There’s no need for technology to know that he is there.
Even in this pitched darkness, you are ensnared in his stare.
When they warned this place was haunted maybe you should have had a care,
But then, you always did disdain at those who cautioned: beware.
You moved into this old house and replaced corroded locks.
You blamed the age and creaking wood for all those unknown knocks.
Whispering scorned, footsteps dismissed, unsettled feelings mocked
Until you woke from slumber, startled by a chair that scraped and rocked.
He lingers in the shadows, grows more arrogant at night.
By day, he’s lurking, creeping just upon the edge of sight.
You tell yourself he does no harm, and at worst, causes fright.
But when he bars all exits, your heart still hammers in flight.
Accounts record that his corpse was found not so far from here.
He watched you as you looked him up; over shoulder, he peered.
Cause of death: bludgeoning of skull by object from the rear.
They never found his killer, so he can but linger here.
History tells the story of a violently led life.
It whispers of whipped children and a meek, thin battered wife.
Stories of all his wickedness are harrowing and rife.
You try to forget what you’ve read, yet grip to chest a knife.
And now the doors are bolted but the danger is within.
The monsters aren’t out there hiding; there’s only one. It’s him.
Excuses for your sleepless nights are becoming too thin.
You recoil from the thin air, feel his breath upon your skin.
So now the lamps are lit and you sit, sipping Bristol Cream.
Perhaps by the morning light, things will not be as they seem.
Maybe you’ll wake to tell yourself, ’twas nothing but a dream.
But through these thick stone walls you’ll call. No one will hear your scream.
Three days passed in your absence; then the village deigned to care.
They creaked your door wide open, and by torchlight crept in there.
Many a back of neck pricked under the weight of his stare.
Nothing of you they found but clawed floorboards reading: beware.
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