Invisible Strokes of Guitar

I had just retired to bed Around midnight, perhaps Soft strokes of guitar First I got startled It was a one room facility Not a mouse in sight I alone was on tour On my office duty Puzzled, I looked around A velvet soft tune Almost intoxicating Coming from a little far I can't recall When exactly it induced In me a pleasant sleep A soft palm on my forehead Made me spring out With my heart pounding My hands hit a milk can It clattered on the floor The musical notes stopped Was someone playing guitar In the adjoining room But that would be unlikely It was an old bungalow Built by British rulers In early twentieth century The walls were pretty thick I got frightened Was it a haunted house Was I dreaming The guitar again started playing I pressed the calling bell A weird old man with a Fedora hat Sporting long white beards Guitar began playing again I ran downstairs The main gate was lying open I spent the night in a park My purse, cell phone and credit card was missing The care taker failed to explain According to police The building had a history Of mysterious visits of spirits The sound of strings was enthralling As the evening was drawing near Someone pulled me toward the house I tried my best to stop my feet Come, I'll put you to sweet sleep A velvet voice whispered into my ears _________________________________________ September 21, 2019 Note: I wrote this poem for the contest with the theme of haunted. As I was submitting, I came to notice the prescribed line limit of 16. Perhaps presbyopia.