The House of Haunts
The House of Haunts

I am a bad place, with tales of evil.
You will not like what you are ‘bout to hear.
Bats do dwell within my third-floor garrets,
Snakes slither ‘round graves of the family plot,
And with cypress and cedar, elm trees sway.
Howling and horror fill the air like screams—
And magic (or like scarlet blood through veins).
Vines of fungi grow up my western wall
Up to the apex of my black slate roof
Where a chimney and a wooden turret
Reside beside a brass lightning rod.
Small fissures crack through hand-carved story-stone,
Deep-set stained-glass windows with cross panes are
Adorned with shutters of black and silver,
Armies of granite gargoyles stand upon
Crumbled stones that constitute masonry.
Discolored, lifelike—they seem to move at
Midnight as though they breathed the breath of life.
A path of cobblestone is surrounded
By a black wrought iron fence which leads to
A gothic archway with two grated gates.
Rows of thorny bushes as bare as bones
Are the only remains of my garden.
The sight of my countenance is frightful,
As fantastic as the visions inside.
A brownstone estate by a grassy knoll,
I loom, lurching at the end of the street.
There, in a room with a view of the grounds,
A maiden lies, she is so unaware
Of the shadowy form beside her bed,
Standing and watching her restless slumber.
It is Master Gray, who went mad, you know,
Paranoia had seized him like a curse,
He is not in control of the voices
Behind his murderous thoughts and urges.
And believe he had turned schizophrenic.
Once a collector of gems and paintings,
And lover of fine wines, he was gifted,
Intelligent, with a unique, keen sight.
His countenance was at times so nervous,
Psychotic, and now supernatural.
He has been for centuries a specter,
Reaper, warlock (in a dungeon he died).
His footsteps are heard in many a room,
A living corpse that wakes in the late eve.
His heinous laughing is full of revenge,
For vague reasons he murdered his brother,
Irrational feelings and erratic
Emotions dominate his frenzied mind,
In cold blood he buried his twin alive,
Mathias never knew it was coming.
The diabolical deed would have turned
Cain green, as the gnarled trees in the yard.
His perverse background is shady to me,
His hateful senses are remote and strange.
Unexpected events had filled his life,
It ended grotesquely in a bloodbath
That involved the death of a virgin bride
On an autumn night with a waning moon.
He led her down to the underground vaults,
His ghastly features lighted by lantern,
And torches hanging on blood-stained walls.
It was the very corridor he led
His brother, drunk, moaning like a mummy.
Their hearts did beat and thud deep in their chests,
Louder than the tock! Of the pendulum
Of the grandfather clock of ebony
In the great hall by the suit of armor.
His overconfidence was his downfall.
For his damsel received psychic consult
From the crypt full of cobwebs with the name
On the golden plaque: “Mathias D. Gray”.
This ESP told her that a sickle
Hides behind a tapestry of purple
Which hangs behind a device of torture
Hardly seen if it weren’t for a candle
Lying close to the ottoman of black.
To say the least, the suspense was dreadful,
The crimes you could not have of imagined,
In his cranium she lodged the scythe’s blade,
His hands were already around her neck.
He was able to push he on a lance,
It impaled her like a bait on a hook.
He never even blinked his Raven eyes,
They remained open when he fell down dead.
Now my halls are haunted with ghosts and ghouls,
Goblins, and monsters, demons, and devils.
The maiden, she wakes from such a weird dream—
It had an old witch with a screeching voice
Tell her over and over to beware—
Exactly what, she could not remember.
She hears a noise come from under the bed,
A moment later she knows it’s the cat.
She stares in the darkness like a statue,
By the chamber door she hears some movement
And breaths through her mouth her ultimate breath.
Her final words escape her mouth—
"Who's there?"

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