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Ghost Town

by Cristel Hastings

published in WEIRD TALES, November 1933

The hills are quite the same, the mountains, too;

The sun is just as bright, the sky as blue

As hills and suns of other years--

Only the town is not what it appears.

Once laughter sounded here, and dancing feet;

Once miners came with new wealth down the street--

Now there is brooding silence day and night,

And windows stare like eyes bereft of sight.

Doors hang on leather hinges, open wide;

The gloomy rooms are host to ghosts inside--

Here grizzled wraiths of miners wander by

On moonless nights down where the creek-bed lie.

Time made of this one street a weed-grown trail;

No voices here except of winds that wail

Through doorless shanties where the pack-rats run

Through dusty webs some luckless spider spun.