The Sole House

The path was dark dirt twisted,
dull moon barely lit the sky.
The thunder truly terrifying
as rain fell for you and I.

The birds were not a tweeting,
the trees bare eerie still.
Whilst wet we weaved wearily
to the sole house on the hill.

The welcome mat was missing,
a door damaged hung ajar.
We peeked pensively past it
but couldn’t see too far.

The coats we wore were wet,
our shoes shaking also damp.
Fumbling for a light switch
you found a little lamp.

The clock had ceased ticking,
clicking bugs broke under foot.
No fire in the fireplace,
just ashes and such soot!

Long table set for dinner,
mouldy food for every plate.
Old blood stains on the carpet,
our arrival much too late.

Stair steps creaked shrieked,
we climbed each with care.
Haunted eyes in pictures,
portraits pleaded best beware.

The shackles on the headboard,
ripped rags to cover the bed.
Rats chatter in the corner,
we can’t tell what they said.

The skeletons in the closet,
the suffocating smell of rot.
Some secrets in hellish house
would be better off forgot.

The windows beneath us broken,
we hear them shake & shatter.
Scared, still we ran toward
to see what caused clatter.

The lamp lay limp broken,
glass shards spread on floor.
Our nerves already rattled,
we heard such horrid roar!

The bounding beast upon us,
blades bit – or was it teeth?
It ripped, roared, ravaged,
we bled dead down beneath.

The hungry savage sated,
slept so tired after kill.
Two more ghosts now haunting
the sole house on the hill.

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5 thoughts on “The Sole House

  1. Wasn’t sure whether to end it as it is above, end it with the I of the poem killing the you (or the you killing the I) or whether to just show a house with lots of clues as to what may have happened there but to not actually reveal what did & leave it up to the reader’s imagination instead. May rewrite this piece again in future with a different ending.

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    1. Thanks for the recommendation. I’ll check out that song today.

      With my unreliable dyspraxia memory it’s possible I’ve heard it before & forgotten. I guess the glass half full way of viewing it though is I get to be excited by the same things time & again (such as asking my fiancée “Ooh, is that a new top?” or rereading mysteries having forgotten who dunnit).

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      1. When you listen to the song, you’ll hear echoes of it in your words – a reader of mine recently mentioned that Cyndi Lauper’s song, “True Colours”, echoes some of the imagery from my most recent post. It’s nice to know that our work has many layers to offer…

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