They always come when the night is deep—

When shadows stretch and stairways creep.

The wind sighs low through broken glass,

And cobwebs Trimble as they pass.

The walls are cracked. The rafters groan.

The house feels hollow, chilled to bone.

A chandelier hangs by a thread,

It’s light long dead—just like, they said,

Yet every time I lift my voice,

They jump, they flinch, as if no choice

Exists but fear. Their eyes go wide—

Then out the door, they turn, they hide.

A flashlight clattered to the ground,followed by a shoe.

One whispered, “Something’s watching you.”

And when I tried to groan again,

She cried and never came back in.

I don’t know why I scare them so.

I only creak, I don’t glow.

I don’t throw chairs or slam the doors—

I leave that stuff to the upstairs floors.

I want to help. I miss the days

When little feet would dance and play.

When music echoed, fires burned bright,

And laughter warmed the walls at night.

Am I the monster in their tale?

A haunted board, bent, sad, and pale?

If I could cry, I think I would—

If splintered hearts could weep, they should.

But here I lie, beneath their fear—

A creaky plank they won’t come near,

Still hoping that someone won’t run—

That someone might just stay… just one.