Stephen unlocked the oak door, chilling. A portrait of Abraham Lincoln stared silently. A dusty chandelier hung above them. Oddly, it swayed without wind. A green antique armchair patched up. Seemingly, newly freed from decay’s grasp. Then, Stephen lit the gas lamp. Soon, the room flooded with dim light. Judging by soot on the lamp. Though last used, it was ages ago. Stephen turned right towards a crack. A whiff of old dust engulfed him.