Barbara

The morning sun bathed a stately mansion in Malba, Queens, New York, in a warm golden light. The home was a picture of classic grandeur, boasting tall white columns at its entrance, intricate wrought-iron balconies, and expansive windows framed by pristine shutters. Manicured hedges lined the driveway, leading to a pair of imposing oak doors that hinted at the luxury within.

However, inside was a stark contrast to the exterior's elegance. The mansion's interior felt lifeless, almost haunting. The once-polished hardwood floors were scuffed and warped, and the ornate wallpaper hung in ragged strips, peeling away to reveal cracked plaster beneath. Dust coated every surface, and cobwebs claimed the corners of the high ceilings. The only piece of furniture in the vast, barren living room was a long, sagging couch positioned awkwardly in the center of the space.

Amid the desolation, raised voices filled the air, shattering the eerie silence.