The Haunted House

Haunted House

Admit it. There’s something in the core of our being that is drawn to abandoned houses, dilapidated mills, and old barns. At least it was for my brothers and me. As kids, we’d ride our bikes through narrow, wooded country roads searching for a deserted house. One sunny afternoon, we hit the jackpot!

Even now I can see it sitting far off the road, Its sagging roof nearly hidden by trees, vines, and tall weeds. Even in the sunlight, the house appeared dark and sinister, its broken windows, like hollow eyes, glaring intently. In spite of the overwhelming feeling that we shouldn’t be here, the sound of stones hitting the house, and a radio playing upstairs, we climbed the rotting steps and slowly opened the creaky door. Suddenly, crows cawed overhead, as if warning us to turn around and run for our lives. Of course, that was all part of the thrill, our minds seeing and hearing things that weren’t really there . . . or were they?

 

Beware

Beware

Beware

When darkness falls and shadows lurk

Beneath the moonlit sky

When gusty winds turn icy cold

And bats begin to fly

When trees like monsters twist and bend

And hover overhead

When moans and howls pierce your soul

And all the earth seems dead

When your pounding heart nearly bursts

Within your heaving chest

And your blood curdling screams and frightful shrills

Are choking you to death

BEWARE

Sandi Staton