The Man That Was Spooky as Can Be

The Man That Was Spooky as Can Be

He walked the lanes when night was near,

His eyes like glass, his voice unclear.

A hat pulled low, his coat too wide,

No one dared to walk beside.

He never spoke, he never smiled,

His silence lingered, dark and wild.

The air would chill when he came through,

As if the moon was watching too.

His shoes made sounds the ground didn’t make,

Like echoes meant for souls to take.

He’d stop and stare at empty space,

As if he saw another face.

The dogs would bark, then hide away,

No children dared to laugh or play.

For every time his shadow came,

The street forgot its given name.

They said he lived beyond the hill,

Where time itself grew strangely still.

His windows glowed a faded red,

Though none had seen a fire or bed.

The trees bent low when he passed by,

As if they feared the man, not why.

And when he coughed, the crows took flight,

A warning cast into the night.

Once, a woman saw him near,

She said his whisper brushed her ear.

It spoke of dreams that never died,

Of graves that laughed, of tears that lied.

She swore his breath was cold as rain,

A scent of sorrow, sweet with pain.

He vanished then, as if in smoke,

No trace remained, no word he spoke.

The town grew quiet year by year,

No one left, and none drew near.

Yet on some nights, when winds are bleak,

A tapping comes along the creek.

A figure moves where shadows cling,

His coat still sways, his footsteps sing.

And those who hear him never sleep,

They say he haunts the souls he keeps.

So if you walk that path alone,

And feel the chill beneath the stone,

Don’t turn around, don’t dare to see,

The man that was spooky as can be.

For if his eyes should fall on you,

Your voice may fade, your heart go too.

And in the dark, he’ll whisper low,

“Now you’re the one the winds will know.