she was watching
"Friday the 13th" part I,
fearless on old Hallow's Eve.
Alone in the living room.
Babysitting her younger brother
who was at play in the basement.
Her mom's black penny loafers
resting at the bottom of the staircase
that lead from the living room
to the upstairs bedroom.
Suddenly they began to
step by step climb the stairs.
"clomp, clomp, clomp"
they slowly ascended.
Upon reaching the top, they
tumbled right back to the bottom.
Suddenly, a scream enveloped the room
as her younger brother came running
up from the basement.
A bright red hand print
spread boldly across his cheek.
"Something down there slapped me..."
They return home from their grown up
The house is dark and quiet.
what had those kids been up to?
With a flick of his wrist, father
turns on the light upon entering the house
and mother screams at
the sight spread out before them....
**Happy Halloween. My mother use to tell us all sorts of ghost stories that she witnessed in a little house growing up with her five brothers and sister. She swears her mom's shoes ascended the stairs by themselves. She swears her mom's purse lifted itself from the coffee table in front of her and her brother's eyes, she swears that her younger brother got slapped by an invisible spirit while playing in the basement alone, she swears doorknobs would spin by themselves, and she swears that some invisible person walked towards her in her bedroom one night that she was home alone...my gram invited a priest over, and he told them evil spirits were haunting the house and out to get my mom's soul. Nice, huh? Was my mom just a vivid storyteller...or did she grow up in a haunted little house with spirits wreaking havoc on her soul??