In shadows cast upon the hill so steep, A house stands tall, where darkness runs deep. Its form, a specter in the fading light, A haunting sight that chills the darkest night.
Atop the hill, where time stands still, Lies a dwelling, where fear's whispers spill. Windows like eyes, blank and soulless, Revealing naught but the void's caress.
The wind howls through its creaking door, As if to warn all who dare explore. Misty tendrils coil around its frame, Eerie whispers dance, the house lays claim.
Within its walls, secrets whisper low, Of ghostly figures, both friend and foe. The air is heavy, suffused with dread, A dwelling cursed, where spirits tread.
Each step resounds, an echo of despair, The corridors, a labyrinth of nightmare. The floors groan under weight of history, A tapestry woven with sorrow's mystery.
Darkness clings to every nook and cranny, Casting shadows upon the forsaken nanny. Gossamer cobwebs drape the ancient halls, Tales untold, in each forgotten crawl.
Moonlight struggles through the dense shroud, Illuminating only what it's allowed. Portraits line the walls, faces etched in pain, Their eyes follow, a silent, chilling refrain.
A chill creeps up your spine, a shiver's kiss, In this house of nightmares, nothing's amiss. No solace found within its grim domain, Only anguish and torment's constant reign.
The house at the top, forever concealed, Where light retreats, and darkness is revealed. Its haunting presence, a macabre delight, A beacon for souls lost in eternal night.
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