Halloween Night
Your parents are away for the weekend:
The epic Friday Night all alone;
the fall is upon us and you decide
it is time you turn out all the lights…
Should not be scared, eh?
Waiting: Searching: Thinking:
His lips crease and snap;
“Snitches get Stitches”
was always the term:
All is quiet and dim;
the lights are all out and everything
is in black motion as one attempts sleep:
A Creak
A Groan
A Hum
A Moan
Shall one continue?
Must it be said?
He looks down upon you with such cold, sick eyes:
his hands outstretched at the end of your bed.
“Wake up you wretch!”
The words seek you immediately,
grip your ears and shatter the senses;
you feel a cold presence against between your shoulder blades…
Throw away the covers and turn on the light:
The night has gotten to you before,
nothing to worry about at all:
Nothing is wrong.
At the moment, anyway.
“Spell-Binding Witch”
The voice hisses, coiling around your neck
as an unseen force…
Grab your throat!
Quickly;
protect yourself from this invisible foe!
What are you waiting for?
Have you no right to life?!
Save yourself!
Save yourself while you can…
But no: “The voices are all in my head”
you mutter; you recover your nerve and turn out the light.
CLATTER!
A bolt against the window:
Someone is in your room.
In the gray slivers of moonlight you see nothing,
the blackness covers all else.
From the corner of your eye:
what’s that?!
“How could you – No! NO!”
The voices of the past flood back:
A cold chill grips you again.
A sharp “CHINK!” awakens you again:
you try to turn on the light, but alas, dead…
A power-outage.
“Have you no regrets?”
the same blood-curdling voice appears:
There! AT THE END OF YOUR BED!
He’s there again….
He leans into the strands of silvery moonlight
revealing the face of what once was:
His face is gray with such age and decay,
broken glasses sit crooked on his stubby nose.
His eyes are sunken into the sockets,
staring out blindly, intently…
There: his lips are stitched closed with a thick black thread:
As is a fine line at the base of his neck, where blood still scraped along the seems…
Dried blood has filled the cavities of his face since you’ve last seen him,
Maggots taking great joy in housing his jaw and left ear.
His hair is dark and matted, greasy and caked with dirt.
He reaches out a hand as you scream:
You leap out of bed and try to escape:
The Door’s locked!
Your eyes widen as you feel a chill on the back of our neck:
Bony, soot-covered fingers curl around your shoulder, finding their way up your neck, over your ear, to your eyes.
He whirls you around and demands,
“Scared yet, little brother?!
Are you?!”
He deliberately opens his mouth to the extent of the stitches,
revealing a singed gray tongue and rotted teeth filled with a variety of sickening color.
His eyes widen as you scream and he cackles.
Another “CHINK!”
A search of light overwhelms the area: the desk light is on again.
You close your eyes as you anticipate a terrible blow,
but you are stupefied to find that you are alone.
All Alone.
You lower your defensive arms from your face and walk over to your bed.
Terrified of the shadows, the light remains on for the time being.
“Just… a….”
you pant hesitantly, unsurely…
“A bad dream – just a dream….. just…..”
You lift your head slowly to look at the partly opened window.
“A bad dream.” you conclude.
As you bring the covers to you chin, however, you look around once more.
Over there: On the windows glass:
Burn marks.
And on the floor below:
A single quivering maggot.
With Thanksgiving gone, everybody has their sights set on Christmas.
