House Of Horror by Niamah Oran

In a house of fright, with secrets untold,

Where shadows dance and mysteries unfold,

Rickety stairs creak, and doors whisper low,

In this haunted abode, fear's seeds they sow.

Ghosts and specters, with moans and groans,

Haunting the halls, in mournful tones,

A chilling presence, a tale of dread,

Lurking in corners, filling hearts with dread.

Through hidden passages, a labyrinth we tread,

A web of secrets, where darkness is spread,

Each step a gamble, a thrilling affair,

In this haunted house, we find despair.

Hot spots and cold spots, a shifting breath,

A spectral touch, like the hand of death,

Whispers of long-lost souls fill the air,

Eerie echoes of their lives, once fair.

Shutters tapping, driven by the wind's decree,

A rhythmic cadence, a spectral symphony,

As if the house itself, alive and aware,

With stories to tell, if we dare to share.

Rats scurrying, in unseen corridors they dart,

Witnesses to the mysteries, from the start,

They navigate the darkness, their presence known,

In this macabre dwelling, they find their own throne.

A house of horrors, where nightmares reside,

In Poe's spirit, we dare to confide,

With every creak and chilling sound,

We tread on the edge, where fear is found.

So step inside, if you dare to embrace,

The shivers and tremors in this eerie place,

Where a poet's vision comes to life,

In a haunted house, where terrors thrive.