On a dark, silent day in fall I was riding alone through flat, gray countryside. As evening came, I first saw the melancholy House of Usher.
Immediately, I felt a terrible sadness. The house was dark, with windows like empty eyes. Almost nothing grew in the grounds around it. My heart felt cold, like ice; I was afraid. I stopped to think. Why did the house make me so uncomfortable? It was a mistery. We cannot always understand why some things scare us. But I had to continue toward the dark house, because I was planning to stay there for a few weeks.
The owner of the house, Roderick usher, was a close friend when I was a boy. I heard nothing from him for many years, until he wrote me a letter.
The letter was very strange. In it, he asked me to come and see him. He was very sick, he said, in body and in mind. Only a visit from me, his best and only friend, could help to make him well and happy again. His request seemed to come from his heart, and I could not say no.
