The house I grew up in was over two hundred years old. There were newer additions added to the house but the older parts were made of logs with mortar in-between these logs that had horsehair as part of the mixture. Growing up in this house has left me with some very interesting stories. On hot summer days, there would be cold drafts. Sweet smells of perfume. Objects would move and sway all by themselves. When no one else was around you would hear the sound of footsteps over squeaky floors.
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