791 Estate Place ((top)) -

John set his bag down and walked to the thermostat. 68 degrees. He didn't remember turning it on. Then again, 791 Estate Place had always had a mind of its own.

The place hadn't changed in twenty years. Same creaky floorboard in the hallway. Same faint smell of pine cleaner and old books. The living room window still faced the overgrown oak tree that dropped acorns on the roof like Morse code. Every evening, Mrs. Calloway from next door would peek through her blinds—right on schedule. 791 estate place

The house, as always, didn't answer. But the floorboards groaned anyway. Would you like this rewritten in a different tone—like eerie, nostalgic, or professional (e.g., real estate listing)? John set his bag down and walked to the thermostat