It's Live!

 

The stairs creaked,

the floorboards groaned,

doors slammed,

windows rattled,

unknown footsteps in the attic.

 

Jumping at the gust of wind outside

as Autumn leaves rustled past in a swirling torrent

of Summer blasphemy.  

“Damn it,” Melvis shouts, as his nerves

are threadbare.

 

Flashlight beam quivering in

his shaking hand as he makes his

way through the old house.

He never should have bet those

other teenagers that he could spend

the night in the creepy Anderson place.

 

The decaying corpse of the famous

mansion, on the edge of town,

where old man Anderson killed his

family with a hatchet, as legend has it,

and hung them up in the wine cellar.

 

The house, amplifying his every footfall,

as he creeps through the house,

livestreaming on his phone,

trying to be cool, so his friends

don’t think he's afraid.

 

“Hey guys, it’s your boy, Melvis,” he says.

His voice, pretending to be brave, as he turns

the corner into the former music room,

where a rotting piano sits, ready for a

ghostly concerto to play.

 

A thud in the dark corner,

the dark, impossibly dark,

had there ever been such darkness,

“Yo, that’s really dark ya’ll,” he says,

as his livestream followers start

losing interest and start watching something else.

 

“Noooo,” screams Melvis, dropping top his knees.

But it’s too late.

No one cares. No one is watching.

The Horror.

The.

Horror.