Night Music
I first glimpsed Aspenwald in the early spring when everything still seemed dead. A month earlier, I had buried my father and, with him, all of my joy. Every plan I had for the future was dashed and every hope ground to powder. The black tracings of bone-bare trees along the drive to the main house and the gray, unpromising stone of the mansion suited my mood. Uncle Henry wasn't a blood relative, so I was fortunate he allowed me to come. Not simply allowed; he invited me with a letter so nicely...
Supernatural