there’s a scratching
from beneath
the wraparound porch
a thin
keening howl
that hangs just under
the sound of the wind
through the rickety
old farm house
just loud enough
to send chills
in the middle
of the night
there were stories
tales whispered
behind my back
when i first moved to town
dark mutterings
of things
that live
in the spaces between
but i laughed them off
ignored
the superstitious stares
but i haven’t slept
in days
lay wide eyed
in bed
as the scratching
gets closer
it seems to be
in the walls now
then there is the stench
rotting meat
that comes
whenever
the heat kicks on
i am afraid
there are things
missing
photos vanished
from their frames
my cat
hasn’t come for food
in days
if the worst befalls me
as i grow
increasingly sure
it shall
tell them
tell them all
any that will listen
to burn this
accursed place
to the ground
to salt the earth
behind them
something crawls
in the shadows
something
that defies my
feeble understanding