The house on road Niapfo stood sad and lonely.
No neighbors, no trees, no souls.
It was very seldom when someone passed by, but when they did, chills ran down their spine.
How could it be that on such a bright and sunny day, a house could look so gloomy?
And the house kept a cold breeze up its sleeve only unleashing it at the sight of a passerby.
And when it poured, the house stood so still and quiet as if listening to each drop of water come in contact with the asphalt.
And nowhere else in town did it rain so hard than on road Niapfo.
The houses on Taverly Avenue never saw such a rain, neither did the houses on Glenn Rd.
The slightest of wind would cause the windows and doors to abruptly open and close.
But sometimes, when it rained, the house was not all that quiet.
If you listened closely, you could hear the sound of a piano softly playing.
But that was not all.
After the piano, came the violin, and after the violin, came the flute.
After the flute, joined the trumpet, and after the trumpet, it went all quiet.
And all you could hear is the rain.
So sad and lonely was the house on road Niapfo.
That’s what every passerby thought.
Little did they know that this house was very much alive.
Little did they know this how was distraught.