The Spectre Poem by David Lewis Paget

‘It's coming in every night, ' she said,
‘And creeping across the floor,
It gives me an awful fright, ' she said,
‘Though I'm sure to lock the door.
I hear it shuffle, and then the creak
As it starts to climb the stair,
It stops outside on the landing then
And listens for me out there.'

‘And I'm aware of my breathing then
As it's rattling in my throat,
I'm hiding under the covers when
I scream, in a long high note,
But still it's there and it tries the door
For the handle slowly turns,
Then I hear a ‘pop' as my heart will stop,
As my face and my forehead burns.

‘The door will creak on its hinges then
As it swings, and opens wide,
And I see a shadow dim and black
As it slowly comes inside,
I can't make out any features though
I think that it wears a cloak,
And a velvet mask of a black damask
As the scream dies in my throat.'

‘It's like the Devil has come for me
Though it's way before my time,
I feel I'm starting to suffocate
In a coffin, filled with lime.
Oh why, Oh why don't you come for me
When I'm screaming in the gloom,
You're only just down the hallway
And asleep in another room.'

I sit by her and I pat her hand
And I make some soothing sounds,
I know why I'm never there for her
I'm coming in from the grounds,
I slide the key in the outer door
That she thinks I haven't got,
And creep on slowly up the stairs,
Whether she sleeps, or not.

I know that I'm mentioned in the will
That is under lock and key,
The house and all of its acres will
One day, devolve on me,
So I sit and soothe, and hold her hand
And I pat her on the back,
For one day soon, it won't be long
She'll die of a heart attack.

16 March 2017