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Click hereSO there we were on Halloween
Outside an old lonely house
Everyone knew to be haunted
Broken windows, empty rooms
Shadows hidden in offset closets
Only someone else’s memories
Or old ghosts lingering in lonely corners
Seeking an end or an age old peace
While we could sort of see inside
Through open windows the ruin within
So we small children
Gathered ‘round sharing stories
Of what we thought had been inside
I invented mostly useless tales
Based on some lose facts I had heard
Breathing to them the air of truth
By making them sound exciting
Each of us tried to scare the others
Building the mystery eagerly
Like a late October fire
Thus we sat in our dangerous circle
Eating candy out of our bags
In our homemade costumes
Barely hiding who we were
Peering out of eye holes
Crudely cut in old used sheets
Or paper mache devil horns
Giving us false courage
To face the demons outside
And even a few within
Ray was younger than most of us
But had the loudest voice
Always one for rushing in
Leaving no stone unturned
She threw rock after rock
Into every broken window pane
Satisfied with the echoes
Of all the smashing glass
Calling out to the spirits
We assumed were lurking inside
Ray she kept on shouting
Saying such terrible things
With emotion so raw
It became terrifying to hear
There were those who told her
To quiet down a bit
But you know how it is
And how some folks are
Once she got going
She really got going
No one said anything
I silently questioned
Why had she been so bent
To break every window
When they had looked so pretty
Perfect in their half broken state
To fill that house so full of rocks
Which had been empty before
I wondered whether her house
Was haunted as well
“You are all dead to me”
She shouted and walked away
Obviously not afraid
But as neither the house
Nor any of us answered
I began to wonder
Which of us she meant
October now has an empty chill
Simply remembering stories we told
Outside an old lonely house
Competing for most haunting ghost for adults, and not limited to Halloween night(we wished) are:
first: bearing the chilling pain of internal ghosts. At least in our younger days, some times, we still cried out our pain out loud. But later do we still continue?
Second: witnessing with no clear way of knowing what to do and how, that bearer of that pain. Are we just watchers? Are we the helpers? Or are we ourselves those ghosts?
It brought bitter memories of some unscripted moments in my own childhood. You could cut the air with a knife, and every one knew that not every thing is going to be great in our future.