…Creak” goes the iron gate as it is opened, and the old house comes into view. A stone pathway leading to the house is brightly lit by the moonlight and filled with an ocean of sprouting weeds from clumps of dirt. The yard is filled with overgrown grass and an old fir tree whose branches sway in rhythm to the wind as if dancing to a melancholy song. Hanging on it is a wooden swing tied by an old brown withered rope. “Whoosh…Whoosh” goes the swing, swinging alone in the night wind.

The moss-covered stairs leading to the front door looks as if they are infected by a disease. The front door’s black paint is peeling away. Years of tear and rainy days have finally had their way with the once fresh coat of black paint. An old-fashioned, tarnished brass doorknob dangles about to fall off. As the door opens, the hinges barely hold it up and make the door stand crooked instead of its once perfect posture. Mildew and dust fill the air of the antiquated house. The once beautiful smells of fresh lavender and sweet furniture oil no longer exists in the deserted house.

Past memories seem to linger throughout the rooms with the eerie sounds of Halloween night. It seems as if the souls of the deceased owners have returned to haunt their dwelling. Laughter that once filled the house no longer resonates; only shrill winds and lonely sounds are ever heard.

Spiders crawl across the cracked ceiling weaving their dreadful webs by the luminous moonlight. Cobwebs cover the cracked ceiling and a dusty chandelier still hangs by a few chains.

The windows, grimy from years of neglect, are covered with dust and dirt. Several windows have been shattered by the neighborhood children over the years. Many objects that have been thrown include rocks, balls, toys, and even an old tattered math book.

The broken glass lays on the floor in pieces, reflecting the full moon and a brown owl hooting. “Woo…Woo” the owl softly hoots and then flutters out into the night, straight into the full moon.

Moth-eaten sofas are musty from age. Ripped holes can be seen on the sofas from critters like mice that have torn the cloth. The top of the furniture is covered with an inch or more of dust. A sudden breeze sends the dust into the air, then settles all down again.

A shrill piercing wind blows through the shattered windows, and a piano’s keys begin to suddenly play tone-deafening sounds that would make any ear scream in agony.

A once lavish staircase is no more than a decaying and peeling piece of wood with dilapidated creaking steps. The long staircase to the upstairs groans “ Creak…Creak” as it is climbed.

A white bedroom door with tiny roses decorating its edges suddenly swings open….”CLANG!” A bed stands in the room with many assorted dolls; it looks neat and prim like it has just been made. A porcelain doll in the middle of the bed with tight corkscrew curled hair and pale skin in a blue chiffon dress suddenly winks its sorrowful gray eyes and flashes a quick smile. A candle starts to flicker in the room “ Flick…Flick .” Then, suddenly nothing and the candle is unlighted, and the pale-skinned doll’s smile has faded. “Whoosh” goes the wind and out of through the tattered yellow curtains into the night air. The old haunted house stands alone, dreading the next day when Halloween is over and it is forgotten once more.