The House in the LaneA Poem by David Lewis PagetThere’s not much of anything I can recall From the time that we lived in the lane, Only the puddles of rainwater eddying With the wind’s gusting refrain. Pamela knew, she was older than me So absorbed all the essence of fear, And many a time when she’d panic and whine I would cry out ‘There’s nobody here!’
The trees were too tall and they ruled overall By keeping the house in their shade, The garden was cold and the rocks would grow mould From the damp, in the part that I played. The wind would come sniffing around from the trees And shiver the hairs on my spine, And then in a wheeze like a voice in the breeze, ‘You shouldn’t be here, this is mine!’
Our parents were never around it would seem, Our time was spent mostly alone, It’s true that I grew to be sensitive, too, To the visions and sounds of my own. But Pamela, she became crazy with fear At every strange creak in that house, So then when she’d scream, I’d say, ‘It’s a dream,’ And place a cloth over her mouth.
The house was three storeys, we never went up To check out the topmost floor, They said it was storage, and not ours to forage So kept a stout lock on the door, But Pamela said she heard noises above, Like somebody padding around, It couldn’t have been, or they would have been seen Between the third floor and the ground.
But out from the garden I’d often look up To stare at the sole window pane, The one that was muddy, or could it be bloody, The colour was almost the same. It was strange they insisted the stairway was locked Could there be a grim secret to hide, The darkest of murders, hidden away And the storeroom above? Well, they lied!
Then Pamela said that she saw someone, A shadow that fell on the pane, Strange that the mud had continued in place In spite of the seasonal rain. Muddy or bloody, it wouldn’t wash off Though I stared and I stared, and I smiled, The indistinct face that I saw staring back Was the face of an evil child.
They say that the rest was over to me Though I’ll never recall if it’s true, It’s funny the things that you do in life That you never thought you could do. Pamela said I was quite the brat But then Pamela’s such a liar, All I recall is the face of a child As the flames in the window grew higher.
David Lewis Paget © 2015 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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