In the Mansion of Memory

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In the mansion of memory

there are goblins and ghosts,

invisible wings flapping

down the hall

presaging a death,

hoofbeats galloping

the twisted lane

under a midnight moon,

no horses in sight,

whose riders

never come home.

A little old gnome,
a grandfather recently deceased,

sits at the foot of the bed

and points a gnarled finger

at Ivy,

who dies in a week.

The madwoman shrieks

in the bathroom

and rends all the towels.

A heavy tread stomps

up the stairway,

stair after stair.

Pure dread and shivering

under the blankets:

the Monster is here.

There is a long dragging step,

and chains,

above the ceiling.

Bats perch on the windowsill,

looking fierce:

Let us in! Let us in!

A pale ghostly woman

appears on the

second floor balcony

and peers through the glass.

And somewhere between

the earth and sky,

a soul books passage

to Eternity,

finds herself walking across

a barren landscape.

There is a river ahead

and, around the bend,

she can hear people

dipping their oars

and singing.

They are coming to get her,

but then she wakes up

and comes back from the dead.

for Susan's prompt at What's Going On - Ghosts. 'Tis the season! My family is Irish, so there are many ghost stories in our family, some of them in the poem above. (Not the chains or monster, though they appeared in different guises, human-made. Smiles.)