Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: old house

  • Fright and Horror

    Fright and Horror

    Fright and horror ruled the night,
    Within that house of crumbling stone,
    Where shadows swirled with dread and fright,
    And chilling whispers, all alone.

    The hearth, once warm, now cold and still,
    Had seen the darkened spirits roam,
    Their blast a chill, their presence ill,
    Made mortal hearts a haunted home.

    In faded tapestries of old,
    Where spectral eyes gazed from their frame,
    Fright and horror did unfold,
    Their stare was a harbinger of shame.

    Through moonlit panes and misty gloom,
    A figure roamed with spectral grace,
    Its eyes aglow, a foreboding doom,
    Its silent steps a grim embrace.

    Fright and horror held their sway,
    As echoes moaned through hollow halls,
    Where time and dread had lost their way,
    And shadows clung to ancient walls.

    In every scrape, in every groan,
    A tale of fear was sharply drawn,
    Where once was light, now dark is sown,
    And glimmer’s truth is nearly gone.

    A portrait hung of mournful hue,
    Its subject lost, a fate unknown,
    Fright and horror to the few
    Who dared to tread where spirits sobbed.

    The house, now left in deep darkness,
    Tales of its terror plagued,
    Panic and anguish in restless sleep,
    Tormented the realm where darkness ruled.

    Fright and horror wove their spell,
    In labyrinths of endless gloom,
    Where every corner hid a legend
    Of sorrow sealed within each chamber.

    No light could pierce the shrouded veil,
    No sound could chase the spectral dread,
    Since in its chasms, the horror has passed
    Bounding every soul that dared be led.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Doll’s Curse

    The Doll’s Curse

    The doll’s curse lingered in a dusty attic,
    Beneath cobwebs and forgotten memories,
    Where shadows whispered of past misdeeds
    And echoes of laughter long since lost.

    Gossamer draped like spectral thieves,
    A doll sat motionless, with glassy eyes,
    Its eternal gaze fixed through the past,
    Silent, it spoke of secrets long surpassed.

    Once a cherished companion, now forsaken,
    Its smile, a frozen echo; joy had waned.
    The silence thickened, heavy with dread,
    As the doll’s head turned with a creak, an unseen thread.

    Moonlight filtered through the attic’s grime,
    Casting shadows that twisted with time.
    At night, when darkness wove its shroud,
    The doll awoke, its curse unbound.

    Porcelain limbs, once delicate, pure,
    Moved now with a malevolent allure.
    The doll’s eyes, glinting with ancient hate,
    Became portals to a nightmarish fate.

    As shadows deepened, the house would groan,
    With a spectral wail, a mournful tone.
    The doll’s curse, an eldritch spell,
    Lured the unwary to a darkened hell.

    Whispers floated on the cold, still air,
    Of lost souls trapped in eternal despair.
    The attic’s secret, buried in layers of dust,
    A curse born of malice and betrayal’s rust.

    Those who ventured into this cursed space
    Found their lives erased without a trace.
    Their screams, a haunting melody of fright,
    Echoed in the attic’s endless night.

    The doll remained, its gaze fixed and cold,
    Guarding secrets dark and old.
    Its eyes followed each unwelcome guest,
    Their fate was sealed by a malevolent quest.

    And as the years passed, its curse remained,
    A timeless horror, eternally unchained.
    The attic, a tomb of forgotten fears,
    Bore witness to the doll’s eternal tears.

    In silent watch, the doll endured,
    A symbol of dread, with a curse that lured.
    Its haunted presence, a perpetual blight,
    Cast shadows dancing in the dead of night, restless and bright.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • In The Stillness Of The Night

    In The Stillness Of The Night

    In the stillness of the night,
    Murmurs stir in spectral light.
    Moonlight weaves through shadowed trees,
    Casting phantoms in the breeze.

    A faint sound, barely heard,
    Echo is like a ghostly word.
    Fog creeps low upon the ground,
    Silent secrets, none profound.

    Graves stand guard in solemn rows,
    Beneath them, tales of sorrow flow.
    Marble cold and weathered grey,
    Hides the regrets of yesterday.

    Raven’s caw, a haunting cry,
    Pierces through the midnight sky.
    Wings as dark as most bottomless voids,
    On cursed winds, the air devoid.

    In the forest, shadows play,
    Dancing where the moonbeams stray.
    Eyes that gleam with hidden spite,
    Glimmer in the pitch of the night.

    An old house, a forgotten place,
    Windows stares with a hollow face.
    Doors that creak in mournful sighs,
    Shelter memories that won’t die.

    Candles flicker in the gloom,
    Fighting darkness that they loom.
    Ancient clocks tick slowly and fast,
    Counting down to moments past.

    The mirror’s surface, cold and clear,
    Reflects not the living here.
    Figures move when none are near,
    Silent screams you cannot hear.

    Steps that lead to nowhere known,
    Winding paths of moss and stone.
    Ghostly forms that roam and rove,
    Searching for what they once called home.

    In the distance, bells toll low,
    Marking time where none can go.
    Each chime a whisper, soft and thin,
    Inviting all the shadows in.

    And as the night claims all in sight,
    Darkness reigns with quiet might.
    In this realm where fear holds sway,
    Eternity and night will stay.

    So heed the warnings, keep them near,
    For the night holds more than fear.
    In the depths where shadows blend,
    Lies are a place where dreams descend.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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