The Haunted House of Fun and Bones

The haunted house of fun and bones Is spooky amongst the old gravestones. The full moon shines, strange creatures groan. This is no place to be alone. The paintings watch as we walk up the stairs, Passing suites of armour. I’m now quite scared. Mum kisses my cheek, dad hugs me tight. “Have a good rest. Sleep well…good night.” My brother and I share a four-poster bed. The noises outside fill me with dread. The window is open and the curtains flap. What lurks in the dark? I’m fearing a trap. I hear footsteps, something plays with the lock. The door creaks open and I freeze from the shock. Someone enters. We hide under the sheet. The steps are so close, just a couple of feet. Our cover is gone, pulled away in a blink. By now I’m so frightened I cannot think. A man with no head holds a skull in his hand. “I’m Marmaduke Van Snot, the Earl of this land.” I cling to my brother as the air turns cold, Marmaduke speaks, “I’m eight hundred years old. I’ve been dead for so long, it’s my birthday today. You must come to my party, right away.” We watch with wide eyes as the ghost leaves our room. “Downstairs,” says Marmaduke. “Please join me real soon.” I look to my brother and he looks at me, We agree to explore this ghostly party. Downstairs the great hall is in full swing. There is music and laughter and lots of dancing. Everyone is having a really great time. I’m no longer frightened. I feel quite fine. It’s a monster party that is really first class. A vampire drinks blood at the bar by the glass. Werewolves howl and zombies crawl, The mummies dance like they’re having a ball. The food is weird, I have to say. There are eyeballs on sticks and a finger buffet, Green slime in a bowl, frogs legs and bat wings, I feel quite sick. I can’t eat anything. We have plenty of fun and dance through the night, Until the ballroom fills with daylight. The guests disappear in puffs of smoke, Me and my brother both cough and choke. My eyes flick open as I wake up in bed. The door creaks, and I lift my head. It’s not Marmaduke but my own mum and dad. It’s time to leave and I feel quite sad. I look to the house as we drive away. I don’t want to leave, I wish we could stay. Did it happen, or was it all in my head? Perhaps it was a ghostly dream instead. I then spot a figure at a window high up. It’s a man with no head, and he raises his cup. It’s Marmaduke Van Snot, he’s eight hundred years old And he throws the best parties that have ever been told.