I was on my usual morning walk on my way to the coffee shop when I stopped in front of the abandoned house. I didn't truly acknowledge it until now, with the paint fading and chipping off, revealing the wooden boards underneath. The rose bushes were growing out of control and seemed to take over the property. The cobwebs hung loose in the doorframe. The windows were cracked, some shattered, glass sparkling in the light on the ground. It was the only house on the block that had this eerie and sinister feeling to it. The grass in the front yard was dead and dry. Mist hung over the house like a rain cloud getting ready to unleash a torrent. Looking down at the wooden gate almost hanging off the hinges, I pushed it open slightly with my index finger, cringing at the high pitched creaking sound it made. I wondered who had lived there before, what they were like, if this house was ever in a decent, livable condition. Surging forward, leaves crunched under my boot. I found myself drawn to such a mysterious building. Maybe it was my human nature taking over, the necessity to satisfy one's curiosity by heading towards the danger. It was incredibly bone-chilling, but at the same time it was mysterious, and the mystery and history of this house called to me like a siren.