Haunted House poem by Darcy Monteath.

Your perturbed face is illuminated by a curtain of moonlight, glowing cool grey on your freckled face.

Don’t move.

But slowly, you do. Restrained footsteps, feeling like monstrous plods along the cobblestoned road.

Don’t look.

But you can’t help it. Curiosity pounds in your head. As your head turns, you see a splintered door once painted navy, now flaked and rotted.

Don’t go in.

But you have to, you want to, yet you don't. You move closer to the door, something mushing underneath your heel. Moss, green and condensated. Crawling up the architraves.

Don’t say a word.

you try to restrain yourself from letting out a silent hiss or squeal, your heart pounding in your throat, feeling like it could jump out and run away with terror, just like you feel. But you swallow deep.

No closer.

you would be crazy not to agree, but you go in. A gust of wind, surprisingly warm, settles on your face.

One more step.

Yes, you walk in, trembling violently. Eyes wide and glazed over. you try not to step on the decaying floorboards.

Laughter echoes throughout the room and

A hand, just a hand, scuttling up your leg

A milky white figure looms over you

You scream.

your last scream.

your last breath,