A Victorian Mansion

An October night

on the eve of Halloween

a young couple was walking.

On their right

a mansion was seen,

Victorian and striking.

The couple entered

the mansion, a hotel now,

ready to celebrate their anniversary.

The walls rendered

made them lift their eyebrow,

seemingly thought that it was extraordinary.

Up they went the old staircase,

tried to find the right floor,

so far with no sense of doom.

The mansion was like a maze

but finally, they found the right door,

dropped their luggage and took in the room.

Velvet drapes, letting in a little moonlight,

scarlet divan inviting them in,

the room was comfortable indeed.

The couple settled in for the night,

not knowing what would soon begin,

safe in each other’s arms, it seemed.

Not long after,

they seemed to hear the eerie voices:

someone screaming, and footsteps on the stairway.

Those were the troubled souls of the mansion and their laughter,

souls who died before in these hallways, making these noises,

as usual, trying to scare our guests away.

Terrified to get up, they looked at each other,

and as the voices came closer,

they embraced for comfort, still silent.

A woman translucent appeared,

and they went pale with fear,

as she had walked through the door with a grin so violent.

Screaming, the woman attacked the couple, 

they both flinched, like woken from a spell,

and in a haste, run down the stairs.

Not looking back, not wanting more trouble,

they took their luggage and left the hotel,

but I could still hear the pounding heartbeats of theirs.

To have a heart, if only I’d be such a lucky lad!

But I would never be free,

wandering here, not in heaven nor hell.

Oh, how I wanted what they had,

but it was too late for me,

and I knew it well.

From across the hall,

I watched them drive,

‘til I could see nought.

After all,

they were alive.

And I – I was not.

[Picture AI generated]