The house was as it always was; the concoctions of must and chipping paint gave it its usual pungent smell, while the ever-expanding cobwebs decorated the plain walls nicely. Like the residents, the spiders themselves were scarcely seen, however, meaning that the space between the walls were often left blank. An empty home was a strange sight indeed. No family, no dining table, no white picket fence here.
In fact, I had knocked down the fence quite some time ago and wasn’t surprised it hadn’t been picked back up again. The grass I stood on was wet though, so even if no actual people had been here, it was good to know that the seasons were universal and frequent in their visits. Currently, it was Winter’s turn.
As the winter sun began caressing my cheek, I went back inside. But there I found a small fire burning in the large stone fireplace. I stepped forward and an icicle hanging above suddenly fell into the flames. It sizzled, and the orange flickers turned to ascending grey smoke that reached as high as the cobwebs. I followed it upwards, and saw flames.