A spectral wail, a cold and hollow sound
The tea kettle hissed a tune of pure despair
And plates and glasses slid across the ground
A phantom draft did stir a maiden’s hair
Of plaster saints, now chipped and hollow-eyed
While in the corner, terror’s chill did hide
From every wall, a new and horrid creak
The shadows danced, not with a playful grace
Of some infernal purpose, no one dared speak
But with a manic twitch across the face








yow!
creepy cool
Thank you, Jim.