Youthful

Last night, I heard a knocking at my door.
I stood and tried to calmly think this through.
Had I arranged an evening rendezvous?
asked I, while shaking at my very core.
I gulped. The answer, swallowed down my throat,
foretells the morbid nature of this call.
My heavy steps that echo through the halls
are bringing me to serve this call and beck.
Although my pounding heart does give me pause,
I clear my voice to greet my visitor.
The door, it creaks! I force a labored groan.
A shadow, bearing eyes that match my own,
constricts my breath with hands around my neck.