I’m starting off the Lonely Places segment with this house. What a beautiful home this must have been in it’s day. Now, the windows and doors are gone, the brick chimneys are crumbling, and cattle use the open end for shelter.
I am fascinated by lonely places such as this. Who lived here, and why, and what happened to them? There’s a true story behind each one and they provide endless inspiration for the fiction writer.
Were there children and grandchildren running thorough the halls and peering out the dormer windows? Do they run there still, in the house’s memory? Perhaps, on quiet moonlit nights we can hear their footsteps and laughter. Is that the wind in the eaves, or the moaning of a forgotten house dreaming of the past?