The Haunted House

It all happened in one Sunday: In the fourth week of the month of May, After I went down that spooky lane, And stopped by the head of the lion with mane. It was just a figure in an old, old gate Just like our old holiday home’s gate! Still it wasn’t as nice: shiny and warming, But indeed: it was dusty, and already rusting! The rust had turned its black to brown, And it was hard to open, shall I break it down? But the creepers; they were over grown, So I stepped on over them and jumped, on my own. It was an old Victorian house with thick vegetation, Vines running through the cracks built a perception: To go in through the half open door, Only to find the living room with a dusty floor. The furniture was old, way too dusty, The metals needed polish for they were all rusty. The walls had moss, and cobwebs dangling, I was so absorbed that I didn’t hear the door slamming. I turned around to find the door was shut, I heard the key turn and it was locked! I looked through windows, but none was outside: Which meant that I was trapped inside! I forgot: by the gate there was a note to be noted: And it read: ‘beware, this house is haunted!’ My heart stopped beating and my legs were shaking, As someone grabbed my legs and began dragging! I turned and saw nobody- I had lost my senses, My mom was calling when I gained back my senses. She said: “c’mon girl, let’s have a look At your new school with a Victorian look.” 08/13/2018 (MM/DD/YYYY) Contest- The haunted house poetry contest Sponsored by- Dear Heart