The creak of near-century-old wood floors gives way, one careful foot in front of the other. By impulse, voices are brought to a whisper. A relentless wind sandblasts what is left of the windows as another grain of sand finds its way to the corner of an abandoned house, joining the dune that occupies an old living room. Between silent observation and the occasional outburst of awe, the sounds of these haunted, empty halls are only a whistle formed by the wind. Or is it a ghost?