The House That Eats the Dead 🩸

There’s a house at the edge of town,

Where the sun refuses to go down.

Its windows blink when the moon is high,

And children vanish when they walk by.

The door is made of splintered bone,

And something inside is never alone.

The locals whisper, “Don’t go near.”

But every night, it calls one name clear.

I went there once, when I was young,

With a rusty knife and a fearless tongue.

The door swung open. The hallway breathed.

A thousand photographs hung from the beams.

Every picture was someone I knew,

My father, my sister, my mother too.

But in every frame, their eyes were scratched,

And beneath each portrait, a date was etched.

The stairs led down where the light couldn't reach,

And a voice from the darkness began to preach.

“Every house needs a family to feed.

Every heart has a hunger, a terrible need.”

I heard my sister calling my name,

Her voice was trembling, her sobs were the same.

I ran toward the sound, but what did I find?

A room full of teeth, all perfectly aligned.

The walls began whispering secrets I'd kept,

The things I'd forgotten, the promises slept.

A hand touched my shoulder, cold as the grave.

I turned around and saw my own face.

It had no eyes, but it knew how to grin.

It opened its mouth and invited me in.

I ran for the door, but the hallway had grown.

The house rearranged every brick and stone.

The windows were gone. The ceiling was skin.

And something enormous was breathing within.

I screamed for my mother. I screamed for the light.

But the house only laughed through the dead of the night.

Then a voice from the floor whispered, low and slow:

“You built this house from the things you don't know.”

I woke in my bed when the morning arrived,

And told myself that I was alive.

But my mother looked at me, trembling with fear,

And asked, “Why have you been gone for a year?”

I ran to the mirror. My reflection stood still.

It smiled at me from beyond the glass sill.

Then it raised one finger and pointed behind,

To a door in my bedroom I had never designed.

Now I hear footsteps beneath my floor,

And the house keeps growing another door.

My family is missing. My windows are sealed.

And the walls have begun to reveal

That every night, when I close my eyes,

Another room in the darkness arrives.

And somewhere below, in the damp and the cold,

A little boy whispers, “I'm finally home.” 🕷️










BY LILLY.