Old Rumple Stein gathered
the trembling children near
the frosted manor windows
as the full moon rose.
"Listen closely to the
snapping of the twigs out in
the dark estate," he whispered
slyly.
A cursed beast with matted
black fur and jagged yellow
fangs wanders these empty
hallways.
Its long, razor- sharp claws
scrape against the bedroom
doors with a terrible SCREEECH.
You will hear its heavy, wet
breathing right outside your
room before the doorknob
slowly turns.
It hunts the moment the sun
goes down, sniffing the air
for your terror.
The creature let's out a blood-
curdling howl that shakes the
very dust from the ceiling.
Golden, glowing eyes peer
through the keyhole,
watching you hide beneath
your thin blankets.
If it catches your scent, its
drooling jaws open wide to
swallow you whole.
"Do not dare to close your
eyes tonight," Rumple
snickered, "for the werewolf is inside."
Rumple Stein tapped his cane
on the dusty floorboards,
gathering the children in the
mansion's dark parlor.
"Long ago, this very house
belonged to a hunchback
goblin named Quasimodo, "he
whispered, pointing up.
"He had ears like a bat, feet
like a duck, and a crooked
back shaped like a giant
potato."
The grandfather clock
chimed midnight, its heavy
ticks matching the rhythm of
the children's racing hearts.
Quasimodo didn't want to hurt
anyone, Rumple Stein grinned,
he just hated people making loud
noises.
Suddenly, a loud, scraping
THUD- THUD- THUD echoed right
above their heads from the
dark attic stairs.
When the kids don't clean their
rooms, he stalks through the
halls and hides their favorite
toys!
The children gasped, looking
nervously at the dark corners
of the room as the curtains
rustled.
"He is watching right now,
waiting to see who leaves
their shoes on the floor
tonight."
Rumple Stein chuckled softly,
closed his book, and said,
"Now go clean up before
Quasimodo finds you."
Marley Manor Mansion has a reputation that is not good
Most of us avoid it, though we are tough; we live in the hood
It is down a long driveway, with overgrowth not often seen.
We avoid it like a pandemic, especially on Halloween.
One old lady got lost last year and had a horror story to tell.
The ghostly entities there looked like they crawled out of hell
Her relatives figured she had dementia and put her into a home
But today I drove by and saw seven prowling ghouls on the roam.
ghostly Malvern Manor
haunting southwestern Iowa
growling in her attic
harsh warnings to psychic visitors
no bodily harm yet that I know of
definite psychological warfare
a few have run out screaming
others notice nothing at all
resolved to ignore the possibility of ghosts
A place of peace and calm
Miles upon miles of graves sites
Memorials telling their life stories
Souls lifted up to glory
Lived in the flesh
Endless rest
Sleep on in your years
You lived to preserver
Their tomorrows arrived
Now they slumber
Days, years and nights numbered
Their names gathered
Eternity mount
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
The Sun rises casting shadows over each tombstone
Smiles seen through their spirit
No longer mortals
Chosen ones
Time schedule
Heaven Hotel had their roams ready
Heaven was waiting holding steady
Observation lives Earth
Surrounding their birth
No more worries, pain nor sickness
Tombstone Manor
Strangers to each other
A community of its own.
To care for her, quickly,
Attend, instantly;
This husband-like heart,
Wants her near:
A hug in my arms,
Is here, urgently;
This custom, of love,
I would share –
Five chimney pots standing proud
on victorian tiles and darkened
shroud of stone, it stands alone.
Bleak and raven tarnish grown
in age and time, its beauty faded,
stout yet jaded.
Resolute, it does remain a formidable and
gloomy garnished stain
on an urban nest of semi chain.
How neglected you have been
when once a queen!
Standing in your kingdom green.
Guarded by trees and nectar,
blossom breeze through high grass
and the silent murmur of summer sneeze.
Respected, calm and free.
I see and etch your memory made.
Whilst others simply fade away.
Eve outlines the curves of an old terrain,
where antique bottles in their moonlit sheen
reflect pillars’ glow…now mildly unseen
from vintage halls of paling, roughened grain:
All through this vine-clad manor’s dusky shade
poses outside its elegant fig tree--
Which attests to a once- royal marquee
this landmark, our own hometown’s proud arcade.
Written 9/7/2019
Free Verse Or Rhyme Contest of Eve Roper
Picture # 3
it's a story about a henpeckked husband
that catered and spoiled
his wife.
one day he fixed her beef tougue and cabbage soup
her friend was in attendance
so she smiled and became mean and uncaring
and cursed him.
day's later when he mustered up the courage to
speak to her, her cornered him
and cursed him in the corner
not allowing him to leave.
silently he would never complain or mention
it to his friends.
one day a gentlemen in the market asked
him why does he shop
so much.
he told him, I shop to feed my family.
oh, the gentlemen said you have a family,
yes he said, a wife and twelve children.
the gentlemen looked at him strangely, for a while.
do you live near twelvestone manor, the husband said why yes I do.
oh, the gentlemen said: you're that that chick beats up
cause you wouldn't stop getting her pregant!
