The old house had been built in the mid 1800s and through the years its soul had slowly evaporated. First the paint had fled, running away from the blistering sun. The windows had wept their panes of glass away, leaving empty sockets staring into the overgrown backyard. Cold had seeped so far into the walls, that the chill was the only thing holding the place upright, and the air inside held the echo of the last person closing the door for that final time.
Yet Jacob couldn’t bring himself to tear the place down. His great great grandfather had built it, and so it was a part of the family. He just wished there was an old house home he could send this particular one to and only visit it on Christmas and its birthday. It would have made life so much easier. Instead the fencing people were coming tomorrow to install a fence to hide the eyesore. It was cheaper that way. Jacob turned back to his house, built on the property just a couple of years ago, and smiled. That will never happen to my house he thought as he stretched and walked back down the hill. My house will last forever.