The girl woke with a start,
Startled by the sounds, that broke the silence of the night.
What was that?
She pulled the duvet down and peered out,
Darkness... except for the clock by the bed, it's light blinking bright.
Alarmed by the noise, but too afraid to move or make a sound,
She laid still in her bed, ears perked up, listening,
to the sounds that woke her in the middle of the night.
Ping, pang, clang!
Sounds like a frying pan placed on the stove.
Papa used to talk of his mother, Oma, and how she's famous for cooking a storm.
Thud, scrape, thud!
Sounds like the landing and scrapping of heavy feet across the carpeted floor.
Mama used to describe Granny, after the stroke, and her struggle to walk.
Phewt, phew, phewt!
A happy's man tune.
Papa loved to whistle, on and on, whenever in good mood.
The girl loosened her grip, the duvet fell to her chin,
Comforted by the sounds that reminded her of distant memories.
Oma's cooking, movie time with Granny,
Quiet day at home, with Papa whistling a tune from a song only he knew.
Another memory came to mind,
She froze, eyes drifted back to clock by the bedside,
Tonight's the night,
When the dead comes out to play in plain sight.
Unnerved, petrified by fear,
Her ears picked up another noise,
Soft creaks as her room door,
Opened wide without a pause,
The voices came through the darkness, in loud whispers,
"Did you miss us when we were gone?"
Created: 11/09/2016 @ 1.47am
Writer's note: Losing your loved ones is never easy. We tend to hear sounds that remind us of the good old days. I wanted to write this in a short story format, but then I thought, hey it'd be cool to write in as a poem. So enjoy!