Few tears were shed when news arrived
that Lord Trevelyan had died.
One solitary wreath was laid
as shallow, feigned respects were paid.
Remote and sullen, he'd disdained
each hand of friendship, and remained
throughout his life a bitter soul
with whom no person could condole.
His lavish mansion towered still
above the village, on the hill
where shadows stalked, in pale moonlight,
all signs of life within their sight.
And curious to see inside
the house whose doors had been denied,
the villagers set forth with haste
unconscious of the doom they faced.
As ghostly clouds went scudding by
a vixen screamed its eldritch cry.
Then one by one they reached the hall:
The door slammed fast once and for all.
They stood transfixed as terror reigned
And piercing cries rang unrestrained.
No soul would dare set foot again
on Lord Trevelyan's domain.
23/01/19
'One Night In A Haunted Manor Poetry Contest'
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
My car was stalled, it was late;
the storm it seemed, would not abate.
On the hill, an abandoned manor,
beckoned me in Victorian manner.
No one answered when I knocked,
but, I found the door unlocked.
Inside, no sound but a ticking clock;
it sported a spider-web frock.
It became clear, no one lived there;
if I stayed the night, no matter.
I’d call for help in the morning;
what was that sound, someone moaning?
The place was empty, I had checked;
but now I jumped swiftly erect.
Footsteps heard upon the stairs;
a real Medusa was standing there!
Out I fled, straight to my car;
thank heaven that it wasn’t far.
Imagine my relief when,
it started after I got in.
For: One Night In A Haunted Manor Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
We left the city that was sunny and bright,
At this haunted house and it now seems like night,
Looking at this mysterious home,
Suddenly we don't feel so all alone.
I reached for the front door handle when,
It opened by itself, must have been the wind,
We walked in and had to shake off a chill,
Trying to concentrate on this new thrill.
It was not long before the terror started,
Knocks, slaps and scratches from the departed,
Who despised all the humans they could see,
Giving evil thoughts about my friends to me.
Suddenly I'm chasing them through the house,
Trying to axe my best friend and his spouse,
I don't care if we ever leave,
No need to cry, no need to grieve.
They'll find my friend in the library wall,
And his wretched wife is in the attic above the hall,
I'm in the pantry under the shelf,
Where I finally hung myself.
I'm looking out the window waiting to see,
Who the next victims will be,
And welcome them to this haunted home,
Where they will stay forever and never be alone.
One Night in a Haunted Manor Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
1/18/19
As the pregnant moon begins to rise,
one can hear the mournful cries
And when the spirts start their prowl
rabid wolves began to howl
From the manor house upon the hill,
you can hear the mournful shrill
from the souls who dwell inside,
who were killed and tossed aside
Some phantoms have been seen,
and as the moon lights up the scene
one can hear the groans and cries,
as if these sounds were demonize
A priest went there to investigate,
but no one knows his fate
Perhaps he too is now a ghost,
and has become the spirt’s host
Stay away from that place they say,
or you will never see another day
for the ancient manor on that hill,
sits there waiting for another kill
My car ran out of gas. I found myself
alone and walking down an unknown road.
I looked to find a house where I might stop
to call someone and then get my car towed.
The first house I could find was very big.
It was a manor, but it was so old.
Although it looked run down, I saw a light,
and wanting help, I needed to be bold.
I went up to the door. I knocked and knocked.
Was no one home? But what about that light?
I turned the knob. The door had not been locked!
I pushed my way in with a little fright.
I called out, “Is there anybody home?”
A voice then said to me, “I’ll be your host.
Come sit and chat. There’s just one little thing.
You cannot see me, for I am a ghost!”
I saw nobody there, but my skin crawled
because the voice I could distinctly hear
was masculine . I felt as if someone
were right there whispering into my ear!
I turned around and sped right out of there.
No other house I saw. I got no tow.
Ten miles to town I ran, and you can bet
the speed I ran was anything but slow!
Jan. 15, 3019 for Tania Kitchin's One Night In a Haunted Manor Contest
Mohonk Mountain House is a rapturous place
where we love to visit and walk the long trails;
partake in its charming Victorian grace.
A mystical ambiance- there still prevails.
A manor-like hotel for overnight guests,
we managed to sleep there a Saturday night.
The hallways were long, and at once did suggest
past visions we'd seen which left us with much fright.
Contraptions, wall-mounted, held hoses wound up
with nozzles at end placed to put out a fire.
So much like a movie, we'd seen where setup
did look much the same and so dreadfully dire.
That night, we awoke with some noises we heard
that sounded as though they were right in our room.
A voice giggling loudly- now this was absurd,
as women-like shadows quick-heightened our gloom.
We managed to sleep, but woke up- from a dream?
Fire hoses were chasing us down the long hall!
The nozzles were faces with teeth, made us scream!
They smothered and bit us in that horrid brawl.
Next morning we saw, on the desk, a brochure,
a story which made our hair stand up on end,
that Stephen King frequented Mohonk- proved sure,
ghosts helped shape 'The Shining'- that horror he penned!
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