In the murk an owl hoots,
far away some dogs bark,
the rustling of leaves and no wind,
augur the diabolical mark.
The ghastly house stands there,
confined by the trees so high,
no one dares to step into,
even birds fear to fly by.
Every night has a new screech,
of some woman who’s never seen,
a padlock on the gate does hang,
as if to give an account, it’s keen.
Dead scary the jack-o’-lantern,
see it’s red, in place of yellow,
unspoken, unsolved what it veils,
but I can hear a cat bellow.
As in daze, I stop and glance,
a cracked figurine I spot,
an inverted cross at its feet,
vanquishing my mind of any thought.
Screams heard, my ears I muffle,
back home, I have a family,
I turn back and advance,
as the daylight fades slowly.