Ghost On The Stairs

We moved in on Sunday
The house of our dreams
Withs its Tudor mock
And its repainted brown beams

A Living room, Dining room
And a bathroom to wash
A bedroom and a kitchen
This house was quite posh

But this house was weird
In my bedroom there were hooks
There never use to be doors here
And the shelf full of crime books

Except we did not know
The history of this land
And what happened a hundred years ago
This we did not understand

We were convinced nothing was here
Even though we knew
That a ghost was lurking hallway
My heart had filled with fear

The footsteps that crawled
Silently with care
As if they were looking
For something that is there

Wondering through the rooms
Climbing round the house
The ghosts of policemen
Pondering like a mouse

Opening my door
I hid under the covers
But bared a gap
To watch the "Others"

Their feet cut off
Hidden under the worn in floor
Walking straight through
Our hollow wooden door

Looking up at the ceiling
With terror in his eyes
hearing the sounds
of murdering cries

Reappearing from my covers
I sat up and looked
And saw a ghost hanging
From the long Grey hooks

A young small girl
Ripped to shreds
And all over
Was stitched with threads

A light filled my room
As if it was on fire
Then my eyes opened
With the freedom i desire

This house was not a house
Or a mansion at all
But a torture chamber
Made by the wicked and Cruel