Short Stories & Poetry
The Haunted House
Not a window was broken
And the paint wasn’t peeling
Yet there was a feeling
That beyond the door and into the Hall
This was the house of no one at all.
No one who breathed nor laughed nor ate
Nor said I love Nor said I hate.
Yet something walked along the stair
Something that is and isn’t there.
And that is why weeds on the path grow high.
And even The moon races fearfully by.
For something walks along the stair
Something that was and wasn’t there.
Submitted by Valeck