RED EYES

Source:

 

 

Who sits on my shelf

each night?

Who casts shadows

on my bedroom wall?

I move closer.

I must see what it is.

The head moves.

Its hood falls back.

A doll’s face appears.

A yellow glow

in the darkness.

Red eyes turn to me.

Burning a hot hole

right through me.

 

Advertisements

THE WASHING MACHINE

 

 

I’m having a bad dream,

no, maybe a nightmare,

of a washing machine.

 

It wakes me up at night.

It rumbles and whispers.

I hope it won’t take flight.

 

It’s moving and grooving

to a beat of its own,

that is far from soothing.

 

It’s a horrible sight.

A machine set to hard.

It’s ready for a fight.

 

I scream into my pillow.

“My clothing is all too clean,”

then I weep like a willow.

IT’S ALIVE

 

 

 

Puppet Master 2 (1991)

 

What do I see 

as I wake from sleep?

A puppet watching me.

 

It creaks.

It groans.

Its head spins.

 

It can’t be real.

It’s a wooden puppet.

No one pulls its strings.

 

It speaks

in a deep voice.

It can’t be alive.

 

It says,

“Time to play.”

I run to the door.

 

It can’t be.

It stands before me,

taller than me.

 

 

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.

 

DARK SHADOW

vintage-cf Deactivated

vintage blog

 

 

He walks in the night,

Ready for a fight.

No one comes near.

Most out of fear.

 

I won’t walk his way.

By the tree, I’ll stay

Until he’s gone from sight.

Only then I’ll take flight.

END HOUSE AT OASIS

 

 

End House sits alone and deserted.

Shutters torn and hanging.

Furniture upended.

Shattered pictures.

Shattered dreams.

What happened to the family?

 

Open the door.

Walk up the battered staircase.

Past the broken statues.

A sigh follows my hesitant steps.

A wind whistles through the empty rooms.

Dust swirls in mounds on the wood floors.

 

A scream rips through the rooms below.

Has the family returned,

Or am I the next victim?

The sound of footsteps on the stairs.

I must run.

I must hide.

 

They’re back.

 

THE DEAD GAME

 

 

DUST IN THE WIND

 

I’m alone

Beneath a tree

In a garden.

No sounds

But birds chirping.

The smell of grass

in the warm air.

What is that sound?

The wind rustling the leaves.

Beautiful.

Relaxing.

Perfect.

The sun retreats.

 

Footsteps draw near.

Too dark to see who it is.

It can’t be.

I’m now dust in the wind.

THE DARK FOREST

THE DARK FOREST
Come and visit us.
Follow the path.
Where does it lead?
Deep into a forest.
Down a dark road.
Ignore the moans.
They are only animals.
Howls of a pack of wild dogs.
They love people.
It’s safe for you.
Don’t look back.
Face...

 

THE DARK FOREST

Come and visit us.
Follow the path.
Where does it lead?
Deep into a forest.
Down a dark road.
Ignore the moans.
The howls from a pack of wolves.
They love people.
It’s safe.
Don’t look back.
Face forward.
Soon you’ll be there.
Be prepared for anything.
Don’t be afraid.
End House is waiting for you.
And so are The Dead.

THE DEAD GAME

 

THE DARK FOE

Dark day
Source: hiraeeeth

 

Night drifts closer.

Black replaces blue.

Clouds fall slowly.

A dark day for you.

 

Grey clouds soak the pink.

The waves hit the shore.

I know what you think.

You can’t take much more.

 

Truth is hard to bear.

Our town lost its glow.

Nightwalkers are here.

Lost to the dark foe.

 

THE DEAD GAME

 

FOLLOW THE CURIOUS

Cobblestone by cemetery

FOLLOW THE CURIOUS

The cobblestones glisten

under the moonlight.

Gravestones peek out

in the heavy fog.

Moans sweep the winds

that rustle the lifeless trees.

A gate stands open

to welcome the curious.

Footsteps draw closer

to my hiding place.

A cloaked figure enters

the home of the dead.

It disappears inside a mausoleum

with a lone angel standing guard.

Goosebumps riddle my body

as I inch forward from my spot.

I can’t stand the suspense.

I must find the meeting place

of the dead and gone.

THE DEAD GAME

Kindle​

http://amzn.to/1lKvMrP

Nook

http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj

PUPPET

puppet

areyou-stillawake
Puppet Master 2 (1991)

I wake from a deep sleep.

I look across the room.

To a shelf high up.

A puppet sits there.

Its head pops up.

The head spins around.

It can’t be real.

A wooden puppet can’t be alive.

Then it speaks.

In a deep voice.

“Time to play,” it says.

I run to the door.

No!

It’s standing before me.

Taller than me.

Arms reaching for me.

A gleam in its black eyes.

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.