Art Club Ghost…

hm15a*

It was only a matter of time

before we decided to explore the Pitch-Black.

*

It took the form of a dare:

to walk the corridor end to end without breaking into a run.

*

Easy enough for those with no fear of the dark,

albeit this was darkness so thick

you could not see a hand in front of a face.

*

We did not even get a light for the stair-well.

*

Down we went…

Three fools who laugh at fear.

Each determined not to break into a run,

or at least, not before the other two did…

*

The creak of a door.

During the day we would not have given it a second thought.

But now, that over used staple of too many bad horror flicks

seemed in league with the darkness.

The door closed on our tomb.

*

We turn and make tentative steps into the black.

Normal darkness the eyes grow accustomed to.

Not here.

Here the darkness bounces against the back of the skull,

stirring no shadows.

*

The creak of a door.

Not our door.

The one at the far end of the corridor.

From somewhere, a light shone.

There, suspended from the door,

was ‘Bones’,

the Art-Room skeleton.

*

We lost the dare.

*

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