I lived in that house for 10 years and I'd never seen what was behind that brown mysterious looking door until that last day.

The house I once lived in was old-fashioned with a smell of musk and damp with the feeling that someone was always looking over your shoulder. The living room was the first room when you entered the house. The room was filled with very used furniture. Uncomfortable seats with holes in them and springs coming out of them, worn down rugs over the bare wood floor, and a large display case with pictures, and dusty books. And the enormous window that, during the day, will let as much sunlight and energy in the room as it possibly can. My house is part of a beautiful street where each house seems to stand on it's own little hill like royalty. 15 was my house.