Ghost Stories

She hung with the smell of dry earth,
twisted in amongst forms of herself,
scratching black in the darkness
with long bloodied finger nails.
she mouthed each cry to give it form
but only found the guttural sounds of mourners.
 
The young couple wanted to remodel the cottage,
make it more open plan, party friendly.
The architect said the wall wasn’t structural,
so they played builder.
 
He should have stopped when he found the first cavity,
the lock of hair wrapped around three small bones.
 
With every thud of the lump hammer
her body snapped back into position.
Splintered light seemed to paste flesh
over wasted muscle and decayed sinews.
The couple could only see the macabre,
they missed the escaping spiral of dust
that seemed to move slowly in the sunlight.
 
Angry and cold, absorbing
any source of heat to feed the blackness
that seethed inside her.
She entered her old room
but everything had changed,
lemon drapes and fresh pale wood
decorated with a woodland mural.
 
Her face contorted into a hideous grin,
She had always wanted a baby.

A tale of long ago
told by bards with wares
to sell
of a village far away
where they tarried
for a while
a village named Gilgamon

Unhallowed night it was
when mortals huddled
in uneasy slumber
listening to the wails
of the wind
as incantations to ancient gods
by witches to raise
their dead prince
 
Granted with a token
to leave the portal
of the underworld
unguarded for a sigh
through the cracks
through the door
with the prince
others follow

Thus leave this soul
a lover of a pining princess
whom in life was betrothed to him
others who joined his quest
there merged into the sky
to seek their earthly coils
that alas had rotted to the soil
they crawled on the mossy green
of the village of Gilgamon

Upon the green and fields
They were seeking warmth
In mortal coils
and around the village of Gilgamon
Lyssa visited and lay waste
on each inhabitants with two souls
that mortal husks could not contain
thus each one slowly sank
and spew out both souls

Nature claimed Gilgamon
homes and hearth stand
visited by howling wind
strewn with dead flowers
Monuments of emptiness
In a flowery glade in the woods
yet should you chance
to rest within
Sighs of sorrow
Be your lullaby.

The sun sank into the western sky.
And the night rose from the eastern sky.
Boots were hung behind the tall, dark screen.
But in fear, I was prepared to scream.

She was black, shadowy, and fuzzy.
Her face, as usual, was too hazy.
She squatted still on my middle chest.
And all my breath left all of my chest.
 
I was dead and was sensing all things.
Hard I screamed to awaken all things.
Heared by none I wanted to wake up.
Thus, I tried until my strength dried up.

Her pair of claws were holding my throat.
My spirit above the bed did float.
The evils come when the dark night comes.
Soon the night comes, and soon evil comes.

In the void of your concern
you hear the steps to make you turn
a chill of air
a waft that someone's spirit stirred

Relationship still tied with intangible belief
a leash, seek freedom from the wanton
 regrets, sign the love letters. final kiss
the grey, that gavel in an empty auction

When love was held by puppet strings
preciousness of one that passed
 tug, was still a thing that clings
quick, was slipping from each grasp

 Feel a presence when alone
a butterfly land on your hand
 when you see the departed, spitting clone
struck dumb, who waved that magic wand?

The mist to pass across the mind
the rustle of the leaves not blown
the unseen hand that moves the blinds
an eeriness you cant disown

Our reach is further than we think
the busy life of pen and ink
do you hear the whisper, feel the link
and spectre's bend the quills sharp nib

 
There was black ice on the bridge
And the night was dark and cold
But he couldn’t wait to see her
Driving all night was brave and bold

He parked his car across the street
Then softly knocked on her door
But it seemed like no one was home
So he sat disheartened on the floor

He decided to go back to the car
But to his luck the car was stolen
So he decided to take long walk
Until his feet hurt and were swollen

He came upon an old shabby motel
But the lobby was vacant and empty
No one answered the desk bell
As the clock on the wall said five-twenty

He fell asleep there in the lobby couch
He didn’t wake up until later that night
He’d been so tired he slept all day
And decided to walk back quite in plight

The roads were lonely and desolate
No cars seemed to drive in the street
The houses were quite and dark
Except air carried the sound of his feet

He knocked on her door again
Still there was no one home
He thought of asking for help
Or least to use the phone

But no one opened their doors
As if everyone had disappeared
So he decided to walk back again
All this seemed a little too weird

As he walked down that road
He saw a car driving by
Tired he extended his thumb
And gladly asked for ride

An old priest stopped the car
And said “are you ok son?”
“My car was stolen” he said
“I’m sorry” he said stunned

They drove for nearly half an hour
In that long and lonely dark road
As the young man spoke of love
And how his passion never slowed

The priest suddenly slammed the brakes
And ran out frightened out of the car
Scampering into a near-by open diner
Leaving the engine running and door ajar

Confused the young man got out
Looking around to see what happened
Then slowly walked to the same diner
Scared, angry and also saddened

He sat distraught in a corner booth
Glad to see some patrons there
But he scanned and didn’t see the priest
Wondering why he left in despair

He waited but no one paid attention
Only hearing the sound of a T.V. screen
As the reporter said “ghost story”
He looked up and thought it was dream

“Locals report that they see a shadow
Of man walking at night in the streets”
His attention was now on the screen
As some of the patrons edged in their seats

“He was driving into town” the T.V. said
Coming to reconcile with his estranged wife
But the icy road conditions on that night..
....at the bridge and he lost his life”

That’s not true, he said to himself
“It’s true” a voice said behind the counter
An old waitress told some customers
“Some people have had an encounter”

“About five years ago” she continued
“A priest done come in here screaming
Saying he picked up a young man
Then disappeared like he’d been dreaming

They say he knocks on house doors
But when they open, no one is there
It’s as if he’s been asking for help
The way he must’ve died in despair”

“That’s not true” the young man yells
And runs out slamming the diner door
Running fast to his beloved’s arms
Trying to forget this cruel horror

By the next night he forgets the nightmare
Parking his car across the lonely street
Excited to hold his beloved in his arms
As the air carries the sound of his feet...