At the edge of town stands a lovely old house, mellow yellow brick and white columns, topped by a small turret overlooking a subdivision where once there were only trees. A trip up the front steps, cracked and badly chipped, leads to double doors, not locked. The door swings open to reveal the awesome curving staircase and nearly intact chandelier. Ragged strips of flocked wallpaper stir in the faint breeze. Sad to see the beauty diminished by time. Stories that the house is haunted are a part of local folklore. I like to think they are true and that beautiful people fill the house at night and then it is elegant once again.