Haunted

There is a house in North Carolina built on a dysfunctional past,
where narcotics go missing and demons cut their arms, shoulders,
and legs. Pink at the bottom of tub, the shower water pushes blood
down the drain.
It’s a place that was not meant for such heartbreak.
The owners had intentions of bringing in foster children and planting
other people’s sorrow to grow a magnolia tree. However, weeds sprouted
in their yard.
On the walls, you can see holes where bones cracked, scribbled
woes and smudged charcoal. Sometimes, if you listen carefully,
the sound of crying can be heard. “Why is this happening?”
They moan.
A little girl sulks in her room day after day in the dark. Her translucent
skin longs for the sun she has shut out. But there isn’t enough light in this
world to coax her back to life, because pills have replaced the natural
order of things.
Her sister, the invisible one, is miles away, but still inhabits every
corner of the house. She wants to be there for her, but that’s the thing
about the spirits in this place – they’ve distanced themselves miles apart
because they terrify each other.
Just like their brother who died in 2010. The remnants of every person
he used to be hangs on the walls. His eyes will follow you down the
hall and to the washing room, where his mother discovered the body.
Oh, how she shrieked.
Finally, the head of the household. He possesses machines and is
damned to live out the shattered hopes he has built. He designed the house,
giving everyone money and a roof to shelter them from the rain. Little did he
know a storm already formed inside.
But with every house is the essence of its soul.
Because at one point, there was laughter and innocence sweeter than
Halloween candy. Believe it or not, sugarplums still dance in the darkest
of nightmares, and somewhere down its hollow void is a loving family
hugging one another.
It isn’t all a bad place – just look at the tomato garden outside the window,
the smile on the dog’s face and memories of July 4th. Sometimes, if you look
in the backyard, you can see children running around with sparklers.
And on the front porch is rocking chairs.
This place wants you to come inside. Not because it wants to murder
you and claim an eternal resident – but because it craves hope. It wants
someone to see how warm and loving it can be. This house wants to
bake you cookies, pour you some tea and kiss you goodnight.
It wants to say, “I love you.”

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Published by

craneknewitt

I have currently been busy with life and I will be re-publishing older poems. New poems will come. I'm always under construction.

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