Pendragon
01-25-2008, 11:31 AM
The Ghosthunter
The soft rustle of faint movement in the darkness of the hall,
Movement that is so faint I have to wonder if my mind is going soft;
Rustle of a lady’s dress in the hall’s filtered darkness that should not be there—
The hall is manifestly empty to my eyes but not to my ears—rustling dress movement is there.
The rustle moves away down the darkened hall toward a flight of stairs.
Now there are footsteps up the staircase along with swish of rustled dress.
I follow hard upon the footsteps when a turn in the stairs gives light from a broken window—
For a moment in the broken window’s light the staircase holds her in the beam:
Tall for a lady with a wealth of hair spilling from a mass of curls high upon her forehead,
Aristocratic nose and eyes that speak of wealth as does her high-waisted velvet dress.
Her pale arm is on the railing but I think it neither likely she would ever fall nor does she speak.
She smiles at me, tosses her hair, and is gone up the stairs or vanished, I know not it is so quick.
But there is the feeling that anything more is not going to take place in the hall for the night;
I go cut on the lights and collect equipment hoping for a wealth of evidence—just this once…
Pendragon
© 1/25/08
The soft rustle of faint movement in the darkness of the hall,
Movement that is so faint I have to wonder if my mind is going soft;
Rustle of a lady’s dress in the hall’s filtered darkness that should not be there—
The hall is manifestly empty to my eyes but not to my ears—rustling dress movement is there.
The rustle moves away down the darkened hall toward a flight of stairs.
Now there are footsteps up the staircase along with swish of rustled dress.
I follow hard upon the footsteps when a turn in the stairs gives light from a broken window—
For a moment in the broken window’s light the staircase holds her in the beam:
Tall for a lady with a wealth of hair spilling from a mass of curls high upon her forehead,
Aristocratic nose and eyes that speak of wealth as does her high-waisted velvet dress.
Her pale arm is on the railing but I think it neither likely she would ever fall nor does she speak.
She smiles at me, tosses her hair, and is gone up the stairs or vanished, I know not it is so quick.
But there is the feeling that anything more is not going to take place in the hall for the night;
I go cut on the lights and collect equipment hoping for a wealth of evidence—just this once…
Pendragon
© 1/25/08