A haunted house

Pushing a heavy gate cold as ice, crunching on an odd dead leaf that I stepped on. One lonesome Oak tree stood by the house swaying in the wind. The moon shone bright white, in the cloudless sky, it was the only source of light. As the house drew nearer everything around me became quieter and more distant. From outside, the house was tall and thin, made from large grey stones that had a rough feel. The windows rattled vigorously from the howling wind, as though they were about to fall and shatter in pieces. The hallway was dull and smelt of dust. Paintings hung up of what looked to be important rich people, their eyes followed my every move.