I glimpse her, as wearily,
I tread upon the stair;
Brief flickering movement
Which really isn’t there.
She taunts, and teases,
Never showing her face,
Drifting along the landing,
With ballerina grace.
Quite often, whenever lonely,
Her sibilant voice calls;
A lingering shallow whisper,
Echoing softly from the walls.
She sounds, so haunting,
Like tinkling silver bells;
Ringing enticing incantations;
While casting ghostly spells.
Hairs bristle, on my neck;
Spine becoming trembling ice,
Freezing breath inside my throat:
Heart trapped within a vice.
We touch, I am afraid; but
My fear is that I’ll find,
This unearthly spectral visitor
Is an unkindness of my mind.


© Paul Chafer 2014