I walk alone each night.
The wind moans and howls,
but no one calls my name.
I walk alone each night,
waiting for the siren’s call.
But no one calls my name.
Who sits and waits in the darkness?
There is no movement in the blackness.
As still as a fox waiting to pounce,
No hint of a ruffle or a flounce.
A soft sigh can be heard in the air.
Are those slithering snakes in her hair?
Shadows shift through the circling dust
As the walls trickle with blood or rust.
The ghostly form stands tall to meet us.
She can be the hostess to greet us.
A deserted house this seems to be.
She hovers over us like a tree.
We stand alone in this bleak hall.
There won’t be dancing at this ball.
This was a silly lark.
Then the candles go dark.
Time to leave this creepy place.
We must quicken our snail’s pace.
But since this is a horror story,
We will not be leaving with glory.
Each night a woman appears.
Her shadow floats across the dimly lit garden.
The wind whistles in her wake.
One night, she doesn’t appear.
What happened to her?
I still wait.
Take a seat in the park.
A shadow passes.
More shadows follow.
They circle a gazebo.
The shadows take form.
Humans in hooded robes.
A woman hangs from a noose.
They circle faster.
The wind follows in their wake.
Cries fill the night.
The gazebo stands empty.
Another night in Oasis, Florida.
THE DEAD GAME
FOLLOW THE LIGHTS
Follow the lights to the house of glass.
There will be much splendor in the grass.
Lights in the trees as far as the eye could see.
A more decadent event there could not be.
Champagne will flow until the wee hours.
Come with me and dance among the flowers.
This room full of guests gives me a chill.
Maybe we should leave, I’ve had my fill.
Stares follow us in the room.
They’ll be upon us too soon.
The guests are not what they appear.
Beneath, they are just bones and hair.
THE DEAD GAME
Night falls in Oasis.
Shadows move in the breeze.
The Dead love their games.
Come and visit us, please.
The Dead Game Series by Susanne Leist
Darkness enters my room
in shades of midnight blue.
It breathes its cold breath
on my warm, sleeping face.
It wakes me from a dream
of blue cascading waves.
Instead, I am faced with the dark
and a hollow feeling inside.
Who opened my window?
Who let in the dark?
She stands at the window.
Age dares not to defy her.
Night bring her comfort.
Darkness, her only friend.
Her light flickers and fades.
She waits for you to come home.