Poem -

Clammy Hands

Clammy Hands

My hands are clammy
as I try to unlock Uncle Nick's door,
he left me the imposing house
high on the hill as his heir,
the Victorian structure is gloomy,
and probably full of ghosts,
who will wake me up to be bold,
dusty sheets cover the furniture
adding to the spector-like decor.

A mouse runs across the floor,
squeaking at my human intrusion,
I am an unwanted guest at its home,
slowly I walk up the creaking stairs,
being watched by something unknown,
a portrait of a man hangs at the landing,
I stare at it and the eyes blink back,
one of Uncle's Hollywood collection of props,
an avid connoisseur of movie memorabilia.

At the end of the carpeted and wallpapered hall,
a door is open as if an invitation to come in,
it is the master bedroom because of its size,
antique lace curtains hang at a corner window,
covering the scene below of a rose garden,
the canopied bed of fluffy pillows is inviting,
collapsing from fatigue of a long trip,
I fall asleep into a deep sleep dreaming away,
all the while smelling a lavender scent.

Hours later I wake up in a  dark and dank cellar,
tied up and a gag across my mouth,
wanting to scream but cannot as I notice
an elderly woman smelling of lavender and 
a middle-aged man holding a bat before me,
I recognized them at the reading of the will, 
it is Uncle's housekeeper and her son,
an ultimatum is made by both of them,
if I didn't give them the house I would be killed.

My life is more important than the old house,
I made the decision to sign off on the paperwork,
untying me they let me go as I quickly drove off,
leaving behind a legacy which I couldn't enjoy,
arriving at my humble home miles away,
I turned the news on and heard to my surprise 
that my Uncle's house was hit by lightning 
the other night and burned to the ground,
someone definitely is watching over me.


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