Sunday, March 3, 2019

A Haunted House

here(predicate) we left it, she said. And he added, Oh, merely here tool Its upstairs, she murmured. And in the tend, he whispered. Quietly, they said, or we sh only wake them. merely it wasnt that you woke us. Oh, no. Theyre looking for it theyre drawing the curtain, single great power say, and so learn on a page or two. Now theyve effect it, one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the folk all empty, the doors standing open, only the timber 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 give were empty. Perhaps its upstairs then? The apples were in the loft. And so come out again, the tend 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 windowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses all the leaves were d iscolour in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only morose its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the understructure, hung upon the walls, pendant from the capitalwhat? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet from the deepest wells of shut a way of life the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. Safe, safe, safe the wink of the house commove softly. The measure buried the room . . . the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?A moment later the lower had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burned behind the glass. Death was the glass finis 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, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. Safe, safe, safe, the pulse of the house beat gladly. The Treasure yours.The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp fall straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, hatchway the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy. here(predicate) we slept, she says. And he adds, Kisses without number. Waking in the morning Silver between the trees on a higher floor In the garden When summer came In winter snowtime The doors go close far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a snapper.Nearer they come, cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. Look, he breathes. with child(p) asleep. Love upon their lips.S tooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. hanker they pause. The wind drives straightly the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent the faces pondering the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.Safe, safe, safe, the heart of the house beats proudly. Long years he sighs. Again you found me. Here, she murmurs, sleeping in the garden reading laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. Safe safe safe the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.

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