Saw this picture.

And had to write a story.

The demon of hell.

He collects figurines.

Very collectable they are.

Dressed up in their finery.

Hair brushed.

Shoes shined.

In perfect health.

Hanging from his ceiling.

In the basement of hell.

He keeps them for all eternity.

Hanging in their clear casings.

Perfect pictures of health.

Except for one small fact.

They are all dead.




Night stretches long and silent.

The wind is blowing outside.

Can’t sleep.

Can’t close my eyes.

My eyes can’t stop watching

the dark shadows on the walls.

Shadows that move and sway

with the growing wind.

What is making these shadows?

What is outside my window?

I peek out and see flying branches

and leaves that

take on eerie shapes.

Some resemble bats, while others

take on the form of birds.

One minute they’re here, and the next,

they’re gone.

Should I be afraid?

Should I hide in my room?

Or should I venture outside

to check out the strange shadows?

Maybe I’ll close my eyes and try

to fall asleep.

My imagination could have been working over-time.

But wait! A dark figure is at my window, trying

to get inside. Is it human? It has no face.

Only a shadow in the wind.

So many shadows in the wind.