There are secrets buried in this room, skeletons from long ago.
If you stay here past the time you’ve been permitted,
the ghost of yesterday introduces herself to you.
If you exit in a hurry, you just get to feel something watching,
a simple presence that is neither reassuring nor friendly.
There is something unhealthy behind this door,
a lurking witness to an age-old assault, perhaps even a murder.
The kindler of a fire that burned out of control, or is it the victim,
who simply can’t find sleep until her crime is solved?
There is an unseen force in here, this room is not right,
feel the cool breeze on your arms as you come to sit a bit.
Inhale the aroma of what initially smells of gardenia,
breathe it in more and then you notice it,
the aroma switches from that of a springtime morning to the stench of death.
This door that stands erect, separating the hidden things of the past,
wears the markings of a struggle and pain. There along the inside frame are scratches,
that of a person clawing desperately to freedom.
The walls inside this room resemble so much of the same,
nail prints left behind so that each visitor that is summoned sees the scripted message,
reliving that frightful moment through her eyes, as she pulls them into a world by the
means of a seduction.
She stays awake nights whistling to them, inciting people to come to her,
the thump of her cane as it knocks on the wooden floor,
encourages people to open up the door.
They enter thinking they are a guest, only to realize later, by the
sinister games she plays, that they are nothing more than a pond and sometimes her trophy.
There are secrets buried in this room, skeletons from long ago.
If you stay here well past the time you’ve been permitted,
the ghost of yesterday introduces herself to you.
If you exit in a hurry, you just get to feel something watching,
a simple presence that is neither reassuring nor friendly.