Candles climb the stairs as sentries of the night.
We’re invited to a party in a dark, deserted house.
No host to welcome us as the door opens to the candlelight.
THE DEAD GAME has begun.
Who sits and waits in the darkness?
There is no movement in the blackness.
As still as a fox waiting to pounce,
No hint of a ruffle or a flounce.
A soft sigh can be heard in the air.
Are those slithering snakes in her hair?
Shadows shift through the circling dust
As the walls trickle with blood or rust.
The ghostly form stands tall to meet us.
She can be the hostess to greet us.
A deserted house this seems to be.
She hovers over us like a tree.
We stand alone in this bleak hall.
There won’t be dancing at this ball.
This was a silly lark.
Then the candles go dark.
Time to leave this creepy place.
We must quicken our snail’s pace.
But since this is a horror story,
We will not be leaving with glory.
