There is no solace in the attic,
There are foot prints of mice and spiders that call it their home.
I have known of gatherings that would turn the blood cold.
Come back home when the moon begins to wane, to unfold the letters where
horror stories are written.
Dearest old beast who hides in the invisible house.
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Every summer he would send her letters. Evelyn was thrilled when they arrived. The anticipation of receiving them after the long winter woul...
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He told me I would always remind him of autumn. The way the leaves turned, the line between decaying leaves and cool breezes, the way the fo... -
At night, the stairs of this old house creaks Whispering to me, sweet spirit sleeping soundly during the night. The shadow movements, the ...
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