Perron Family Haunting, RI — Restless Spirit
by Dawg
Within the hush of forgotten fields, where twilight clings and shadows weave,
the farmhouse stands, a fractured relic where restless souls refuse reprieve.
Whispers coil through stagnant air, insidious murmurs wrapped in dread,
a spectral chorus wails unseen, their voices threading through the dead.
Cold as winter’s biting breath, the walls exhale a ghostly chill,
echoes cradle shattered lives, a legacy that time cannot still.
Terror lingers like a fog, thick with grief and muted cries,
the Perron name engraved in night beneath unyielding, watchful skies.
From darkness, piercing eyes emerge–sharp as frost, relentless and clear,
witnesses to agonies long past, their stories etched in frozen fear.
The floorboards groan beneath their steps, the air weighed down by silent pain,
every corner bears a mark where sorrow and madness reign.
Phantom forms drift restless through the pitch-black halls and broken dreams,
a prison forged from memory, a crucible of silent screams.
Their presence gnaws upon the mind, a ceaseless, clawing, spectral tide,
reminders of a cursed past that never truly died.
No refuge lies within these walls; the past consumes with cold intent,
a crucible of lingering woe, where life and nightmare are tightly bent.
Darkness deepens, shadows grow, the restless stir and draw close near,
their murmurs fill the frigid air with dread no mortal heart should hear.
In this forsaken farmhouse, fear is sovereign, time stands still and bleak,
an eternal vigil kept by those whose peace they’ll never seek.