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Category: Dark Magic
Maker
They say nights are quiet, silent even, but that really isn’t so.
It makes noises of its own.
Even the seemingly silent glide of the hunting owl whistles keen as wings slice wind, and prey screams before talons crack it open, spilling red life like the contents of a leaky whiskey barrel.
A late autumn cricket chirped in vain, born too late for mating. It too, will freeze and die in the cooling mornings, no progeny for spring.
I stared at the wheeling moon and stars, thinking I would stay here.
Believing I could.
I’ll leave tomorrow.
The chilled wind seized and shattered my breath’s vapor as it floated through the air.
My worn cloak had thinned into little more than a long rag full of holes where the cold poked at my legs like children’s fingers.
I took a look around the cemetery; everyone I knew was here.
Did they know that I was among them?
Could they hear my heart, see my breath, and hear the lonely cricket’s solo above the blowing, rustling leaves clattering against the tilted, faded headstones?
Did their wandering ghosts find it as beautiful as I did?
I shuddered in anticipation of the change to come when I heard the voice behind me, as if the very air itself had spoken:
“Are you ready?”
The anticipation turned to fright, the fright to something I couldn’t name.
The stink of him was overwhelming; his beauty, unparalleled by anything I could name.
No doubt he knew what I thought already; he let me fall into the power of his silent, evil presence, quiet and feral, an old snake full of intelligent insanity.
I used the headstone I’d sat against to pull myself up, not trusting my legs, then brushed off what autumn detritus didn’t fall on its own, as if appearance mattered now. I wanted to run screaming, to call him vile things, to spit in his bloody face after I beheaded him.
As he watched me struggle with myself, I sensed his patience start to crumble before the slow rise of his anger.
“Are you sure?”
His low, deep voice pierced my ears, a nail coated in honey, lethal and sweet, challenging me to defy him, laced with desire to punish me if I did.
In the silence of my trembling, looking into the jade and gold of his gleaming eyes, the tatters of my will fell to the cold, hard ground along with my bedraggled cloak.
It slipped from my shoulders, the cares of this world trapped in its filthy folds.
“Yes.”
He held out his hand
I went to him.
Broken Bells
Hear the toll of broken bells
Over hillsides
Down the dells
Angels sing in seven hells
Dead things crawl up out of wells
Demons crack their human shells
Ringing din at midnight swells
Night air’s rife with graveyard smells
Devils laugh discordant knells
At the sound of broken bells
Cara-Cell
As autumn dies,
the bitter night wind
seeps into the stone walls
of what has become my
new home.
Hope of leaving
abandoned me.
She peers into the defeat
replete within my gaze,
and smiles
with
pleased and mocking scorn.
Dressed in midnight,
she comes,
a cream-skinned shadow
in silvered fog,
and tells me her name
is
Cara,
as if I cared,
as if defeat had somehow
changed to affection.
A Murder follows her,
and obeys her every gesture.
Her lacquered black nails point,
and soft eyes are
plucked like jewels from bone settings,
the screams
drowned by the eldritch music
of their raucous cries.
Why do you stay? she whispers in my mind.
Do you not see there are no stones to bar your path?
No chains, no locks, no guards to block your way?
Blind,
I stumble past
the warring scents
of lavender and carrion,
to roam
the shrouded night.
Exhausted,
helpless,
and alone,
by dawn
I find myself
returning
once again,
to where she freed me.
And barefoot, shivering,
crying ice-laced tears,
I walk the frigid riverbed
back to my
Cara-cell.
Winged Moonlight
This pale raven,
prepared to shine,
this ivory plumage
s p a n n e d
beneath
the cobalt sky.
Alabaster wings
scatter stars,
red-gold talons
grip tight
the silver moon.
In silent flight
rising
above the
shadowed world,
breaking chains
of spirits,
herald of the
mist,
and emissary
of a
sunless realm,
nevermore
to shine.
Chrysalis
Within the dark green chrysalis
I see the torchlight’s glare.
As I walk down the flame-lit hall
I feel the demon’s stare.
He’s hidden and he’s silent
but he’s watching all the same.
He’s changing into something
that will want to play a game
of cat and mouse and hide and seek.
I’m not up to the task.
I’ll have to kill him quickly,
so no one will ever ask
“Who won the battle tween the two?”
I’ll win it handily,
And slice the chrysalis apart
and finally be free.
Night Roads
This is a WIP currently being written in serial form at the link below.
Please check it out, and feel free to comment.
Be honest, but kind.
If you troll me, I will send zombie vampires to hunt you. In a novel, of course….
We all know there’s no such thing as zombie vam– (OW! Get back down there, you stinking–!)
The Dreamstones of Kalpana
Recommended reading on WriteHere: The Dreamstones of Kalpana – http://wh.tl/160501-8
Source: The Dreamstones of Kalpana
You Are Most Welcome Here
Approach in reverence,
my friend.
You are most welcome here.
The fires will light your way
to me
and calm your doubt and fear.
Long years have we been waiting for
your soul
to bring its light.
And patience is its own reward.
Now welcome
to the night.
For when the doors are opened
friend,
there will be no return.
And hidden from
celestial sight
you’ll burn
and burn
and
burn.
There Are No Monsters Here
Knock-knock
within your closet
child
There are no monsters here
Knock-knock
beneath your bed
my child
There are no monsters here
Knock-knock
upon your dreams
dear child
There are no monsters here
They’re all inside your head
my child
That’s where the monsters dwell
I promise in the morning
child
you’ll find them in the well,
For there they find
the entryway back into
childhood’s hell.
Beyond Panic 