Poetry | Stories | Photography
The waning fire smoulders
They gather in the distance
voices from another time
deep shapes move towards the fire
shapeshifting metamorphoses
gather strength outside the circle
waves of gooseflesh stir the spirit
light and drums beat in the distance
from the cursed forest cathedral
Weeping from behind the brown door grew louder and louder until one could hear the crying from all corners of the house.
The house lives and breathes something primal; malice lingers in the corners, threatening those who venture too close to the flame.
She is only six, so she knows things and sees things the adults choose not to see, things adults choose to forget.
Weeping from behind the brown door stirs something forgotten in her soul as if she knows who occupies those walls.
Taking a torch, she pads tentatively along the hall of rooms to the one sitting at the end, the one with the brown door.
Experienced with keys and as sharp as a knife, she hastily acquires the key and puts the right one in the lock to see if it works.
A click and movement are all the convincing she needs to enter without fear, only to discover why the weeping continues.
Two eyes stare at her, and a quick movement frightens her, yet she holds her nerve and enters further into the room.
The eyes occupy a person. The person is familiar to her; the person is her long-lost sister, who she feared dead.
Convinced at once that this is her chance, she takes her sister’s hand, and they pad along the hall and out into the night.
Their parents wake up to two empty rooms and two sisters gone away by a vanishment that created a legend.
For the girls, they made their way through the forest and into the night; now, they live countries away without fear of the night.
There’s a way with the clouds today. As night approaches, the sky paints with the hues of grey, white, blues and pinks.
Anna never gets used to the sky colours, for those colours make her feel old and new things, dark and light things.
The sea is out over the cliffs. Tonight it’s still, which is an odd feeling. Although cool, there’s this mist hovering. “How peculiar”, Anna thinks, “It’s probably nothing.“
Walking into the house sends a strange chill down her spine. Something’s changed, but not for the better. The light doesn’t help.
Anna mutters in reassurance to only herself, “I’m not scared. It’s nothing. No one can hurt me now. Not now…“
The rattling begins soft, then gets louder. It’s as if the house has taken on a life of its own.
Anna screams inwardly, for the words no longer escape her lips. Terror grips her heart and then crushes her lungs.
Struggling through, she sees three ladies standing before her in a 1920’s dress. Their faces sneer and laugh as they pull her forward. The rattling starts again, they laugh at her, the rattling comes in louder waves, they smash her head against the wall and the rattling echoes.
Anna asks, “Where am I now?“
In unison, the ladies playfully answer, “You’re with us now whether you like it or not.“
You sit at that mahogany desk you love
diligently researching paranormal things.
You look for an answer to what isn’t clear;
sadness is cruel to your burning heart.
You miss me; I know this very, very well,
I miss you and hold on in this place still.
You held me in the last moments of life,
I remember all your words and actions.
You feel my touch, but I do alarm you so
I whisper in your ear, “Be my lungs, love.”
You look pained and move so violently
I cannot catch you as you fall from me.
You left those papers to be with me today
I’m sorry, yet it had to be this way, my love.
You see me now, but there is much horror;
I felt that way too, yet this horror will pass
you say, “It was always you here close.”
I say with conviction, “Yes. Always close.”
You look at me, and I look at you, and we see
we see the love we have for each other.
C & K 