Haunted House
Startled, I woke up in a fright.
The silhouette in the mirror is there again tonight.
Peering closer, the form is ghastly;
Pinching myself, covering my head, and lastly
Counting to ten and peeking through my fingers,
It must be a ghost as his skeleton hands linger
On the latch of the bottom drawer.
His long bony fingers fling my clothes on the floor.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again—what a nightmare!
His reflection bores into me as he decides what to wear.
The oval mirror is home to this spooky creep;
At his feet, my clothes are still in a heap.
Eerily, I watched as he pulled shirt after shirt over his skeleton head.
Shivers ran down my arms and I screamed “You are not real; you are dead!”
He turned around; his bony finger shook.
I gasped as he pointed and said, “How do I look?”
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