Dedication.

Bent and Crooked

The crisp leaves fall

Dancing with grace, tumbling in

this still scene of peace.

Houses in line, in odd shapes

And designs

On this eerily, quiet street.

Wind chimes clink,

and children shriek with laughter and fright,

Chasing each other with glee.

But two homes down,

by the street, just around

The bend

A house stands dilapidated and weak with age and time.

The wood smells of rot, it is moist from the rain,

And the lack of care for a dozen years

Has left it in this state.

The shingles jingle, at the wind's command,

The hinges creak with displease,

They say at the peak of night, at the hour when there is not even a sliver of light,

If one so gallant decides to pass by,

Voices.

"...Hey-"

"...Hey-"

"...hey."

Whispers.

"I. See. You."

Barely audible, blending with the wind, coming from this ramshackle home.

One group of fellow neighborhood folk, worry it could tumble or crash at any second.

This home, down the street.

Another group joke and guffaw at the slightest idea of something else.

Someone else?

Hiding in the darkness, in the shadows

This home Down the street.

The children screech and squeal at the idea of a monster, a witch, vampires even, living in this old, rustic home.

But all the while, they are constantly warned, to neither stay nor play nor go,

To this home just down the street.