Sonnet of Paranoid Sonance

Sitting in silence 'neath cellar ceilings, Creeping creeks crack in corners' crevices, Whose acoustics are brushing my feelings, With suggestions in sounds of a presence. "Who goes there?" I demand inside my head. As movements pussyfoot in penumbral Waves inside the curves of my open spread Eyes. Feathers of ether or ethanol, Splash in my nose and slide into my throat. I choke and check with a turn of my neck, To see what has gone bump and is afloat. My eyes catch glimpse as to what the heck, Made such a sound in this creepy old house: There sits the phantom of a quiet mouse.