The shadow crawled up the staircase,
The long bony fingers crept up,
The arm long and wrinkled.

The candle flickered and momentarily flared
creating even more bizarre and terrifying
shadows along the balcony.

The cold air brushed past
the phantom on the stair
as it reached the child’s bedroom door.

An old hand,
wrinkled and dark,
turned the doorknob slowly.

There was a loud creaking as the door swung open.
Inside it was black,
as black as a tomb.

By the light of the silvery moon
a small bed could be seen near the window.
“Hello Grandma,” said the child.



©Rangzeb Hussain