Phantom Manor

The noises fade out as we walk.
Magnificent one, two, three,
four, five, six – nothing.
Another land, almost,
where a music box is always playing.
Where the wind is always whistling
just a little. Things are still here,
but that’s what tells you something lives.
If we stare hard enough
– if we are quiet enough –
that window, it might show us. Worth a try.
Beauty was here, once, and again. Look up. Look up!
That’s her.
I learned the name when I was small:

Are you thinking
of hands emerging from walls?
Fake blood, fake shrieks? You’re wrong.
This is different. This is the best thing you ever saw.