The House On Hollow Hill

Whispers creep where shadows crawl, Through broken panes and a crumbling hall, The floorboards groan with hollow breath, Each step a rhythm meant for death. A candle flickers then it’s gone, Yet something watches, lingers on, Eyes like embers, sharp and red, Awake the silence of the dead. The walls are slick with time and rot, They breathe, they weep, they curse the spot, Where once the living dared to stay, Now only phantoms find their way. A voice calls low “Come closer near” It echoes cold inside your ear. And when you turn, you’ll understand, You never walked on hollow land. For underneath the shifting floor, Lie countless bones forevermore, And those who enter, bold and brave, Become the house. Become the grave.