The Empty House

It fascinated us as children,

the empty house in the countryside

where we walked the neighbour’s dog.

Why was it empty?

Who had lived there?

We imagined secret passages

leading to priest holes,

walled up dead bodies

and buried treasure.

No one knew.

But we knew

that the dog was reluctant to go near

and we had heard that dogs were sensitive

to the spirit world.

So we knew

it was haunted.

That ghosts lived there,

spirits of the past.

We dared each other to enter

through the broken window.

Maybe we broke it first,

but I don’t remember that.

In the end we all went in,

leaving the dog outside.

But there was nothing.

Just a house.

Empty.

Ordinary.

Not spooky.

Just empty.

I passed it today,

all these years later.

There’s no entering now.

Police tapes surround it.

Maybe the dog knew

that the ghosts were of the future,

not the past.

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