The house at the end of my street is abandoned.
Since I was a child, my parents have admonished me,
“Don’t go into that house, there is evil there,”
and I would believe them with my child innocence.
How many times have I turned my longing gaze
upon those tall oak doors,
and felt this emotion so deep in my heart
that can only be described as yearning?
And now, a decade and a half later,
my parents have moved away,
I have grown into my own being,
and there is nothing to stop me.
The floor creaks as I step inside,
dust drifting through the shafts of light.
I drop my blankets and pillows
in the living room with scattered furnishings.
There are more rooms than I’d thought,
so by the time I finish exploring,
night has dominated the sky,
and the candles in the doorways are...lit.
How have they been set aflame?
Was the fireplace lit when I got here?
The blinds closed, the chairs strewn about,
the old teapot whistling on the stove?
It becomes apparent minutes later
there is an apparition hiding in the corner of my eye,
constantly darting from side to side
as I play hide and seek with shadows.
And it was only deep into the night
when the ghost appeared to me,
a small girl in a dress up to her neck,
and sleeves down to her tiny wrists.
She peeped around a corner,
her long grey hair coiled around her ears.
She beckoned to me,
and hesitantly, I joined her.
We played chase, bounding through
hallways and rooms covered in dust,
drawing pictures on the wall
that fade into nothing.
When the sun steps over the horizon,
she bids me farewell,
touching my cheek with
a grey and fading hand.
I return the next day,
eager to play with her again.
But the hours slink by,
and I am left alone in the empty house.
Day after day after day,
I wait, hoping the girl
will return to her friend.
She doesn’t.
It is only when I myself am old,
my breaths shallow and scratchy,
that she comes back, taking my
rough hands in her own.
Suddenly, I am a young girl again,
bounding through the hallways
holding hands with the her,
shrieking with laughter and glee.
Never again do I leave the house,
content to live forever in constant
euphoria and happiness in this
old, abandoned house.
Since I was a child, my parents have admonished me,
“Don’t go into that house, there is evil there,”
and I would believe them with my child innocence.
How many times have I turned my longing gaze
upon those tall oak doors,
and felt this emotion so deep in my heart
that can only be described as yearning?
And now, a decade and a half later,
my parents have moved away,
I have grown into my own being,
and there is nothing to stop me.
The floor creaks as I step inside,
dust drifting through the shafts of light.
I drop my blankets and pillows
in the living room with scattered furnishings.
There are more rooms than I’d thought,
so by the time I finish exploring,
night has dominated the sky,
and the candles in the doorways are...lit.
How have they been set aflame?
Was the fireplace lit when I got here?
The blinds closed, the chairs strewn about,
the old teapot whistling on the stove?
It becomes apparent minutes later
there is an apparition hiding in the corner of my eye,
constantly darting from side to side
as I play hide and seek with shadows.
And it was only deep into the night
when the ghost appeared to me,
a small girl in a dress up to her neck,
and sleeves down to her tiny wrists.
She peeped around a corner,
her long grey hair coiled around her ears.
She beckoned to me,
and hesitantly, I joined her.
We played chase, bounding through
hallways and rooms covered in dust,
drawing pictures on the wall
that fade into nothing.
When the sun steps over the horizon,
she bids me farewell,
touching my cheek with
a grey and fading hand.
I return the next day,
eager to play with her again.
But the hours slink by,
and I am left alone in the empty house.
Day after day after day,
I wait, hoping the girl
will return to her friend.
She doesn’t.
It is only when I myself am old,
my breaths shallow and scratchy,
that she comes back, taking my
rough hands in her own.
Suddenly, I am a young girl again,
bounding through the hallways
holding hands with the her,
shrieking with laughter and glee.
Never again do I leave the house,
content to live forever in constant
euphoria and happiness in this
old, abandoned house.
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