It was Christmas Eve
in the town called
Leaning Birches
and nothing was stirring in the abandoned house at the end of Greenlake Road.
The doors that opened and closed on their own were quiet and still.
Nothing moved in the attic
nothing crawled up the basement stairs and begged to be let out.
The Piano which played all on it’s own on the darkest of nights
sat quiet and covered with dust.
The abandoned house on Greenlake Road was empty.
The ghosts and tortured souls were gone.
The creatures that walked the halls
that cried in the dark
were gone too.
It’s as if they had never been there.
I wonder where the inhabitants from the house on Greenlake Road
are on this cold dark Christmas Eve.
I wonder
what closets they’re hiding in
what attics they’re waiting in
patiently
for night to fall.
