The House of Endless Summer
The gate groaned when Wyatt pushed it open, a long, rusty sound like the house itself was complaining about being visited. The Beauregard estate sat at the end of a road that had once been called Magnolia Avenue but was now nothing but cracked asphalt and Spanish moss and houses that had been abandoned so long the cypress trees were growing through their porches. It was July in 1954, and the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews