Poetry competition CLOSED 14th July 2024 8:53pm
WINNER
Grace (IDryad)
Grace (IDryad)
Write a ghost story
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
The Ghost Stone
- The Ghost Stone -
A true story of the supernatural, from my childhood.
Chapter One: The Haunted Fairgrounds
(An old country road in the summer)
The year was 1980, and it was summertime…
I still remember the day, when I was about six years old, and my grandfather took me to a fair in the tiny town of Blandford in Massachusetts. Back when I was a little kid, things seemed so much simpler, but on that day, in that tiny town, I was about to have my first experience with death. It all began when we were riding down an old road past some thickly wooded rural parts. Here and there, farmland was of a want to stretch out for miles and miles upon end. Our little Volkswagen beetle had been to a lot of out of the way places before, and it would take us to many such places again. But today, it took us on our way through Blandford… and as we passed a spot of the road where the occasional house was perched upon raised ground to our right, I looked to our left and saw part of the fairgrounds. The parts I noticed were located beyond a thin string of old willow trees, where a rough road wound down into the left-hand part of the grounds themselves. The part of the fair in question was set up amidst the more natural contours of the woodlands that lay beyond those willows and down into a sort of large square depression of land… although down the street, across it to the right, and up on the much higher ground where the houses I spotted earlier loomed, was the main fair itself, upon some old farmlands where a Ferris wheel and the far more popular attractions were set up. I looked up that way and saw some old cattle barns and even older houses. But for now, we decided to take the left-hand road and enjoy that side of the fair before crossing the road further down to the main part with all of those slendid attractions that people think of when they think of these fairs. We drove down past the willows and into the square wooded area… and as we did so, I could see more than just modern people enjoying themselves. I could see people dressed in the attire of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s amongst them! Women in their long dresses with bustles, their pretty heads topped with long-brimmed hats decorated with pink ribbons and flowers mixed with the crowds, along with men in bowler hats and very prim and proper suits, decorated with gold chain pocket-watches. The younger men and all the teenagers wore white suits with white straw hats, the hatbands being red white and blue ribbons. Not surprisingly, my grandfather did not see those people from another era. That was how I came to realize that they were, in fact, ghosts of people long dead.
Chapter Two: The Children by the Stream
(The two children playing by the stream)
They were selling replica white straw hats of the sort I had seen on the ghosts earlier. Apparently, this was to celebrate part of the history and tradition of the Blandford fair. My grandfather bought one and wore it, never realizing why I might have found that so eerie. The smell of freshly cut summer grass was mixing with that of the concession stands, which sold hot dogs, hamburgers, and drinks of all kinds. My grandfather decided to go try his luck at some games of chance while I went off to look for some kids my own age to play with. Back then, it was a more innocent time and parents didn’t need to worry as much about their children’s safety as they need to now in the 21st century. Kids were always safe at the fair, and so I was. I ran along the booths with their attractions, and past the people both of this world and of the next… until at last I spotted a large stream that cut through thick woods on both sides of it. Some old stones made it possible to cross the stream in one spot, and an old dirt trail ran along that small ford, towards a distant field where some structures rose up out of a vast stretch of farmland. I saw two children playing next to a massive boulder set into the ground by time immemorial just on the other side of the stream, and to the left of the ford on their side. I crossed over the stream to them and asked them what they were playing. “Hide and seek!” said a little girl who was dressed in a white old-fashioned style gingham dress. She wore her brown hair in braids and had sparkling brown eyes, filled with life and wonder. The other child, her brother, was dressed in some denim overalls and he wore a straw hat, looking much like Tom Sawyer might. He had his sister’s brown hair and dark eyes, and he asked me: “So, do you want to play with us?” And I said: “Yeah, sure! Why not?” and so we played hide and seek amongst the trees, but never venturing too far from the old boulder. I began to wonder why this was, while we picked up some pebbles and skipped the stones across the stream. After a game of tag of “Tag, you’re it!” we returned to the boulder and the little girl produced a smooth white stone that she and her brother seemed to be in awe of. She showed it to me, and I touched it. It felt much as any other stone would, and other than its’ odd color and smoothness I though nothing of it. But far more was there to it!
Chapter Three: The Secret of the Stone
(The white stone sitting on the boulder)
“You can touch the stone? Really?” said the little boy to me as I held the smooth white stone in my hand. The boy and his sister had passed it to me, and seemed genuinely surprised by this. “Of course I can!” I said. “It’s just a stone, isn’t it?” and the little girl told me this: “But you are alive! It isn’t normally possible for a living human being to be able to touch the white stone.” And I asked the little girl: “But, aren’t you two human beings?” and the little boy said: “No, not any more. We used to be, though, a long time ago.” And the girl pointed towards the structures I had noticed earlier in the farmlands not far from where we played by that massive boulder. She then, ever so hauntingly, explained: “Something fell out of the sky and there was a fire. It got really hot, and we went to sleep. We’ve been like this ever since. Come on… follow me!” and she and her brother ran towards those structures. I followed them, running just as fast as I could for a six year old, and soon I saw all too clearly what those structures were. One was an old barn, burnt black and falling apart with a massive hole torn into the side of it. The other was once a farmhouse, but it has been gutted by the same fire that must have destroyed the barn… parts of the house still were intact though, and the white paint was flaking off in places. Out of the ruined house came a man who was dressed in blue denim overalls, a white shirt with puffy sleeves, and a pointy hat with a wide circular brim. The man had brown curly hair and eyes that were white and gray with not a hint of color in them. He was clean-shaven, and looked like an old-fashioned farmer. The little girl and her brother ran into the man’s arms calling: “Daddy!” and the man asked them who their new friend was. I introduced myself, and the man said: “You seem like a nice boy, playing with my kids like that and making them smile and laugh like they used to! My little girl tells me you can touch the stone too. Human beings can’t do that, unless they’re dead. But you aren’t dead, so you must be more than just a regular, normal human being.” I changed the subject asked the man: “What happened to your house?” and he told me the tragic story: “One night, I was out in the field tending to my cows when this big thing all made of metal came crashing down out of the sky, all on fire. It crashed into my barn, and I went to see what it was… but the fire was too hot and it spread too fast across the field unto the house, where the kids were sleeping. I tried to get back to reach them, but the fire caught me first! Everything got real hazy to try and remember after that. I recall that after a spell, some important looking types came by and took the metal thing away. That white stone fell out of it, and I picked it up. Other memories are harder to think of, like our kin coming by and crying about us being gone… even though me and my kids were right there, it was like our kin couldn’t see us no more! They went away and never came by to visit us again. Since then, you’re the first person to treat us decently. Thank you, boy! Thank you.”
Chapter Four: The Summertime Spirit
(The Blandford Fair's main attractions)
Right about then, my grandfather showed up and the farmer put his finger up to lips, calling for silence. “What are you doing way out here?” my grandfather jovilally asked me. “Playing with these two kids.” I said, pointing to the boy and girl. My grandfather said: “Oh, you made some friends here? They must have gone home by now.” And I realized he just couldn’t see them. I remarked: “Yeah, I made some new friends. They were really nice, and we playing with this neat white stone.” And I went to show it to him, but he couldn’t see the smooth white stone either. Instead, he noticed an old baseball nearby and had assumed that was what I was referring to. “You mean that white ball?” and I explained: “No, it was a really small white rock… totally smooth… that you can fit in the palm of your hand. It’s sitting right on that big boulder over there, where we left it!” But when we walked over there, the stone was gone. I saw it in the little girl’s hand, as she, her brother and their father walked away. Back up to their burned house near their burned barn. I yelled out: “Goodbye! I had fun!” and they waved back before they disappeared as though they had never existed at all. My grandfather said: “Oh, they live up past there? Hmmm, I didn’t know that anybody did. Not these days, anyway.” And he seemed to have that look on his face that adults will get when they are trying to figure out what kids are talking about. “Oh well! Come on: let’s go over to the other part of the fair down and across the street. Maybe you’ll win a new stuffed toy at one of the chance games there!” and I happily agreed, thinking little about my experience with the ghostly family from a long time ago. I asked my grandfather: “Do you think I’ll see them again the next time we come?” and he said to me: “You never know. But next year I think we’ll go to some new place. Don’t worry… wherever it is, it will be fun! I promise.” And so after a full day at the other part of the fair, where I saw the famous White Church where fiddlers held a contest... and I won a stuffed whale at a game of chance before riding on the Ferris wheel (which got stuck at the top for a long time, scaring me within an inch of my life), then afterward going to see a local cattle auction… we decided to call it a day and head on home. All the way back, though, I could not help thinking about the ghostly family and what they told me. When I got home, I would have to ask my grandmother about it. She was the expert in our family on stuff like ghosts and other paranormal things. Yes… I would ask her!
Epilogue: The Mystery Revealed
(The fallen angel appears to me at the park)
We got home, and I told my grandmother and mother all about my adventure with the two children and their father. My grandmother brought out an old book all about the paranormal, and then she skimmed to a page in it that told about a U.F.O. that had crashed into a barn in Blandford back in the early 1900’s. The article went on to explain that the story of the crash was covered up and never put into any history books… and that people even tried to pretend that it had never happened at all. However, the part that held my attention the most was a minor passage that told of the death of the small family that lived there: two children and their father, a divorced local farmer. All of who burned to death in the fire… which locally was blamed on other, less cosmic causes than a U.F.O. My eyes went wide with that dark revelation, and I nervously said to my grandmother: “Grandma… I truly think, that I can see ghosts.” She then replied: “Don’t worry, my dear. In our family, we all can. Except for your grandpa. But he’s seen other things in his time than ghosts so don’t you worry about him believing you. He does.” But one mystery would continue to haunt me always… had I touched an alien stone from another world? Today I am thirty-six years old, and although I have studied the paranormal extensively since then, only an elusive passage from the Bible ever came close to explaining what I had once held in my hand when I was a child: 'To him who overcomes, I will give... a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it' (Revelation 2:17). When I was sixteen years old… I even encountered my guardian angel at a local park near my home! She then revealed to me my “True Name” and told me hers, explaining that she was my sister, and that she was a fallen angel with I myself being one in human form. Just as foretold by the Book of Revelation, I was given a new name… exactly ten years after touching the white stone. A name known only to me, to my guardian angel, and to God! A name I have never told to anyone. Some say angels are spiritual beings, whilst others claim they are human-like aliens. All I know is that I am as human as anyone else, in body. But in spirit, I have always been different. The words of the ghostly farmer seem to hold an explanation all their own: “My little girl tells me you can touch the stone too. Human beings can’t do that, unless they’re dead. But you aren’t dead, so you must be more than just a regular, normal human being.” You don’t choose to awaken, but once you do it is hard to sleep again. For oft at night, what dreams may come of which we cannot speak!
A true story of the supernatural, from my childhood.
Chapter One: The Haunted Fairgrounds
(An old country road in the summer)
The year was 1980, and it was summertime…
I still remember the day, when I was about six years old, and my grandfather took me to a fair in the tiny town of Blandford in Massachusetts. Back when I was a little kid, things seemed so much simpler, but on that day, in that tiny town, I was about to have my first experience with death. It all began when we were riding down an old road past some thickly wooded rural parts. Here and there, farmland was of a want to stretch out for miles and miles upon end. Our little Volkswagen beetle had been to a lot of out of the way places before, and it would take us to many such places again. But today, it took us on our way through Blandford… and as we passed a spot of the road where the occasional house was perched upon raised ground to our right, I looked to our left and saw part of the fairgrounds. The parts I noticed were located beyond a thin string of old willow trees, where a rough road wound down into the left-hand part of the grounds themselves. The part of the fair in question was set up amidst the more natural contours of the woodlands that lay beyond those willows and down into a sort of large square depression of land… although down the street, across it to the right, and up on the much higher ground where the houses I spotted earlier loomed, was the main fair itself, upon some old farmlands where a Ferris wheel and the far more popular attractions were set up. I looked up that way and saw some old cattle barns and even older houses. But for now, we decided to take the left-hand road and enjoy that side of the fair before crossing the road further down to the main part with all of those slendid attractions that people think of when they think of these fairs. We drove down past the willows and into the square wooded area… and as we did so, I could see more than just modern people enjoying themselves. I could see people dressed in the attire of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s amongst them! Women in their long dresses with bustles, their pretty heads topped with long-brimmed hats decorated with pink ribbons and flowers mixed with the crowds, along with men in bowler hats and very prim and proper suits, decorated with gold chain pocket-watches. The younger men and all the teenagers wore white suits with white straw hats, the hatbands being red white and blue ribbons. Not surprisingly, my grandfather did not see those people from another era. That was how I came to realize that they were, in fact, ghosts of people long dead.
Chapter Two: The Children by the Stream
(The two children playing by the stream)
They were selling replica white straw hats of the sort I had seen on the ghosts earlier. Apparently, this was to celebrate part of the history and tradition of the Blandford fair. My grandfather bought one and wore it, never realizing why I might have found that so eerie. The smell of freshly cut summer grass was mixing with that of the concession stands, which sold hot dogs, hamburgers, and drinks of all kinds. My grandfather decided to go try his luck at some games of chance while I went off to look for some kids my own age to play with. Back then, it was a more innocent time and parents didn’t need to worry as much about their children’s safety as they need to now in the 21st century. Kids were always safe at the fair, and so I was. I ran along the booths with their attractions, and past the people both of this world and of the next… until at last I spotted a large stream that cut through thick woods on both sides of it. Some old stones made it possible to cross the stream in one spot, and an old dirt trail ran along that small ford, towards a distant field where some structures rose up out of a vast stretch of farmland. I saw two children playing next to a massive boulder set into the ground by time immemorial just on the other side of the stream, and to the left of the ford on their side. I crossed over the stream to them and asked them what they were playing. “Hide and seek!” said a little girl who was dressed in a white old-fashioned style gingham dress. She wore her brown hair in braids and had sparkling brown eyes, filled with life and wonder. The other child, her brother, was dressed in some denim overalls and he wore a straw hat, looking much like Tom Sawyer might. He had his sister’s brown hair and dark eyes, and he asked me: “So, do you want to play with us?” And I said: “Yeah, sure! Why not?” and so we played hide and seek amongst the trees, but never venturing too far from the old boulder. I began to wonder why this was, while we picked up some pebbles and skipped the stones across the stream. After a game of tag of “Tag, you’re it!” we returned to the boulder and the little girl produced a smooth white stone that she and her brother seemed to be in awe of. She showed it to me, and I touched it. It felt much as any other stone would, and other than its’ odd color and smoothness I though nothing of it. But far more was there to it!
Chapter Three: The Secret of the Stone
(The white stone sitting on the boulder)
“You can touch the stone? Really?” said the little boy to me as I held the smooth white stone in my hand. The boy and his sister had passed it to me, and seemed genuinely surprised by this. “Of course I can!” I said. “It’s just a stone, isn’t it?” and the little girl told me this: “But you are alive! It isn’t normally possible for a living human being to be able to touch the white stone.” And I asked the little girl: “But, aren’t you two human beings?” and the little boy said: “No, not any more. We used to be, though, a long time ago.” And the girl pointed towards the structures I had noticed earlier in the farmlands not far from where we played by that massive boulder. She then, ever so hauntingly, explained: “Something fell out of the sky and there was a fire. It got really hot, and we went to sleep. We’ve been like this ever since. Come on… follow me!” and she and her brother ran towards those structures. I followed them, running just as fast as I could for a six year old, and soon I saw all too clearly what those structures were. One was an old barn, burnt black and falling apart with a massive hole torn into the side of it. The other was once a farmhouse, but it has been gutted by the same fire that must have destroyed the barn… parts of the house still were intact though, and the white paint was flaking off in places. Out of the ruined house came a man who was dressed in blue denim overalls, a white shirt with puffy sleeves, and a pointy hat with a wide circular brim. The man had brown curly hair and eyes that were white and gray with not a hint of color in them. He was clean-shaven, and looked like an old-fashioned farmer. The little girl and her brother ran into the man’s arms calling: “Daddy!” and the man asked them who their new friend was. I introduced myself, and the man said: “You seem like a nice boy, playing with my kids like that and making them smile and laugh like they used to! My little girl tells me you can touch the stone too. Human beings can’t do that, unless they’re dead. But you aren’t dead, so you must be more than just a regular, normal human being.” I changed the subject asked the man: “What happened to your house?” and he told me the tragic story: “One night, I was out in the field tending to my cows when this big thing all made of metal came crashing down out of the sky, all on fire. It crashed into my barn, and I went to see what it was… but the fire was too hot and it spread too fast across the field unto the house, where the kids were sleeping. I tried to get back to reach them, but the fire caught me first! Everything got real hazy to try and remember after that. I recall that after a spell, some important looking types came by and took the metal thing away. That white stone fell out of it, and I picked it up. Other memories are harder to think of, like our kin coming by and crying about us being gone… even though me and my kids were right there, it was like our kin couldn’t see us no more! They went away and never came by to visit us again. Since then, you’re the first person to treat us decently. Thank you, boy! Thank you.”
