Suddenly, the front door swung open. No wind, no hand. Just an invitation.
As he stepped onto the porch, the floorboards groaned like a tired soul. He aimed his lens at the attic window, but through the viewfinder, the house looked different. The peeling paint seemed smooth; the shattered glass was whole. Suddenly, the front door swung open
"You’re late for the Special," she whispered, her voice like dry leaves skittering on pavement. but through the viewfinder