It was a dark and stormy night.
Yes, really! The power was out.
As the property manager,
I had to keep the generator
running for the pump in the basement.
The mansion had been remodeled
since its time as a seminary,
but the property was still maintained
with a meadow and a trail to the pond.
A wind lifts up my hat—
A door squeaks on its hinge—
A musty smell seeps in—
A screech is just a cat.
Something flits — it’s just a bat.
Something moans— I start to cringe
as something rustles and sweeps in
on tiny feet—just a rat.
I whistle a tune— it goes flat
when I take a step—I feel a twinge
as I whisper “Who’s there?” An entity creeps in.
I brush my hair—perhaps a gnat.
“If you’re a ghost, it’s time to chat.”
Hot fingers dance on my shoulders— almost a singe.
Unfinished business leaps in.
“You’re taking form! “ Something goes splat.
Are you for real, or just a brat?
A pranking soul from the fringe?
The drowned girl who still sleeps in?
The suicide-priest who ends his spat?