The cool mist swirled under the street lamp that dimly illuminated the night. A sharp chill crept up her back and she huddled deeper in her down jacket. She could hear her heart beat with the sound of her steps on the damp pavement.

She approached her aunt's estate, pausing outside the wrought iron gate. She flashed back on the magic of every summer she spent there. She could not believe it had been 16 years, since she raced home from school to pack and start her summer vacation with Aunt Ingrid.

The rose garden would be a flourish with many extravagant blooms, and by mid summer the berries and plums would be so plentiful and juicy. Emma and her sister would pass out with a belly full of fruit under the weeping willow tree. They would wake as the sun set and the fireflies started to emerge from their cool refuge in the grass.

A distant cry from an owl cut through the warm reverie and the present stung Emma's face with icy fingers. The estate was in less than presentable conditions. The shutters, barely attached to the house, creaked with the wind. Vines covered the black wrought iron fence, creeping up the house and over the windows choking out any life. The once plush well-tended, lawn is overgrown with now dead weeds and bramble. The weeping willow tree swung with the wind and head bowed in sadness.

Emma lifted the rusty latch on the gate, giving it a good tug before the familiar click released, and welcomed her. She started the walk to the large home that sat at the top of the hill, leaving the comfort of the only light behind her on the desolate street.

Emma sighed and reached into her satchel, fumbling until her hand grasped the barrel of the flashlight. She was thankful she had half the mind to grab it on her way out. She fought with herself for two months after waking from the nightmare drenched in sweat. That night after Aunt Ingrids's funeral she had a horrible dream that has haunted her since.

Aunt Ingrid appeared in front of Emma and began yelling at her, but she was decomposing. Her eyes were sunken in and her skin mottled and falling from her bones. She told Emma how disappointed in her she was for not being there for her and taking health and life for granted.

Emma later found out that Aunt Ingrid had asked for her several times while she laid dying. The nurse who cared for Ingrid said her last few weeks had been very painful, throughout the time the cancer overtook her body.

The morning after the dreadful dream Emma received a package from a courier at her New York apartment. The package contained a letter with pieces of her aunts will and last wishes and a set of keys. Aunt Ingrid left Emma the house, the five acres of land surrounding the home, and a nice sum of money. Emma was shocked that Ingrid would have left her so much let alone anything.

Emma, did not know what to do with the property. She lived in New York, and the house was in Winchester, Iowa. Winchester was a small town and the estate wasn't even in town, but on the outskirts. She grappled with selling it, hiring a service to maintain it, renting it, and then possibly living in it.

Emma still doesn't understand why Aunt Ingrid left it to her. Why her and not all the nieces and nephews? Why not her parents? Emma wished she could have one more day with her beloved aunt, to be able to ask questions and understand.

She thought maybe by leaving her the house that Aunt Ingrid was trying to get her on speaking terms with her parents, as a last gift. Unfortunately, Aunt Ingrid can't make her sister have any softer of a head than herself.

Emma switched the flashlight on and followed the overgrown stone path up to the house. She reached the porch and almost fell through the third step.

"That will have to get fixed." She thought stumbling to the top.

She pulled the key ring out of her pocket. Her hands trembled with fear and anticipation as she searched for the door key. She placed the key in the lock and gave the handle a twist. The door swung open with an eerie creak. Emma stepped over the threshold, swinging her light beam across the foyer.