I come closer, using my camera as a weapon, a shield, a reason for the slow, careful way I circle the house.
There are no signs of life, except for the mice and birds that now inhabit the house. I cross the threshold, stand in what was the kitchen. I suddenly feel sad, almost hearing the voices that once filled this house.
A storm approaches, the air grows damp and cold.
I take one last picture, turn, and leave. I am haunted by this house.