Greymoor Hall

Dust lies thick in empty hallways; as the light begins to fade

chill wind swirls down ancient chimneys, cold and dry as brittle bone.

The old mansion lies uneasy, knowing dues must still be paid.

Even though there is no movement in its rooms, it’s not alone—

all the restless souls who died here have been trapped and still remain

and the house, once filled with laughter, has grown evil and insane,

for no happiness is found here, only anguish, fear and pain.

In the attic is a nursery, used by little ones no more,

where abandoned in one corner, sits a broken china doll.

In the bowels of the building, is a pit in earthen floor;

from this well without a bottom, comes the curse of

Greymoor Hall.

In the days before the curse fell, when the house was newly made—

standing strong against the weather, its foundation solid stone—

there was light and there was laughter, and here children gaily played.

Often music could be heard, as peaceful moonlight sweetly shone,

every season was spent happy in the sun, and snow, and rain

but the house, once filled with love, has now completely gone insane,

for its memories of those years, although skewed, are yet retained.

It remembers distant yesterdays, bright waves upon a shore,

but an evil and dark undertow has clouded its recall.

The despair of hope abandoned is a throaty distant roar

from the well without a bottom, in the heart of

Greymoor Hall.

In those days beautiful young Anna was a sweet and buxom maid,

but her love for Paul Greymoor ensured the seeds of death were sown,

for she gave to him her flower—in the basement dirt they laid.

There, the final drop of virgin blood was spilled with breathy moans,

and her sacrifice of innocence, into the well did drain.

Soon the house was filled with screaming and the sound drove it insane,

as the ductwork rang with echoes and the walls with blood were stained.

Bittersweet, her loss of purity had opened up a door;

in the depths of Hell a demon turned its head, answered the call

on its face an evil grin displayed, as if it knew the score.

From the well without a bottom, it climbed into

Greymoor Hall.

These young lovers were the first two upon whom the demon preyed,

and their ravaged bodies, still alive, into the pit were thrown

ere the monster threw its head back, dark laughter a cannonade,

and the solid walls around it seemed to buckle and to groan.

Darkness gushed forth from the well, like blood out of an open vein;

as the house filled up with evil, all its dreams became insane

and the stench of death and decay simply could not be contained.

Through the other living residents’ weak flesh the demon tore.

With the ending of their lives, the final barrier did fall,

these environs were inhabited by living souls no more

and the well without a bottom held full sway at

Greymoor Hall.

Near a century has passed now since that unholy parade

and the grounds around the building lie weed-choked and overgrown.

Faded wallpaper sags, peeling; window coverings are frayed,

and once lustrous marble fixtures now lie shattered and flyblown.

In the ballroom jet black spiders and white maggots darkly reign,

while the basement, full of shadows, echoes laughter quite insane

and this sound which can’t be heard, is one that science can’t explain.

Faintly glowing in the moonlight are green putrid fungus spores

which reflect upon the insects who ’cross ancient remains crawl

near the blood red evil light source which shines forth, a blighted sore

from the well without a bottom, far below old

Greymoor Hall.

It is said the ghosts of Anna and Paul Greymoor, though insane

are still haunting rooms and hallways now grown wicked to the core,

and the demon they set free that day still lives within the walls;

Any humans who set foot inside, will find out what’s in store,

and the well without a bottom will be fed in

Greymoor Hall.

© 2017 - dustygrein

** a double refrained chant royal in tertius paeonic tetrameter catalectic **