Behind The Door Poem by Kim Schilling

Naked branches, far-reaching black silhouettes,
tapping their slender fingers on cracked windows.
Eerie winds whisk dead leaves across a buckled walk,
while a paint-chipped “for sale” sign creaks to and fro.

Astounded children gather to pass on the ghostly legend;
Old Man Johnson lived to be 103 in this haunted abode,
but his meals of flesh and bones kept him young and spry,
inviting in all who dared touch the knob on his front door.

One by one people began to disappear from the streets,
while Old Man Johnson grew fatter and more malevolent.
Scarlet blood seeped out of rusted drainpipes onto thirsty soil.
Thick, pungent smoke erupted from the slanted brick chimney.

The house grew hungry with the taste of meat and blood,
but the fated old man couldn’t keep the demons at bay.
Murderous screams can still be heard on Halloween night,
and ghastly crimes shadowed through the ragged blinds.

No one knows for sure what happened behind the door,
but some brave children have crossed paths with it.
It’s said that if you approach the door quietly,
the knob will turn itself, inviting you in for a look.


http: //allpoetry.com/poem/4612269