Short story: The Crooked House
The Crooked House Dreams are curious things indeed, some say they are just stories made up by the dormant mind; whereas others suggest they serve as a ay to contact otherworldly beings. Never the less the fact remains dreams can tell us so much about ourselves and the world in which we live, furthermore, the world we cannot see nor comprehend, though, we can faintly sense it at times in which the veil is weak. Location: Unknown, somewhere in the east of England. Date: Unknown, around December. Suspect: Winter Val Timore, age: 19. Upon the mountain of bones from years past, covered with mud that came with every new generation, stood the Crooked House. I, Winter Val Timore, have lived next to the house on the hill all my life. From as far back as I can remember I can remember staring at that devious structure on the Mountain of bones, as some of the older more gullible locals called it. Every night I would gaze upon the Crooked House and then dream of walking through the decerped do...