The Ghost Is Real, The B&B Isn’t.

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.