By Lukas Franken I
a man by the name of Sylvester Keep
roams the hallways of the creaky old
house waiting for the children to sleep
always keeping an ear unfolded for bold
scurrying of little feet
mouse, automaton or human
movement from walls to ceiling corner…
the rafters of the loft
his favorite spot to listen
with his sort of echolocation
his ghastly whispers permeate and slice
through the thin, oxygen filled air
a response bounces back
and to this he chuckles a sort of eldritch
chortle of soundless content