Maisy's house had mint green planks, most of the cheap paint chipping off leaving nothing but old infested wood holding the ghost of what used to be a beautiful house. Unlike the homes surrounding Maisy's house with perfect, pristine gardens and rows of flowers, Maisy's house had vines growing on the brick walls, a huge, messy tree hid one of the side windows, the big main window had a gaping hole the size of a baseball as if some had thrown something out. The yellow, tall, uncut grass peeked out onto the stone sidewalk. The ground was bumpy, I sprinted up the chipped stairs and reached the white door. I clenched my fist and knocked loudly on the door. Maisy opened the door immediately as if she had been standing there, waiting for me. “My mom’s sleeping,” she whispered before beckoning for me to follow her. She led me to a small room, there were two beds, one at each corner. One of them had purple sheets with a cream white pillow which Maisy immediately went to sit down on, the other bed had a black blanket that I assumed was her brother’s.