Welcome to the Gloomy Hollows
of Spookinite ValleyEst. Sept. 2012
The House Beckons
Written by Benjamin Fouché
As the sun sets over the vale,
The heavens are full of such bale.
The lone traveler gazes on,
At many centuries long gone.
The place stands quite still and forlorn.
It was here that shadows were born.
Past residents linger inside,
Here is something I must confide:
They peer through the lightless windows,
And on this eve, everyone knows,
They shall swing open the front doors,
Whilst the bleak vulture above soars.
Harken!—the shutters slam askew!
All along we certainly knew,
Your arrival was predestined.
Within the house you shall contend,
To find the secrets—quite hidden.
From the black, dark coach once ridden.
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