Putrezan

    Down our lane stood an old mansion, stolid and resistant against weather and wear. All kids in the neighbourhood knew exactly who lived there. We called her the Old Hag, and we dreaded her immensely. But we were drawn to that mansion like moths to the flame, and in spite of our fear we made dares to crawl in through the cellar windows and make forays into the dark unknown. That’s how we learned about the time machine the Old Hag kept hidden away in the basement.    My sister and I made a pact long ago, before we ever heard of the Old Hag. We were an adventurous pair, trespassing properties for fun and stealing meaningless trinkets