Rot

In my corner
I can come to no harm.
They can't get me here,
There's no cause for alarm,
I can get on with my papers
In front of the fire
And it's hypnotic, fiery
Dance admire.
Lo! What is that
In yonder chair?
Mrs Montgomery
Combing her hair.
Hair that's powdery and white,
As I'm held in her gaze,
Floating around her
In deathly haze.
A single hole
On her linen clad chest
Oozing blood
Over motionless breast.
And what is this
By the mantlepiece,
Elbow leaning
In haunting peace?
It's Master Bingham
Riding crop in hand
And riding boots on,
Such a fetching young man.
Now he turns to the clock,
Lifeless and dull,
And his brain falls out
Of the back of his skull.
Who goes? Lady Bryony
Bolting the door.
Does she know that
I loved her before?
Before Master Bingham
Arrived on the scene.
Only then for him
Would her smile beam.
Her bulging grey eyes
On that beautiful face,
Void of life,
Now replaced
With ghostly rage.
And I am next
Screams the bruised, palm-print choker
She wears on her neck.
The three come towards me
For revenge, oh so sweet,
My once homely fort
Now the cause of defeat,
Trapped within reach
Of their phantom grasp
And I know
This breath shall be my last.
'Be gone, you spectres!
Harm me you will not!
You're only figments
Of a guilty conscience which rots!
Get back, I tell you!
Back I say!'
And with wave of a poker
They all were away.