The Last House on Gable Street
The house squatted at the end of the cul-de-sac like a sulking child, all Gothic Revival gingerbread and peeling paint. Eleanor Crane, Nell to anyone who’d survived more than one conversation with her, pulled into the weed-choked driveway and killed the engine. Through the windshield she counted the red flags: a sagging porch, shutters hanging at drunken angles, and windows… Continue reading The Last House on Gable Street