Step inside.
A mansion is waiting.
It might appear deserted,
rundown and unused.
The inside tells
a different story.
Walk on marble floors
through rooms of delight.
Rooms of different eras,
reflecting a dead man’s dreams.
A man with no life or future,
who waits for the end of time.
A house fit for a prince
or a prince of darkness.
THE DEAD GAME
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“There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
‘This could be heaven or this could be Hell’
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way”
THE DEAD GAME
The hallway waits.
It beckons.
It calls to me.
I pass closed doors.
Cries fill the air.
Coldness descends.
Total silence falls.
I inch forward,
step by painstaking step.
I peek into a room.
Wheelchairs fill the darkness.
One chair turns.
The empty seat faces me.
The room ahead
glows green.
I hear voices.
I move closer.
Men in white coats
operate on a skeleton.
They flicker,
fade,
then become transparent.
Time for me to leave.
I’m strapped to the bed.
The men in white coats peer at me.
Too late.
The moon will rise high in the night sky.
A full-face it will show.
Far away, I must go.
This Friday I’ll miss.
“Goodbye,” I now hiss.
Friday the 13th is here.
There is no need to fear.
Step into the manor.
Ignore any banter.
The party is for you,
only a select few.
I have a secret to tell,
one involving an old spell.
A witch cast her spell.
Our lives went to hell.
Beneath End House, we were banished.
Please wait, I know you must be famished.
Listen to my tale.
The bread won’t turn stale.
Banished for years, we were.
Trapped in the earth by her.
We were freed by a priest,
accompanied by a beast.
We haven’t eaten for many years.
Do not bother to shed any tears.
Please step onto the food platters.
Our hunger is all that matters.
THE DEAD GAME
Your heart is pounding.
Your pulse is racing.
The house is alive.
It’s breathing.
It’s moving.
Illusions stalk you.
How can you escape?
You can’t.
THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist
The house welcomes.
It creaks.
It sighs.
The front door drifts open.
We step inside.
Gargoyles stand sentinel
on the staircase.
Their eyes follow our path
past the flickering candles.
An icy wind brushes our skin
with unseen fingers.
Shadows move and sway
in the dark hallway.
The front door locks behind us.
The house has spoken.
THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist
