Sorry Mrs Crowe, I kept forgetting to put this on!

The house was old, abandoned, and dusty, as if the occupants had deserted the house a long time ago. The floor she was standing on creaked as she walked. Then the front door loomed up. It was marked with brutal stains of the past. The moonlight gleamed through the cracks, and through the window panes on either side of the door. The burgundy paint was peeling, giving off the sense of neglect. The brass keyhole was situated in the dead centre of the wooden door. Her eyes gazed around the room she once knew. Photos of happy memories littered the moth eaten shelves. There he was, with his wife, laughing on the beach with the wind in his hair. Those days were gone. It was unfair of them to take him like that. Her eyes flicked back to the door. Did she imagine it, or did she just hear something outside on the gravel? She could hear faint, ghostly, footsteps coming up the stairs. There was a silhouette of a broad shouldered man now blocking the light of the half moon. The shrill doorbell pierced the silence. Her heart beat with the excitement and anxiousness that had been bottled up for years. She threw open the door and saw him. He was standing there in his camouflage uniform, which was never to be used again. He had crinkly eyes that portrayed sights he should never had seen. His hair was speckled with grey, and he had walked with a limp. But all of that didn’t matter. He was there, and that was what counted. She shrieked and ran towards her son, with a hug that should have followed many before it. The door swung beside them, and squeaked on its rusting hinges, as though it too, was laughing with joy.