When the old farmhouse first came into view, a stillness so foreboding fell over us that it was unsettling. Jude crossed the intersection, crept up to the driveway, but didn’t pull in. In a stunned state, we opened our separate doors and met in front of the car.

“With the first glimpse of the building,” I recited with a voice as dead as the surroundings made me feel, “a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.”

“Poe, right?” Jude muttered.

“Yeah. Fall of the House of Usher.”

“Creepy story.”

“Indeed.”

Suddenly, my sister turned around at such an angle that her back faced the farmhouse.

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