I have a handful of Halloween poems. Here’s one that was inspired by a program I watched one night about haunted hotels. An owner of a B&B claimed there was a ghost named Ed that she’d see walking up and down the halls and sometimes she’d say “Good night Ed!” and he’d turn and look at her. What do ghosts think of us?
Ghost Of The Watertown Bed & Breakfast
Touch sparks to wet bones. Watch them dance. That’s how this feels.
All night Ed walks up and down the hall. In recent years
He’s become an anomaly, an attraction, a circle of cold.
For hours he concentrates on the frozen candles that hold the night
Away. There’s a place he’s supposed to be, but both ends of the hall
Are blocked. Not even his feet sound the floor. The well-fed guests
Sleep in their rooms, except for one who, unaware of the presence
Outside the door, watches a star move across the sky.
Ed is in his shirtsleeves always now. It was evening when
He closed his book and came up here. He wasn’t going to bed
Just yet. It was a quiet evening in the spring. The house
Had guests in it then too. He’s forgotten which room was his,
And thinks that’s what’s wrong, but can’t remember. The rooms
All seem occupied now, and no one speaks to him in a way
That makes him think he knows them. The ones who come through
Drag trails of themselves along, and are so fast
They slip away when he tries to speak. Their voices too
Are murky, but sometimes when the air is thick and he moves
Through it less easily he can hear them. A woman screamed
One night that someone was in her room standing over
Her. It’s said now that Ed enters the rooms. He’s heard
This, and it baffles him. All the doors are locked
To him, and he never stands still, not until the sun
Rolls in through the East window and fills the hall
With blood and fire. What’s after that he can’t remember.
Here’s a crude video I made to go with the poem.