Creak the board goes,

As foot falls in silent hall,

Wooden alarm bells,

Warning the Spector,

His prey is near,

Drifting lazily through decreped,

Worn down home,

Past where Nature has claimed her own,

Resting in nooks and crannies,

Animals from fields afar,

Protected from mankind,

Deeper into the home,

Drifting along cooridors,

Past scattered possessions,

Covered in Natures gore,

Mossy photos,

Mildewed sheets,

Scent horrific to all but dead and critter,

Hunting further through rotting hall,

Ahead the sport of Spector’s hunt,

Hiding behind the dresser,

Fear the Spector’s delicious dinner,

Basking in the glory of its hunt’s quick demise,

Feeding off its spirit,

Watching it’s soul demise into the waiting light,

Off to it’s afterlife,

Traveling afar off,

Spector continues it’s hunt down the hallways,

In it’s dilapidated home.