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Rated: E · Poetry · Supernatural · #2114985
A story poem to explain a haunting.
The Legend of Felton House

Kathleen McNamara

“They woke me this morning!" “I heard them,"he said.
“That’s twice this past week it has roused me from bed.”

His friends at the table stared back at him.
“It’s time that we told you the story so grim.”

The Felton House legend the townsfolk do tell
is of two bumbling robbers who died in a well.

Felton, a banker, owned a Savings and Loan.
There was rumor ‘round town he had a vault in his home.

The gossip that summer started going around,
when workers were digging a hole in the ground.

O’er the hole were erected walls made of cement,
the townsfolk so sure of what those walls meant.

No one believed him, when Felton denied,
the vault they envisioned was ever inside.

The crooks drew up plans, a tunnel they’d dig,
an underground caper, with a payout so big.

The pair were not large men, their tunnel was small.
The digging went smoothly, ‘til they hit a brick wall.

No break-in that night, the walls would not crack.
They needed more power. They’d have to come back.

Their plans they did alter. They found plenty of power
to break through the walls, but what choice of hour?

The house must be empty, with no one around,
as they hammered their way through the wall underground.

The Felton’s went traveling, the house left alone.
The timing was perfect to break through the stone.

Under cover of night they crept to the place,
and dragged the jack hammer down that small tunnel space.

With power tool ready they started to pound,
on that solid brick wall so far underground.

The brick it did crumble, a hole opened wide,
for both of the men to scramble inside.

No gold did they find, no boxes of coin.
The place was so empty, not a thing to purloin.

The men started cursing preparing to leave,
when all of a sudden, the wall it did heave.

The entrance was blocked.They lost their way out,
but no one was home to hear the men shout.

Their bodies were found at the bottom of the well.
It’s a new story now that the townsfolk do tell.

The same time each year, when the full moon is bright,
you'll hear the jackhammer in the dead of the night.

The robbers still try to this very day,
a desperate attempt at a clean get away.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2114985