The town of Dawndale wore the night like its cruel second skin. It was twilight time and the moon was full, casting emotionless shadows across the horizon. Under the blanket of darkness, misty gray clouds deteriorate under the moon's fluorescent silver rays, as if they were shadows to be chased away. The intense rays of white shimmer hung over the lifeless city of invisible ghosts hiding in the eerie streets, immersed in the subtle symphony of hollow trees. In front of me, protected by black steel railings, was the old decrepit and abandoned house with the ground floor windows boarded up and the broken glass on the first floor. There was a cold, damp, musty smell to the place set against a dark backdrop of cloudless ambiguity. In this essay I will describe an abandoned house. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay As I stood, looking at the dilapidated manor. I was shaking, as if ice had replaced my spine. The cold air boiled through my entire body, beneath the layers of heat. Dark shadows hung in the still air, along with the faint smell of death that lingered in the freezing darkness of the night. Whispers of lost voices echoed around me, enticing a dark atmosphere. The abandoned house was composed, as if in a chosen solitude, as if the residents were a luxury that could be given up. Against the dark, cloudy sky, the crumbling walls were nothing more than the ghostly silhouette of some former existence. The spirit of the house had saved itself by sleeping in the walls, retreating into the woods free from dust and cobwebs. He was nothing more than a skeleton of his foundation, standing wearily in the stagnant air wishing for the morning light to come as soon as possible to warm his hostile spirit. The glass itself was a salty glaze, inviting the mind to see the deposited dust even at a distance. Consumed by the rampant ivy undergrowth. I approached the house cautiously. If there ever was a path, it was no longer there, it was buried. My ankles were tickled by the tendrils of weeds that had broken through the cobblestones. The air smelled like it hadn't moved in years, putrescent like a pool of stagnant water. I shined my flashlight inside, the only movement being the dust my boots had dislodged. The shattered glass lay in a thousand worthless pieces as the faint rays of the moon radiated through the gloomy black haze. The depths of the empty corridors echoed my footsteps. Twinkle lights left on illuminate the hallways just enough to see. Water drips somewhere, producing an empty pink clatter that's hard to overlook. The walls move and creak and the building's lurking emptiness is inescapable. The weariness of this whole thing sits on my back, an oppressive weight. I tremble at the suddenness and continue walking through the cloudy corridors. The harmony of what once persisted screamed out from the ancient ruins left buried in piles of dust, fluttering in the still air of infinite time. The creased fabric and muted colors revealed her true silhouette in infinite shades through shimmering rays of white flashes. Hidden songs of lost laughter remain silent in the void of invisible souls crying in eternal agony, waiting to be released from the bars of hell. The imprints of human existence reside within the walls, with quiet whispers of memories elevating the terror of silence. The decrepit staircase rose to the top of the second floor, its dazzling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like the.