You step onto the path to a two story house with a thatched roof. The house isn’t yours. In fact, you’re not sure why you turned down this lane to begin with.
Unwillingly, you take another step. The front door is unsettling, an orange too bright against the pale facade.
Another step, through a rusting metal awning with flaking white paint.
Another. The lawn is wild, sawtoothed. You feel blades of grass knifing up between paving stones through the soles of your shoes.
Another. Looking at that door is like nails on a chalkboard, yet the closer you come the harder it is to look away.
Another. From the lane this path seemed flat, but now it seems to slope, like gravity pulling you down.
Another. The upper windows watch like eyes peering through too-long bangs.
One last step, and the door swings on its hinges to welcome you in...