The wind whipped steady at my door and the floor creaked like dead wood. Warped. Rotted in sodden gray light
miasma from a chasm, ringing night sweats. “Friend, foe, or otherwise?” I murmured to the darkness. No answer. Silence grinding a place where Poe’s raven would have been welcome. Dark wings or anything I could see.
But no. This guest of a ghost trickster, lights flickering dim. And yet.
I welcomed it.
The old house no longer empty.
This poem is in response to the Daily Prompt Guest