The Creepy, Crawly, Scary Haunted House on the Hill
By Susan York Meyers
(Published in Stories For Children, October 2009 issue)
At night I spy a creepy, haunted house on the hill. The front gate screeches whenever the wind
comes to blow. That's the ghouls taking a ride.
At night I spy a creepy, crawly haunted house on the hill. With shutters hanging all twisted and bent,
ripped apart by monsters escaping. That house isn’t a place I’d ever pick to play!
At night I spy a creepy, crawly, scary haunted house on the hill. When I peek out my window, I can see
white shapes dancing. And know the ghosts have come to play.
However…
When morning comes, I see an old house on the hill. The front gate leans low in the windy breeze. No
self-respecting ghoul would ever hitch a ride!
When morning comes, I see an old, abandoned house on the hill. With shutters that droop from
neglect. And no monsters plan their daring escape.
When morning comes, I see an old, abandoned, neglected house on the hill. When its white curtains
blow, I can see they're full of holes. It's mice, not ghosts that have come to play.
But…
When night tiptoes in, and the moon shines down big and bright. The creepy crawly scary haunted
house on the hill always comes back!
By Susan York Meyers
(Published in Stories For Children, October 2009 issue)
At night I spy a creepy, haunted house on the hill. The front gate screeches whenever the wind
comes to blow. That's the ghouls taking a ride.
At night I spy a creepy, crawly haunted house on the hill. With shutters hanging all twisted and bent,
ripped apart by monsters escaping. That house isn’t a place I’d ever pick to play!
At night I spy a creepy, crawly, scary haunted house on the hill. When I peek out my window, I can see
white shapes dancing. And know the ghosts have come to play.
However…
When morning comes, I see an old house on the hill. The front gate leans low in the windy breeze. No
self-respecting ghoul would ever hitch a ride!
When morning comes, I see an old, abandoned house on the hill. With shutters that droop from
neglect. And no monsters plan their daring escape.
When morning comes, I see an old, abandoned, neglected house on the hill. When its white curtains
blow, I can see they're full of holes. It's mice, not ghosts that have come to play.
But…
When night tiptoes in, and the moon shines down big and bright. The creepy crawly scary haunted
house on the hill always comes back!