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The Ghost House On Iron Hill

There is a foundation of a house
About five miles north of town;
Crested on a hill, off a dirt road,
Rutted by generations of farmers.
And on that hill stands a tree
Whose roots sprawl over a slab of granite.
Now you would think this tree
Would've toppled long ago.
Don't be deceived, because buried deep,
It's tentacles are anchored to iron ore.
This old tree has survived many storms.
Lightning has struck many times.
Yet, this sentinel stands defiant,
Since fire only consumed its bark.

There are many tales about this land,
That's been passed around by our ancestors.
Horrible tales that'll make your hair stand on end.
For when a storm travels on a northeastern wind,
And the elements are just right,
This tree, said to be dead, will come to life.
A static energy will jump from limb to limb,
Until an orangish hue projects an aura.
Then the house appears upon its foundation
And it's towered cyclops sends a beacon
To all of those who once resided.
They'll abandon their graves to spend the night
A hell for unfortunates with dark desires.

There was once a witness to this gala
A man whose woe is immeasurable
Who nearly lost his life on such an occasion.
So he professed with trepid determination.
He and his girlfriend were traveling down the road
When the northeastern picked up a mighty storm
Their car stopped before the tree
Whose limbs vibrated an orangish hue.
And there stood the house on the hill
With its cyclops eye shining upon them.
At first they were blinded by the light
But felt compelled to go inside.
They had no control as to reason or why.
For the front door was open wide.
When they passed the threshold of this house
The door slammed shut with a thunderous rush.

Trapped in a dark and damp house
Until candles magically sprang to light
Flickering shadows on the wall
Along with a fireplace emitting a soft glow.
These two lovers clung to each other
Each not knowing what to do
Looking to the other for answers
As they shuffled along the livingroom floor.
Wide-eyed and gaping about.
They looked for an exit to the outside.
The windows were boarded impeding their flight
Nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.
They assured each other everything was all right.

Magazines and newspapers, from a century ago,
Littered a dusty table covered in mold.
Headlines captioned a bloody incident:
A murder that occurred within these walls.
And on the floor a couple of feet away
Was proof of where the victim laid:
A blood-stained amorphous blotch.
Oh, but this was not the end of such horrors
Every room had a paper with headlines bold
And the tell-tale signs of each gruesome murder were extolled.

The lovers looked upon each other
And began to question the meaning of this all.
Can these stories be true?
And if they are, what are we to do?
Then a nagging feeling overcame.
Someone or something was watching them.
In the dark crevices of the house
Eyes shined with a milky glow.
Out in the open they walked into sight
Some bloodied and some not.
Victim and victor stood before them
Smiling as if they knew each other.

The living gasped at this frightful scene
And clung to each other for want of necessity.
"Stay away! " the lovers exclaimed
And indeed these ghouls stopped in their tracks;
Smiling away at their long lost friends.
Before each lover a paper materialized
With headlines blazing the other's crimes.
How she cheated with his best friend
And how he slept with her sister in her bed.
Anger began to flash in each other's eyes.
An emotion neither one could suppress or deny
They accused each other of the most heinous acts.
Pushing and shoving until she finally slapped him.
His eyes opened wide from disbelief
Until they narrowed for vengeful relief.
A Knife materialized before his hand
And he plunged it into her gullet with multiple stabs.

Blood splattered from the ceiling to the floor
He was covered head to toe from her gore.
Exhausted from this murderous rage.
He dropped the knife and backed away.
The milky-eyed ghost of crimes past
Stretched out their arms to welcome him home.
The jilted lover pleaded, "stay back! "
While wailing over his dead girlfriend.
The door opened with a thunderous crash.
He cried out and ran down the road,
Leaving his car parked by the tree
Not stopping until he found the police.

Her body was never found
Nor any trace amongst the foundation.
A judgement had to be made.
So this young man had grown old
In the state's insane asylum.
He died yesterday in his bed.
The local paper, in a woeful bale,
Detailed his life in an obituary.
The same daily that inflamed
All of those ghost house murders.
Saturday, March 6, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: ghost,murder,haunted,fiction

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4/21/2021 1:18:19 PM #