Phantasmal

In the quiet town where shadows breathe,
Where the moon’s cold light weaves,
There stands an old, forgotten house,
Its windows empty, like a dead man's mouth.

Beneath its eaves, the darkness weeps,
A silence so profound it seeps,
Into the marrow of the night,
Where ghosts of yesteryears take flight.

Creeping ivy hides its scars,
The roof a grave for fallen stars,
And through the cracks in walls so thin,
The whispers of the hollow begin.

"Come closer," they chant, soft and sweet,
Their voices a sinister, rhythmic beat,
"I've waited long for someone new,
To share my secrets, dark and true."

Each step on the creaking floor
Echoes like a distant roar,
A sound that’s older than the trees,
It drifts with the unearthly breeze.

The hallway stretches, dark and cold,
With tales of woe that remain untold,
And the portraits that line the hall
Stare with eyes that follow all.

The air grows thick, the silence dense,
A stifling, almost palpable suspense,
As if the house itself can breathe,
And beneath its skin, dead souls seethe.

In the dim light of a shattered lamp,
The shadows dance, a twisted tramp,
Their forms grotesque, their laughter vile,
A haunting melody of dread and guile.

Each room a chapter in a grim tale,
Of long-lost souls who wail and flail,
Their voices merge in a mournful song,
An endless dirge that echoes long.

The attic holds a sorrowed past,
Where memories of the damned are cast,
A dusty chest, a forgotten tome,
The final relics of a cursed home.

Beneath the floorboards, secrets lie,
Of those who met their end with a cry,
Their restless spirits churn and twist,
A malevolent and mournful mist.

As the clock strikes the witching hour,
The house awakens, dark and sour,
Its walls alive with a hungry greed,
Feeding on fear, a twisted need.

In the parlor, a rocking chair sways,
A spectral figure in a ghostly daze,
Its eyes hollow, its touch cold,
A reminder of stories untold.

The doors slam shut, the windows moan,
An ancient chill turns flesh to stone,
And as you flee through the darkened gloom,
The house itself seals your doom.

So heed the whispers, frail and thin,
For those who enter may not win,
For in the hollow’s deep embrace,
Lies a terror that time cannot erase.