Friday, Sept. 27, 2002 - 9:40 p.m.

100th entry, with a thing that rhymes in it. Probably not technically a poem, but I don't care. 100.

---

The ghost in the house was alone one dark night,

No bodies were hanging around to cause fright.

They'd gone to a party, and people were there,

The people the bodies were going to scare.

The bodies were rotted, and some had no heads,

And they visited children asleep in their beds.

The children would wake up with horrified screaming,

And then they would think that they'd only been dreaming.

But the ghost knew the bodies were real and were true,

The ghost knew the bodies weren't pale and see-through.

And the ghost wished that he could be solid as well,

Haunting with transparency was equivalent to Hell.

---

The house was a big one with windows and doors,

The house had dead bodies hid under the floors.

And the house was a home to the ghost, and the bodies,

(Who went out late at night after dozens of coffees,

To wander around all deranged and demented,

And laugh at the people they always tormented)

---

And the ghost was alone in the house, as I said,

The ghost, and some things that were properly dead.

(No animated corpses, or skeletons walking,

Just dusty old bones and some flesh decomposing)

And the ghost was quite bored, but he stared at the walls,

He was just too damn lazy to float through the halls.

And the moon was out full, and the party sent screams,

He could almost feel the chill from the icy bloodstreams,

Of the people at the party he'd decided to miss,

Just so he could sit and admire... this.

---

This house, with its wonderful colours, its black,

The place with the bells where once lived the hunchback.

The bathroom, where many a person had drowned,

And the attic, with its own private giggling sound,

That would giggle all night and would giggle all day,

And would terrify people to running away.

The lounge with the TV that talked to the viewer.

The kitchen where many a person did skewer.

And the bedroom, a place where when living he'd slept,

And into his room had some strange creatures crept,

And the creatures, with teeth that were sharp, and with claws,

Did find there way into the cupboard and drawers,

And waited until he'd awoken, then soon,

The poor ghost could say that, "I died in this room"

---

And a crash at the door claimed the bodies were back,

Returned from their nightly young-person attack.

So he sighed, with no air, but he sighed anyway,

Then rose from his seat, and he floated away.