My doorbell rang one wintry night,
In haste I said, " come in."
No one stood upon the stoop
'cept a cold and bitter wind.
A ghostly gust swept 'cross the room
and turned my breath to frost.
Laughing, I just shrugged it off,
still showing no remorse.
Feeling very foolish,
I 'rose to close the door;
Saw eerie shadowed footprints
which were not there before.
They led into my study,
where novels sit abound.
I looked above the second shelf,
where one was spinning 'round.
Shaken by that floating book
and cowering took a seat.
It laid itself into my lap,
to hamper my retreat.
In boldest print, upon the cover,
I fear to tell it all.
With fancy stroke and etched in blood
read
Ref: Haggard's Halls
