CWTF XI - A Sending

A terrible screech comes from outside
Followed by the tinkle of shattering glass
Which can barely be heard
Over the howl of the wind and roar of the rain
Letting out a string of profanities, you stand
Knocking the antique oak chair to the floor
The sound came from above
In that stale attic room, in which you fear to tread
It holds near-forgotten diaries
Journals that keep your secrets safe between their battered pages
And walls in which irksome poltergeists and revealing Polaroids call home
Every miserable failure, laid out for you to take note
A trophy cabernet of the defeated
Though it is not something you need reminding of is it
You know all too well

Each step groans and creaks underfoot
The flickering candle you hold
Casts dancing shadows on the wall
The door swings open by itself
And you step through