Haunted Kitchens By Anonymous

It slipped into the subfloor like a slug on a salty welcome mat
The odor of a burnt soul drifted up with the sound that leaked from a forgotten television
Something was amiss
She could feel the relentless pain of distant torture taking place but the fear of doorknobs kept her contemplation in a stagnant state of imprisonment
There was no hope to set goals to
These shuffled decks had long since lost any potential dealings
Whatever dwells on the other side must remain in stifled supposition
This was simply certain
All things in time shall be forgotten
She wondered if the same is true of cleaning ectoplasm from haunted kitchens