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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