The traveller rapped on the wooden door,

Gently but firmly, not much more.

He spoke through, at his dare,

Asking if anyone was there.

Silence from the horse, amongst the ferns,

The forest like a jungle, full of turns.

No one answering from inside the house,

Not a sound, not the squeak of a mouse.

The moonlight came down like a silver blade,

Creepy and quiet, but still he stayed.

The path was glowing like a silver ribbon,

And yet the house stood quiet and hidden.

He stood perplexed, still, by the door,

Some birds flew over, this he saw.

He banged on the door for a second time,

This time a sound, but just a clock chime.

No head was seen from the window sill,

He stayed glued to the spot, confused and still.

The house remained silent, ‘twas a mournful grave,

Nothing but cobwebs, he had to stay brave.

He imagined ghosts, a chilling feeling,

They’re underneath the ghastly ceiling.

Complete silence now, no knock, no bird,

The traveller said, “Tell them I came and I kept my word.”

With a swish of his cloak,

He jumped on his horse,

Sound of metal on stone,

He galloped off on his own.