Echoes in the Dead Hallway

Melted copper drips from my hands like the blood of a tortured soul,

Echoes meet you,

Streaming down the dark corridor,

Humming of warning,

Whispering a signal to be wary...

But not speaking of what you will find.

A door far down the corridor slams,

Seeming to make the floor shake,

The noise...


Paintings on the walls glare at you as they fall to the marble floor,

The glass in the frames shattering,

All the pandemonium screaming at you...

Finally, with a mumur of fear you step into the hallway,

And you hear singing,

Emenating from one of the rooms,

The sweet melodies of a piano in the background...

Somehow you are drawn to it.

You stagger,

Following the beautiful voice,

As it flows through the hall,

The soft, sorrowful voice of a grieving girl,

Deep in alto tones,


Impersonating the death of an infant.

The reverberating pain carves gashes in your soul,

Making a piece of that sorrow your own,

Never that pain will you be able to escape...

As you search the rooms,

To find them all empty,

Open windows,

Letting the rain stream through,

As rough winds tear at the white linnen curtains,

While the growing feeling that this search is in vain wells up inside your consciousness,

When you watch the specter of a dead moon chooses to linger deridingly in your face,

And the glass of old frames cuts deep slashes in your being...

So, the voice echoes on,

Singing of death, and blood,

Decay and rotting,

Still crying for you,

But never even intonating a syllable of your name,

When finally the voice is crooning in your ears...

And shadows fill your eyes as you turn the doorknob,

Seeming to take an torturous eternity,

As the treacherous winds snatch the door,

Slamming it open...

And the warning chants and mumurs to be wary come back to recognition,

While the candles and torches in the hall blow out violently,

Darkness encircles you,

And unease fills your feeling...

Warm wetness covers your feet...

The smell of copper and salt uncovers the liquid's identity,

Causing the unease to consume you...

And the voice stops...

With the lighting of a single black candle,

Casting shadows and light upon the room's floor...

First all you see is a pale hand...

Then revealed is the body.

Terror speaks silently to you,

A beautiful raven-haired girl,

Splayed across the floor,

Pooled in blood,

At the base of a piano,

Blood flowing freely from her mouth,

But you are filled with sureness of a death.

Staring in horror,

You are first unaware of the light touch upon your cheek,

Then you focus upon the image in front of you...

A transparent form of the girl...

A whispered "Thank you," escapes her torn lips,

And the spirit returns to her body...

Then, she is back in front of the piano singing for you,

While you bleed with her in the many shadows,

And all of the spirits of the hallway call with her...

You all took their smiles,

They are now yours,

All belonging to you and your dead kin...

The corridor of spirits.