Allyson hadn’t been near her home town since she disappeared at the age of fourteen, twenty-seven years ago. No one much missed Allyson, and Allyson hadn’t given her home much thought. Until the stiff envelope with the real postage stamp arrived in her mailbox.
Allyson hadn’t seen a personalized envelope like that since her mother paid the premium subscription fee to ensure her daughter received authentic communication from the birth pile every year around Christmas time.
Allyson felt extremely alone this year and decided to chase a history dream. Nothing could have prepared her for the dilapidated mess that appeared to be the remainder of her mother’s dream home.