the haunted
house
on the corner.
the grass
three feet high.
a wisp of smoke coming
from the chimney.
occasionally you'd see
a face
peering out
behind
a broken window,
behind a grey sheer curtain.
an old
man,
an old woman.
they rarely left the house.
we'd stare
at it from our porch
and weave
tales of what was going
on inside there.
were they eating children?
animals?
one day, would they come
to get us?
we'd never
find out.
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