A house unlived in week after week, month after month, takes on an uneasy presence; like a life-sized scary dollhouse. Furniture, candlesticks, curtains, rugs, clothes and other objects remain behind like weeping abandoned children. Decorations and heirlooms will be neat, save a gathering of dust that clings to itself like spider webs. Yet, unmoving objects perfectly placed, seldom stay that way. Time moves faster in the dark. Quicker still in absolute quiet. Stillness is a midnight thief that sometimes robs years, even from that which was never born. If an old rocking chair could begin creaking back and forth on its own, and scream out-loud at 3 o'clock in the morning, it would do so.