DON1 - THE GHOST OF BARDSEA
This story has not yet been rated.
No signs of any usual guests
The huntsman’s chicken burnt back to a shell
The Front of House is unrecognisable
How long dead, who can tell.
The sticky carpet grips my shoeless feet
Fly paper catches my hair
The maggots squirm in and around
About the dead rat in the snare.
No one alive to take my case
The hop’s bell deadened by the dust
The guest book opened at a blank page
The lounge chairs sprung and burst.
My usual room, I guess awaits me
Up the dark and webby stairs
I make my way so slowly
On my neck and arms, standing hairs.
The deep long moan confronts me and
I’m frozen on the step
Not sure if it’s behind me
Or if it’s dead ahead.
An age passes and I move again
Disturbed grime stinging my eyes
My mouth as dry as long dead bone
My ears tune in to hellish cries.
Unable to change its outcome
Every night I make my way
Forced into hellish haunting
They can’t sense me in the day!
© Don1 2011