The Mathis-Hyde House in Augusta, Arkansas stands as a silent sentinel, its timeworn facade concealing secrets that defy explanation. As a photographer, I ventured there one early morning, my camera capturing the play of shadows on the peeling paint.

The air felt unusually thick, laden with whispers. I adjusted my lens, framing the beautiful old details and the ancient oak tree beyond. But something shifted—a chill that crept up my spine. I glanced over to the barn, expecting to see a caretaker standing near.

Yet, the door hung askew, its rusty hinges protesting. And there, I glimpsed a figure—an otherworldly silhouette against the darkness of the early morning shadows.

My breath caught. The figure stood motionless, eyes fixed on me. Was it a trick of the light? Or had the past awakened, reaching across time to watch me?

As I hurried away, the whispers followed—the soft rustle of long-forgotten letters, the echo of laughter, and the weight of unspoken stories. The Mathis-Hyde House held its secrets close, and that day, it shared them with me.

So, fellow wanderer, heed my tale. When you visit, know that you’re not alone. The house remembers, and it watches.