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This week I am sharing a personal haunting as part of my October dark poetry series. This poem is based on my experience as a child living in my great-grandparent’s house in the low country of South Carolina.

Spanish moss twists in the wind hanging like the beard of father time from the old oaks in front of the house on Hampton Street outside my bedroom window a murder of crows scatter moon light over dark weathered wooden floors shadows dance around the room as a malevolent wind blows and sheer cotton curtains take flight father time's laughter echoes in the distance like clockwork at the midnight hour the house wakes! walls and floors expand and contract doors open and slam shut footsteps pace on the veranda and run down the wide hall reality distorts and displaces as dark forms manifest and dissolve through the wallpaper in my room and so begins another night of hauntings in the house on Hampton Street
