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The End of Stoney Hall

The gates are locked, the iron is rust. The floorboards are thick with grime and dust. The children’s beds are stripped and bare, but something heavy lingers there. The Stony Hall is closed and still, a lonely tomb upon the hill, But though the living turned the key, The dead are never truly free. When winter winds begin to blow, And shadows dance upon the snow, The heavy boots of Mother Hopkins Echo where the hallway softens. She rises from her shallow grave, To find the souls she couldn’t save. With keys that jingle at her waist, She moves with grim and silent haste. On Christmas Eve, the air turns cold, As stories of the past unfold. Young Johnny Brown comes back to play, just as he did in yesterday. He stands beneath the frosted pane, Or wanders through the freezing rain, A tiny ghost in tattered clothes, Whom only every shadow knows. The village folk all look away, and never near the ruins stray. They bar their doors and dim the light, Against the terrors of the night. No laughter rings within those walls, No footsteps pace the hollow halls, Save for the ones who cannot rest, With heavy secrets in their chest. The mortar crumbles, stone by stone, A place where sorrow lives alone. The ivy climbs the blackened brick, The air inside is foul and thick. Don't venture where the spirits tread, Or wake the sleepers from their bed. The Stony Hall is cursed, they say, It’s best for you to stay away.