A preternatural end-of-November day,
Skies sober, a dark cloud this Thursday,
Over Muncaster, the castle, haunted,
With many a room ancient, enchanted.
Spend the afternoon in a business meeting,
In vintage fireplace, logs constantly feeding.
Medieval style, character upon every wall,
Van Gogh, priceless artwork lining the hall.
Plenty of activities to partake, into the night,
Archery, crossbows, axe-throwing like a knight.
A guided tour of the Castle starts late evening,
Then indulgence, to a grand dinner setting.
Retire to Lady Muncaster, like a president,
Next door, there is Maggie the ghostly resident.
No locking doors, not a single line of defence,
Against any strange castle occurrence.
In the blustery wind of the darkest night,
Hear the hideous screams and sighs alight.
Rusty windows crack and rotting doors shriek,
Outdoor leaves crisp and pendulous lights flick.
How the hair rises in fear,
A desperate desire to clear,
Your belongings and depart soon,
First thing in the morn.