The manor, boarded up since Gram passed, showed signs of neglect. Porch risers creaked menacingly. Window panes, cracked and begrimed with age, blinked against the rising sun.
My keys refused to cooperate, thwarting efforts to unlock the front doors. With a final, violent shove, ancient tumblers flipped. Grating on rusted hinges, the massive oak entry swung forward, a rush of noisome air escaping.
Greying sheets covered moldering furniture, and festoons of spiderwebs created lacy bunting that draped from tarnished chandeliers.
A clear message appeared in the thick layer of dust on the mantle, written with a phantom fingertip, “Welcome home.”
Thin spiral notebook 
that sent a chill up me! Well done.
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Is that photograph really of dust? It is amazing.
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So much said in so few words. Excellent. Thanks for sharing.
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I could see the house and all of the dust filled rooms perfectly. Wonderful descriptions, Tara!
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Such vivid descriptions; you really know how to exercise figurative language. 🙂
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At least Gram left her a nice welcoming message 🙂
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Beautiful descriptions. Great writing as always my friend!
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I think I could actually smell the must and mold, that first choke you have when the dust flies into your throat.
loved the image of the Lacy bunting of the cobwebs, it was poetic. WOW.
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Oh that last line. I called my late grandmother, Gram, so I was drawn in right away. I love the pacing. awesome, Tar Rah
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Am blown away, by your writing, as usual.
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