The Haunted House
I like the cider, doughnuts, hayride, Trick
or Treat. One year we dared a haunted house
to scare us. Brave fronts all, we tried to douse
our rising fears, but terror took a lick
like fire beneath a door. Once in, we could
not run away, and pitch-black atmosphere
made cold our blood. The first scene? Butcher gear
and hanging slabs of meat. Men, knives, and wood-
block tables gave us shivers and a chill.
On to the next room: From a coffin rose
a dead thing, called our daughter’s name. We froze.
As all the screams around us mounted, shrill
and terrified, we hugged the wall. Come here,
the dead thing moaned. Into the next room: O,
the floor fell out. Please, no, how far below
will I go when I step? A masked man’s jeer
shot fright into our son, now in our arms.
What next? We couldn’t see a thing, nor know
when something would jump out. When would this show
be over so we could escape its harms?
A witch stirred cauldrons of a nasty brew
and cackled, Have a taste of this, my sweet.
We noticed pointed slippers on her feet,
the needled hat upon her head. Adieu,
then, and she gave us candy, showed us through
the door. Our children’s faces of surprise
displayed the shock we felt. No brooms, no flies…
“A good witch,” breathed our daughter. We withdrew
with deep relief but always wondered who’d
lie in a coffin. Mystery remains.
Still, to this day, I feel such stomach pains
remembering who made me come unglued.
Like this:
Like Loading...
