At first glance, pointed, sharp and angular, a little spooky even; yet if you care to stop in your tracks along the path The Waxing House's beauty is in the finer details. The curve along the roof, its wonky roof tiles; its uniqueness looking almost hand-crafted. 

The wooden steps and front porch decking are very old; not old as in rotting and frail, more just creaky and a little dusty but tough as old boots. An abundance of thick green bushes that almost look a part of the house; trees stretching around and engulfing the roof, 
as if the deep brown beams of the house had grown straight out of the ground.

Past the noisy porch, the front door is a large slab of the same old wood throughout the exterior, rounded into an arch at the height of it, slightly pointed, slightly crooked. The subtly stained glass glowing in blues and purples and pinks, almost alive.

Through the big front door