no one heard them scream, now they whisper (poem)

The house stood broken and decayed,
illuminated by paltry rays of moonlight
that seemed afraid to enter the dark windows
with old boards dangling from rusty nails
left behind from the days before it was forgotten

The cold October air cut through it
and had already ripped every leaf off of every tree
leaving nothing but spindly fingers in the sky above
all reaching out towards the moon for salvation –
they would crack and fall before it would arrive.

On nights like that, whispers can be heard
through the creaking and groaning of the house
while the forest lay still with knowing unease
no words can ever be made out
yet they tell a story of tragedy – and murder.

In the red-stained darkness of the house
their belongings were left to rot and decay:
a stuffed bear now a centipede nest
the kitchen a chittering cockroach haven
the noose collapsed under the rafters.

-Zero