With trepidation, prowl my cheerless halls,
for lurid are the tales my walls contain.
Pay heed to doleful cries and woeful calls
of ghosts that roam the rooms of my domain --
then read the warnings writ in blood-smeared scrawls
lest you become the next "guest" to be slain.
Damnation is the sure and certain price
you'll pay should you rebuff my sage advice.

A family once made this their abode,
till mayhem one night struck their domicile.
The blood of tot and mother mixed and flowed,
their murderers intent on acts most vile.
What father's heart could bear such heavy load,
unable to protect his wife or child?
The guilty fled, no trial for their crime,
so now their victims seek them for all time.

With accusation filling each ghost's glare,
avoid suspicion as you skulk about,
for every sign of fault or vice you bear
can cast upon yourself a damning doubt.
Their need for vengeance heeds no plea nor prayer --
their lust for justice must be carried out.
Hide well your sins should you hope to emerge
from out my doors without a funeral dirge.