martes, 4 de noviembre de 2014

A Haunted House

Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure ­ a ghostly couple.

"Here we left it." she said. And he added, "Oh, but here too!" "It`s upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall wake them."
But it wasn´t that you woke us. Oh no. "They`re looking for it; they`re drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they`re found it," one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps it is upstairs then?" The shadows were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The window panes reflected shadows, reflected ghosts. If they moved in the drawing room, the shadows turned its dark side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling. Now my hands were empty. The shadow of a crow crossed the room from the deepest wells of silence. The pulse of the house beat softly. "The treasure buried; the room..." the pulse stopped short.

A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden the trees spun darkness behind the glass in a terrifying night. Death was the glass; death was between us; coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her. Where did he go?, saw the stars turned in the sky; sought the house and found it dropped.

The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeans splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering notto wake us, the ghostly couple seek their revenge.

The doors go shutting far in the distance, strongly knocking like the pulse of a heart.

Nearer they come; cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides water down the glass. Our eyes darken; we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. Her hands shield the lantern. "Look" he says. "Sound asleep."

Stooping holding their silver lamp above me, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind blows hard; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and meeting fill with a immortal life the haunted house.

The heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years..." it sighs. "Again you found me." Its light lifts the lids upon my eyes. The pulse of the house beats wildly. The light in the heart. Waking, I cry of terror.


                            JAVIER H     1º D BACHILLERATO                                                                                

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