Haunted House

Fragments of plaster lie damp over a long untrodden floor,

their only purpose to soak in the seasonal rain.

Cold water seeps through window frames,

rotten and blistered,

to nurse the mildew and rise up wallpapers that peel.

The cupboards are a time-warp of long forgotten brands

that barely live on even in the memories of the elderly.

All around are the artifacts of a life lived and hastily abandoned,

mattresses, dolls, sepia photographs...

At midnight,

There seemed to be a heavy atmosphere hanging around me.

The darkness was oppressive,

and there was a strange soft whining noise coming from upstairs.

I heard a loud thump upstairs.

Then it sounded like someone moaning

Soon there was clatter all about—dull thuds,

a few bangs, followed by the sound of someone walking around on the second floor.

 I remained frozen in my bed,

 tweeting my terror out into the great digital cloud.

Suddenly there was a loud crash from upstairs,

and the moans turned to screams.

The hair on the back of my head stood on end for hours afterwards.

Eventually my body grew so tired that I lay down,

wrapped up like a mummy in my blankets.

The house became silent once more,

and for several hours I listened to the quiet,

still terrified but hopeful that the worst was over.

All I had to do was make it until morning.

By

 Seth Yuhi Musinga