People think ghosts only come out at night.
Sometimes, they’re right.
But at my Gran’s, ghosts were around all the time.
When I slept there,
An old, old ghost clumped up and down the stairs.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He didn’t care what the clock said.
I didn’t like him.
He hid behind doors,
Slid out of drawers,
Drifted up through the floors
And when he laughed, he roared, HA HA HA HA HA!
He didn’t laugh much and neither did I,
When midnight chimed
And his cold, cold fingers
Twined cold and thin around mine.
That’s when I screamed and my Gran would rush in.
‘Oh!’ she’d say. ‘ Has that old ghost been here again?’
ZOOM! She would fetch her broom,
Sweep him out of the room.
‘There!’ she’d say.
But I didn’t switch off the light,
Or lay down my head.
For I knew where that old ghost was,
He was under my bed!
©Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 