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?”