On a cold night,

within a dungeon's


a spectre came

crawling about a

prisoners door.


The phantom's wraith

appeared on the cell wall,

it seemed to gnash

its teeth;

clawing on the hard stone,

havoc it would wreak.


The prisoner stood in awe

as the tall figure lurked

outisde the exterior,

fearing his dungeon cell

might become his sepulcher.


Tapping he heard

from all directions

it seemed the ghoul

was everywhere,


Then, it stopped,

the rapping of

that dreadful knock.


It never returned,

but every so often,

he could see the wraith,

and though to himself:

I must have some faith.


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