The Hymn of Hill House

A house stands upon a shady hill,

straight past the old rusty watermill.

It leans, sinking into the ground below,

left abandoned there...quite some time ago.

The porch is all rotted and covered in vine.

It is said that the rooftop is dripping with brine.

There are dark empty holes where the trees have all died,

I hear it is even more chilling, on the inside.

There's shadows that bleed, down the long winding halls ,

and deep spiraled scratches that cover the walls.

The only sounds you will hear are the shrilling screams,

of the freshly picked souls that hang from the beams.

They say late at night in the window glare,

a greyish pale figure will suddenly appear.

And sing a grim song of desperate lure

Drawing you nearer....and nearer, to the front door.

The howl of this haunting tune is sure to catch your appeal,

Frenzied and welcomed is what you will feel.

Until you climb your way to the top of the knoll,

And give the thirsty spirit all your control.

They say it lets you in as an invited guest,

Then hangs you from the ceiling along with the rest.

What it does next, well...I cannot say in detail.

For those that go in, don't live to tell the tale.

So, if you ever hear the dark hymn of the ghost,

calling outloud to the ones it wants most.

Please cover both ears, then run far away,

or in the hill house your soul will stay.