Haunted Potential

I went to a house this evening, tucked away from the street in quiet trees that know secrets. A tire swing was out back. It was a house of possibilities--paintings decked the walls; old books and furniture graced its quiant insides. It was all quite elegant--a house of mystery and intrigue--a house where things could happen. Its residents informed us of the supposed ghost they had "living" there with them. It was in their mind, of course, but with their surroundings, it was not an incredibly unlikely story. The house had history--back before our time and the time before that, a man built it for his wife, making it as perfect as possible. As he neared completion, she passed away. He never lived in the house. But perhaps, just perhaps...
There's always more to the past than memory can hold.
Across the street, there's a large church with high columns and old windows that holds just as much history as the house. It, too, looks like a place where things might happen. Throw in a few neighbors behind closed doors, a wooded ravine, and a railroad track, and there's even more possibility for a story's birth.
But it's that house that has me captivated. Paintings and mirrors and aged furniture. One of the cabinets opened by itself as I walked by. Ghosts always open things for a reason, to get people to notice something important; something overlooked. The basement windows below the house were large and frosted--I did not dare go to look in for fear that my reflection would give way to someone else's features behind the glass. In daylight, it was quite a peaceful, wonderful house. But a house with a past loves the potential of mystery--especially the haunted sort.