The house of no one at all Sits at the top of the hill The windows are gone the paint worn, chipped off The stories run wild The ghost of a dead child Roams the house at night Staying freakishly out of sight Black cats and witches on brooms Seen meandering dark rooms Heavy pounding on the walls It seems count Dracula calls Creaky floors and eerie lights Give candy beggars a scary fright Soft whispers heard in the halls Eyes stare from art on the walls Sticky spider webs hang