The Milton House had been standing alone, forgotten, as far back as anyone could remember. The gardens, neglected, had a life and personality of their own. The English Ivy covered the front porch and several nearby trees in an orderly manner, while the tea roses lazily stretched across the front path, attempting to get a few more rays of the afternoon sunshine. The purple iris choked the east facing garden where the mailbox used to stand, but they were not the problem. The problem was the immediate perimeter of the Milton House. It was surrounded by renegade, prickly briars. They had been left to their own devices, and had developed into tree-like monstrosities. Piercing barbs covered looping branches thicker than a man's arm, keeping unwanted intruders away through intimidation. No one wanted to be caught up in them, and they appeared to grow up from under the very foundation. A quick evaluation of the exterior, and anyone could see there was no way in or out of the decaying, clay colored domicile.
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