The Empty Hill by Quinn Crook

There was an old house on that hill once.
Legend has it that it was beautiful,
full of life and lavish parties,
where the names and faces mingled,
lost in the mix and haze of smoke and fine champagne.

That was before the fire.
Before the screams burned against the midnight sky,
there was a tiny spark.
Nobody knows who set it.
But legend has all the answers and sets it as gospel.

One whispers that it was a spurned lover seeking revenge.
Others say it was from a witch who had long since cursed the family.
Another says that it was simply a fluke,
An act of some god who needed some human suffering
For their cosmic enjoyment.

There was an old house on that hill once.
Now it stands empty, a shell,
as the ghosts wander in the ballroom
their feet shuffling in a macabre dirge
in time to the rhythm of the waltz.

Quinn Crook (They/Them) is a nonbinary writer. Their work has been published in Sledgehammer Lit, Warp 10, and Celestine Magazine. They can be found haunting coffee shops in the quest to drink the world's best latte.