There's a house, in the south, with a room I once dreaded.
No-one was murdered there, no-one beheaded.
I loved the house, the home of my cousins,
But I hated that room, and for that, there's no reason.
On a bend on the stairs, was a step to a door.
I would hurry past, though I knew not what for.
No reason to worry, there was nothing to fear
and yet, when I passed, I could not linger near.
As a child, I would visit, at least twice a year,
I always looked forward as those times drew near.
A house, where my uncle and aunt both resided,
My cousins too always kept me delighted.
This big old house was my favourite place,
It always put a big grin on my face
In the heart of the city, the bustle and noise,
next to the bus garage... a great place for boys.
The room where I slept was up in the attic
At the top of the house, not really traumatic.
Three rooms were up there, a closet also
but nothing at all scary, quite pleasant you know.
But still, on the stairs was the door to the room
an ordinary door, with an aura of gloom.
I would scurry past as fast as I could
But never knew why, just a door, made of wood!
But then, one day, as I descended the stair,
I saw that the door was slightly ajar.
My heart began pounding, I got short of breath
And my legs wouldn't move, not the right nor the left.
But I wanted to know what was in there so dark,
so I steeled myself and made my legs walk.
I stopped at the door and I peeped round the edge.
The fear so strong as I stood on the ledge.
What I saw inside there made my eyes open wide,
Nothing! Just paint, in tins, on the side.
Some tools and a bench, a workshop, I saw.
Nothing to fear, just a room, walls and floor.
But still I was fearful, I wouldn't go in,
I ran from the door and the paint in the tins.
and whenever I passed it going up or down stairs
I kept to the edge and hurried past there.
Now I am old and my hair turning grey
But I remember the fear, like it was just yesterday
Was it just something inside my head
That hurried me past the room I did dread?
