The house stays silent,
Its windows worn with time
And waiting.

Two heads pop up
And look ahead,
Small feet paddling to the glass,
Sneaking a glance at the world beyond.

They see the street, the city,
The blazing sun,
The bright sky.
And a shadow moving amidst it all.
A monster they have always known.

The creature watches the door
With uncontrollable and patient hunger.
The children lift their trembling hand,
With their hearts in their throats,
And reach for the ****,
And for a moment I believed,
That they would step out,
That they would fight,
That they would live.

But they never did.
Just as their hands never touched the ****.
They turn,
Shivering,
Retreating down the creaking wooden steps,
To the basement that devours them,
Where they sit in the dark,
Like old dolls
Forgotten and abandoned.

There they remain,
Silent,
Breathing but unliving,
Hidden as though they never were,
For if the monster ever knows of them,
They will die.

And so the house stays silent,
Its windows worn with time
And waiting.