There’s a ghost in this house.

I hear it thump-thump-thumping.

It gets my heart pump-pump-pumping.

There’s a ghost in this house.

Under the covers I hide my face.

I call for my father, tell him to quicken his pace.

“There’s a ghost in this house!”

He assures me there is not.

“It’s just the water pipes getting hot.”

There’s a ghost in this house.

I hear it tap-tap-tapping.

Its nails are scratch-scratch-scratching.

There’s a ghost in this house.

I curl up and cover my ears.

This ghost knows all my fears.

“There’s a ghost in this house!”

My father comes back to see.

“It’s just the branches of the tree.”

There’s a ghost in this house.

I hear it creak-creak-creaking.

My favorite teddy I am squeeze-squeeze-squeezing.

There’s a ghost in this house.

I close my eyes tight.

This is such a very long night.

“There’s a ghost in this house!”

He holds me close in his arms.

“There is no ghost, nothing here will do you harm.”

There is no ghost in this house.

Just my father and me.

I know I am safe, that he helps me see.

There is no ghost in this house.

Just the pipes and trees and wind.

And my overactive mind.