The Traveler
“Is anybody there?” said the traveler,
as he rode up to the old inn door.
He peered at the hidden sign,
scraping the dust off with his whip;
'Behold' it said, 'all thee who enter,
shall never come out alive!'
“Is anybody there?” said the traveler,
as he climbed off his mount and repeated,
“Is anybody there?” he cried.
He pushed the door with his foot,
the creak was a groan of death,
as unmoved cobwebs shook.
“Is anybody there?” said the traveler,
as he took one bold step inside.
The walls and the ceiling answered him,
“Anybody there, there, there. . .”
His heart was like an ice-block,
His head as if on fire.
“Is anybody there?” said the traveler,
as he ventured further in.
There was a rapping on the shutters,
scraping on the floor,
as the moonlight broke the darkness,
and insects scuttled away.
“Is anybody there?” said the traveler,
as a moan came from below.
He had a feeling of dread,
yet not dread, more worry.
A jet-black creature brushed past him,
and the room was dark, the door had shut.
“Is anybody there?” said the traveler,
as he made for the door.
The eyes of the queen of the wall,
followed him in his black fears.
He opened the door,
and went out.
“There is nobody there!” said the traveler,
as he rode over the horizon,
thinking about his fearful worries,
the pair of eyes still following him.