In front of the house stood a small, greying man, his eyes bright with wonder as he drank in the sight before him. The house was like a fortress, a long sweeping rectangle of points and coppery stone, as if it fenced off some great world beyond. All the windows were shutterless and pooled in darkness, the sun sank nearby and the deep blue hue of evening started to seep through, and around, the grounds. Trees turned black and the scrub of garden was rendered a magnificent playground as the shadows leapt from clusters of grass. His breaths grew deeper, he drank the colours in the air. He drank himself into quivering anticipation, the house called to him, or rather say the house expected him, and was laying its claim.