The Haunted Cottage

The Haunted Cottage

At the edge of a forest, dark and deep,

A cottage stands where shadows creep.

Its windows cracked, its shutters torn,

A place forgotten, old, and worn.

The door creaks wide on windy nights,

Welcoming whispers, ghostly lights.

Footsteps echo on dusty floors,

Faint voices rise through hidden doors.

In every room, a chilling tale—

Of laughter lost, of faces pale.

Of lives that once within did dwell,

And secrets only shadows tell.

Cobwebbed beams and broken walls,

Silent witnesses in empty halls.

The air grows thick with whispered dread,

Of those who’ve stayed, though long since dead.

The fireplace cold, the bed unmade,

Faint memories in dust are laid.

Yet step inside, if you dare stay,

And feel the past, just breath away.

The floors sigh low, the rafters moan,

As if the cottage lives alone.

A flicker there—a shadow’s cast,

Echoes of the distant past.

A figure moves, both dim and gray,

In corners where the shadows play.

Its hollow eyes, a silent plea,

A soul that never will be free.

Then silence falls, the figure fades,

Into the gloom the darkness made.

A haunted spirit laid to rest,

Till night again calls forth its guest.

So if you’re offered to stay rent free,

Remember this warning I give to thee:

Run, don’t walk, make a quick getaway,

For in this place, evil is here to stay.