• Horrid figures surround the night infested room,
    With only a shimmering light from above.
    Creaky wooden planks creak louder as the night gets darker,
    But the beating heart never stops until he drops.

    Beneath my feet lies a murder with a story told behind that.
    With creepy stories told down from generation to generation,
    And not once did someone forget the tremors of the story
    Sneaking up on them in their sleep.

    He would walk back and forth knowing Death was behind him,
    Waiting and waiting for him to drop to his doom.
    Though the old man never fell nor died until that day.
    The horrors that gave the house its horrifing character.

    The old man's heart beats faster and fatser when the danger was near.
    Approaching to his death.
    But never did he fall nor died even though he was not alive.
    The beating heart is the last of him.

    But what about his murder you ask.

    ..........I lied!