Another Halloween, crunch of gravel underneath the Impalaās tires,
Down the rolling road, then up the other side. The house with the tower
Looms above us like a threadbare raven clinging to its perch.
Sam laughs nervously beside me. Itās not fear, but excitement
He appreciates old stories; serial killers, haunted houses, while I
Prefer to keep the horrors on the other side of the television screen.
When it comes to action, I have to laugh to keep the truth away
Or else it might overwhelm me like a herd of wildebeest.
Some lion am I, wearing my false face to chase away the darkness.
Some leader. This isnāt the life that we deserve, but itās the one we have,
And all I ever seem to do is try and hold the edges of it together
Like a doctor trying to stitch a beating heart before the life runs out.
We stretch our legs, weary and optimistic. Another job, another ghost,
Always confident because we have to be, or else weād join it in death.
The overgrown orchard is gnarled and dewy. From the grungy grass
Water seeps through the hole in my left shoe. We climb
Past conference pears grey and spidery clinging to ugly branches, and
Push through a creaky gate with a shattered lock. The doors wear graffiti
But not much else. They hang open, the concrete warped beneath them.
As we stand there shaking the porchlight flashes a grim warning
Into the nightĀ āCOME HOMEā. Exhaling shaky breaths, both,
Hot air clouds as ghostly chill descends. We step inside;
Step into aĀ riot of noise and color, a haunted house that clings devotedly
To past lives, to the lives it has used up and consumed; devoured.
But Sam and I are ready, always ready, prepared to dive into the fray
And this house in the woods, this house on a hill; it cannot frighten us.
No. The house itself recoils in fear, then quivers in frustrated anger
And we meet together in battle.