(Best read aloud in a slow ominous tone - the ed.)
In the night like a cat she comes to my door.
I hear a whisper, not a knock or a ring.
Slips inside through the darkness I feel she is near.
In the house, down the hall, towards the rear.
My eyes on the fire in front of my chair.
My gaze turned away from the door.
No sound do I hear but the sound of the fire
that's throwing it's light on the floor.
Then with a sudden unthinkable thought,
a chill ran it's way down my spine.
I moved not an inch though yearning to flee,
from the room, in the house, that was mine.
But now with a strange not uncommon sense,
I felt she was here in the room.
My suspicions confirmed, I knew it was true,
when was hit in the head with her broom.
- David L. Papp