The Haunting

When the drops begin to rain,
hard against the window pane,
and he knows the darkness holds another storm,

As the howling winds blow in,
unearthly to the ears of man,
then the nighttime takes on another form.

What does creep,
making steps,
crunching through the fallen leaves outside his door?

Bated breath,
beating heart,
every sound frightens and shakes him to his core.

The tension begins to rise.
Thunder opens up the skies,
and the lightning flashes in the darkened room.

Branches tap against the glass,
afraid of what will come to pass,
grabs the poker and he hides within the gloom.

Shaking hands,
gritted teeth,
can he face whatever crashes through his door?

Standing tall,
feeling brave,
will he have the might to fight what is in store?

Then at the door it pounds,
through the silent house resounds,
freezing him in statued silence where he stands.

His fortitude begins to stall,
at mumbled growling through the walls.
Is his doom, his ending, finally near at hand?

Stepping forth,
quaking steps,
he must face the beast that terrorizes him.

Reaching out,
fingers taut
Grasping metal knob he feels for in the dim.

Slowly opens up the door,
creaking sounding on the floor,
lightning flashes on the figure standing bleak.

Dripping hair, mud spattered skin,
eyes angry, red, are glaring right at him,
its mouth opens up, begins to speak,

"Honey get off your butt and help me carry the groceries in.

It's a mess out here..."