The House on Maple Hill

January 3, 2026

by Edwin

1 min read

Story Premise 1 min read (169 words)

"In the autumn of 1992, I was certain houses were just wood and stone. They held no secrets I couldn’t measure with a tape or list on a form. That certainty ended when I was hired to sell the old Victorian on Maple Hill. The property was stunning, a three-story structure with a wraparound porch, […]"

In the autumn of 1992, I was certain houses were just wood and stone. They held no secrets I couldn’t measure with a tape or list on a form. That certainty ended when I was hired to sell the old Victorian on Maple Hill.

The property was stunning, a three-story structure with a wraparound porch, nestled on five wooded acres. The owners were nearly finished with their updates. We started in the foyer, which opened into two large rooms. The left one was a study, lined with empty bookshelves. The right was a sunroom, its glass panels looking out onto the gardens.

Past these was a modernized kitchen with new appliances, and a small, tidy bathroom. A straight staircase with a polished wooden banister led us up. We climbed all the way to the top floor, to a narrow room tucked under the eaves. It had a single round window that offered a view of the entire valley below.

Coming back down to the second floor, the air grew still.

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