Good Help is Impossible to Find

In the back room
There are many secrets
Monsters and skeletons
In a constant state of agitation
That are better left undisturbed.
There are no sounds from within
But the feeling permeates the air
Making the guard uneasy
Glancing forward, glancing back
Pacing the narrow hall
With each repetition
Getting ever nearer to the room
The hand making aborted gestures
To grasp the handle, just to peek
Make sure everything is okay.
It's only when the guard sits
Contemplating the danger
Concluding that it's an apparition
The fancies of a bored imagination
A mind occupied in a body
In need of a vacation
That the hand grabs the knob
And all hell is released
With the sudden reminder
Of what happened
To the last guard.