Dollhouse

The ruined old house peeked out from the overgrown weed, bramble, and underbrush of the deep forest. Surrounded by tall evergreens that reached the sky and whose boughs and needles blotted out the sun, few people knew of its existence. The roof collapsed long ago, and a deep green moss clung to the crumbling stone walls. Winding plants twined around the shaky chimney that teetered like a decrepit old man lording over the remnants of memories and rubble.

A spark of remembrance twinkled in Grandma Hattie’s beady eyes, now sunken by the deep crags of old age, when Amy asked her about the old house.