Voices in the Walls

It was the ghosts that did him in.
Pestered him in darkness,
Whispered in his ear
with cold hollow breath,
uttered his name
in windowless rooms
where no wind could be blamed.
They teased him in his sleep,
waiting for that moment
of near waking
then choking him,
snickering within walls,
voices upon voices
talking about him.
Then he'd wake,
wide eyed and
gasping for air,
to the muted darkness
of his room.
He knew they were taunting him,
waiting for him to snap,
piss in his pants,
and scream like some pansy
then they could all
have a good laugh
over cold beers and
pat themselves for a job well done.
But he had devised a plan:
In daylight,
while they slept,
he sledge-hammered holes in the walls
broke off drywall
with his bare hands,
kicked it in with his steel-toed boots.
But the wood beams proved tricky
with the dulled axe.
Still, he hacked away
until there was no wall
where they could hide,
no partition to the outside world.
Pity that he never
noticed when the ceiling
came crashing down.