The Crooked Man Next Door

The Crooked Man Next Door

No one knew the day he came,
No moving van, no shouted name.
One morning, curtains gently stirred…
By dusk he’d spoken not a word.

His garden grew with dying vines,
Dead roses twisted into lines.
No birds would perch upon his gate,
As though they somehow sensed their fate.

The children whispered after school,
“He watches us… he’s never cruel…
He simply smiles and waves goodbye…”
Yet none could meet his empty eye.

Each evening when the daylight bled,
A single candle glowed blood-red.
Its flicker danced behind the glass,
Until the midnight shadows passed.

The postman knocked but heard no sound,
Though fresh footprints marked the ground.
Letters gathered by the door,
Still no footsteps crossed the floor.

The widow living down the lane
Swore she heard familiar names.
Voices calling from inside…
People who had long since died.

A black cat lingered every night,
Its golden eyes reflecting light.
It never crossed the garden wall,
Just stared… as though it knew it all.

One winter’s eve the power failed,
The howling winds grew cold and pale.
I glanced outside through driving rain…
And saw him standing in my lane.

He raised one finger to his lips,
Then smiled with thin and silent lips.
Behind him stood a little girl…
Her dress still tied with faded pearls.

She vanished when the lightning flashed.
The thunder rolled. The window cracked.
Yet in the glass before my face…
Her tiny handprint marked the place.

By morning every trace had gone.
The crooked man had carried on.
His curtains swayed… his candle burned…
As though no lesson had been learned.

Then someone else moved down our street,
A family kind, polite and sweet.
Three days later… whispers spread…
Their youngest daughter found him dead.

The neighbours gathered, pale with dread.
Police searched every room and bed.
The house was empty… cold as stone…
As if he’d never called it home.

But sometimes, when the moon hangs low,
And icy winter breezes blow,
A candle burns behind that pane…
Though no one lives there… yet again.

Some houses hold forgotten years.
Some walls are built from silent fears.
And should he smile as you pass by…
Keep walking… never ask him why.

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