Immortality

Abstract

At the end of dimly lit dead-end street in New Orleans, I found myself facing a massive oak door embedded in a dark gothic stone edifice. In its day, the house must have been a glorious site, but the years had worn it down. Age and neglect had allowed soot to settle in every crack and crevice, of which there were now many, giving the house a weathered and ominous look. A weak moon illuminated the front door enough for me to find the iron knocker, which I proceeded to thump on the door.