There is a house at the end of the this street. This lonely, empty street. All the other homes on it were torn down, but no one took the time for this house. It was left to rot and no one gave it another thought. Now the house looks very old, like it has been there since the street was made, although it is not very old for a house. Somewhere something went wrong for this house. At one point it had a very bright and promising future; many people were interested in it. However, one day they noticed something, they saw something in the house that made them never come back again. No one came to see the house anymore. People on the street began to move away and the empty homes that no one wanted were demolished. Eventually the house was the only one that remained, sitting at the end of the street, glooming down the road. The road deteriorated after awhile, no one cared to fix it since it was never used. In the winter the house was snowed in and in the fall leaves piled up in the yard and on the roof. The paint faided, the shudders sagged, and the house groaned. There was no one there to see or hear it.