Horror
1 min
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Where
Romeo Couqeh Kaine
Did you check under the bed?
All the way from the end, up to where you lay your head.
Did you check in the closet?
Open one door then the opposite.
Did you turn on your night light?
A little glow to save you from fright.
Yes, of course you did.
So where does does he come from.
The pale little kid.
From under the bed he couldn't have slid.
The doors stay closed, not even a thump.
Through the closet he couldn't have come.
The night light goes dark when he walks in.
Fright trickles through you, like the blood dripping down his chin.
He stands there and stares.
He walks closer and glares.
His little hands are cold.
So it's yours he wants to hold.
He stayed in this house long before you came.
But he's dead and gone, so why does he remain.
Charcoal eyes.
Empty soul.
Where does he come from.
And where does he go?
This poem was written by a Bay Area local for the San Jose Public Library Short Edition collection.
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