Ghostly Mother

In the cold dead of night, as the moon rose high, a mother's ghostly presence did draw nigh.

Her eyes were very hollow, her skin color was ashen gray, and in her arms, a baby's sad lifeless body did lay.

She whispered a sweet lullaby, so soft and low, but the melody was tainted with a very haunted woe.

Her voice echoed through the halls, so cold and still, and every hair on my neck stood up, against my every effort and will.

The mother's eyes met mine, and I felt an eldritch chill, her soft gaze was piercing, and her intent was ill.

Her baby's limping body, so tiny and frail, was a reminder of a life cut too short, and was incredibly pale.

The mother's translucent gaze and ghostly form began to fade, but her whispers lingered a while, like a creepy, haunting serenade.

I tried to run, but my feet would not budge. Fear had taken a terrible hold, and I could not trudge.

In my ears, her haunting voice still echoes and rings. The memory of that horrible eldritch night still stings.

For that ghostly mother, with her dead baby in tow, will forever haunt me, wherever I choose to go.