The old house, with its wildly overgrown garden, was silent, secretive, and incredibly huge. The stone walls hung with ivy, and the large glass windows were dark with dirt. It wasn't just the windows. The whole house seemed to be covered in a layer of soil. No one would go near the dirty, old building. Except, Scarlet Jones. She loved the place, and the house seemed to welcome her with open arms. Every afternoon, she sat on the steps of the dirty cottage and read whatever book she decided to bring that day.
The skeleton key to the house lay, untouched, under the welcome mat. One late afternoon, Scarlet couldn't stand the wait any longer.