I missed a blind corner one grim stormy night,
On a dark forest road, with no phone.
The crash was severe, but what gave me more fright
Was I had to walk out all alone.
A mile, maybe two, and there loomed into view
An imposing stone manor, quite old.
I felt somewhat spooked, but I guessed it would do
For relief from the drizzle and cold.
Despite my loud knocking I heard no reply,
Though some embers from somewhere glowed red.
The door opened wide when I gave it a try,
And its groan somehow filled me with dread.
I crept toward the flickering warmth where I found
A mere wisp of a man in a chair,
So pale in appearance he hardly seemed sound—
Like a shadow that’s only half-there.
I saw he was napping and hadn’t a clue,
So decided to give him a tap,
But to my amazement, my fingers went through
His left arm and right down to his lap!
I gasped in sheer horror and rushed out the door,
Though I never before had believed
In spirits or hauntings or vampiric lore,
So I wondered if I’d been deceived.
This mystery troubled me long years ago,
But I now understand it: you see,
That car wreck I mentioned was fatal, and so...
The ghost wasn’t him; it was me.
Ed Morris, 2019
This page copyright © 2019 Edward A. Morris. Created January 16, 2019. Last updated January 17, 2019.
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