A Visit to the Manor

The City boasted many fine houses representing all architecture classes, from Colonial to Federal through Victorian to Modern. The (older) homes testify as visual masterpieces of size often built on the side of steep hills that provided their owners with endless spectacular views of the rolling tree-covered granite slopes and the rocky farmlands, which were once authentic New England.
Other houses, no less spectacular in size, had become empty, sad derelicts, which (now) speak only dank memories of the times when their wealthy owners held parties by torchlight on warm summer's evenings, and their sophisticated guests spoke in whispers about the gossip of petty social events.
It could be argued that sadness lingers in these derelict houses. Just looking at the peeling paint and mildewed eaves makes visitors feel lonely and lost.
More than lonely, haven't we all felt a secret shiver as we passed one house or another in our lives?
(We all remember, from our childhood, the "Haunted House" stories that seem to stick with these buildings - This was especially so on each Halloween Night when the vacant old houses we passed seemed spooky or alive in some way.)
We thought we saw movement behind a tattered curtain or some light flash within. Maybe we imagined we saw a face, or two, or three, peering from a high window.
Everyone loves these houses because they secretly fear them, imagining(?) every horror within their walls. Empty or suspected to be inhabited, something from inside these houses reaches out and touches the psyche each time someone passes by. (Children love the thrill of these windowless derelicts, as long as they can run away and not be touched by "them.")
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Was the once stately Manor on Terraced Avenue able to be revived? Whatever inhabited its rooms would need more than a thorough sweeping and a coat of paint before peace could reign inside.