It once was told a house was built upon a silent hill, and stood there in the shadows now for many, many years
It's true to say that many often passed the door that filled them with an inner dread that preyed upon their deepest, darkest fears
But long ago this very place was home to sweet Imelda, who would run around its structure through the dark and empty halls
It's said she had a gift, and she would see them as they freely moved around the house, then disappear behind the solid walls
No one ever visited, and as the seasons hurried by, a lonely woman lived within this dark and damp abode
And with the passing years, the cracks and peeling paint were of an age in which this shadowed home of hers was miserably showed
When passers by came close they'd hear the sobbing of Imelda, that would break the heart of any living thing that came to care
But all would keep their distance, as the fear was overwhelming... Imelda had her demons who were locked away in there
The voices that were heard were incoherent in a whisper, like the wind that sent a frozen finger running down a spine
The sun would never shine upon the broken tiled rooftop, and the passers by would see this as a supernatural sign
So poor Imelda passed away and no one mourned her sorry soul, but still her sobs are heard as though she never really died
And to this day not one has ever had the nerve to turn the handle of the creaking door of hers and visit her inside
Ian Duquemin