Chapter Four: The Summertime Spirit
(The Blandford Fair's main attractions)
Right about then, my grandfather showed up and the farmer put his finger up to lips, calling for silence. “What are you doing way out here?” my grandfather jovilally asked me. “Playing with these two kids.” I said, pointing to the boy and girl. My grandfather said: “Oh, you made some friends here? They must have gone home by now.” And I realized he just couldn’t see them. I remarked: “Yeah, I made some new friends. They were really nice, and we playing with this neat white stone.” And I went to show it to him, but he couldn’t see the smooth white stone either. Instead, he noticed an old baseball nearby and had assumed that was what I was referring to. “You mean that white ball?” and I explained: “No, it was a really small white rock… totally smooth… that you can fit in the palm of your hand. It’s sitting right on that big boulder over there, where we left it!” But when we walked over there, the stone was gone. I saw it in the little girl’s hand, as she, her brother and their father walked away. Back up to their burned house near their burned barn. I yelled out: “Goodbye! I had fun!” and they waved back before they disappeared as though they had never existed at all. My grandfather said: “Oh, they live up past there? Hmmm, I didn’t know that anybody did. Not these days, anyway.” And he seemed to have that look on his face that adults will get when they are trying to figure out what kids are talking about. “Oh well! Come on: let’s go over to the other part of the fair down and across the street. Maybe you’ll win a new stuffed toy at one of the chance games there!” and I happily agreed, thinking little about my experience with the ghostly family from a long time ago. I asked my grandfather: “Do you think I’ll see them again the next time we come?” and he said to me: “You never know. But next year I think we’ll go to some new place. Don’t worry… wherever it is, it will be fun! I promise.” And so after a full day at the other part of the fair, where I saw the famous White Church where fiddlers held a contest... and I won a stuffed whale at a game of chance before riding on the Ferris wheel (which got stuck at the top for a long time, scaring me within an inch of my life), then afterward going to see a local cattle auction… we decided to call it a day and head on home. All the way back, though, I could not help thinking about the ghostly family and what they told me. When I got home, I would have to ask my grandmother about it. She was the expert in our family on stuff like ghosts and other paranormal things. Yes… I would ask her!
Epilogue: The Mystery Revealed
(The fallen angel appears to me at the park)
We got home, and I told my grandmother and mother all about my adventure with the two children and their father. My grandmother brought out an old book all about the paranormal, and then she skimmed to a page in it that told about a U.F.O. that had crashed into a barn in Blandford back in the early 1900’s. The article went on to explain that the story of the crash was covered up and never put into any history books… and that people even tried to pretend that it had never happened at all. However, the part that held my attention the most was a minor passage that told of the death of the small family that lived there: two children and their father, a divorced local farmer. All of who burned to death in the fire… which locally was blamed on other, less cosmic causes than a U.F.O. My eyes went wide with that dark revelation, and I nervously said to my grandmother: “Grandma… I truly think, that I can see ghosts.” She then replied: “Don’t worry, my dear. In our family, we all can. Except for your grandpa. But he’s seen other things in his time than ghosts so don’t you worry about him believing you. He does.” But one mystery would continue to haunt me always… had I touched an alien stone from another world? Today I am thirty-six years old, and although I have studied the paranormal extensively since then, only an elusive passage from the Bible ever came close to explaining what I had once held in my hand when I was a child: 'To him who overcomes, I will give... a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it' (Revelation 2:17). When I was sixteen years old… I even encountered my guardian angel at a local park near my home! She then revealed to me my “True Name” and told me hers, explaining that she was my sister, and that she was a fallen angel with I myself being one in human form. Just as foretold by the Book of Revelation, I was given a new name… exactly ten years after touching the white stone. A name known only to me, to my guardian angel, and to God! A name I have never told to anyone. Some say angels are spiritual beings, whilst others claim they are human-like aliens. All I know is that I am as human as anyone else, in body. But in spirit, I have always been different. The words of the ghostly farmer seem to hold an explanation all their own: “My little girl tells me you can touch the stone too. Human beings can’t do that, unless they’re dead. But you aren’t dead, so you must be more than just a regular, normal human being.” You don’t choose to awaken, but once you do it is hard to sleep again. For oft at night, what dreams may come of which we cannot speak!
Written by Kou_Indigo
(Karam L. Parveen-Ashton)
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The Chair
Someone had left a large, black wheelchair next to the metal trash bin outside her apartment.
It looked to be in good condition. She dusted it off and slowly wheeled it through the front door of her place. It seemed sad for such a thing to be thrown away. She wondered if the person whom it had belonged to had maybe passed away.
She tried not to think about it.
Maybe she could have use for it. It would be a useful thing to transport trash bags with. She hated going to the trash bin, and there were already numerous bags of trash accumulating in her kitchen.
It was difficult for her to walk now. She’d gained so much weight. She was forced to use a walker, and it was humiliating and degrading.
She sat down at her small table in the living room. This table was actually a wooden electric wire spool covered with a meager table cloth, upon which she housed what comprised her life: her medication bag, makeup, jewelry, perfume. Two television remotes. Face cream and baby wipes. And a few, errant, empty plastic water bottles. Books rested at the bottom of the table, books she hadn’t read in so long. A tablet of white art paper sat unused, along with pencils and small paints and brushes.
She’d tried to draw and paint again. But nothing came.
She looked to the black wheelchair sitting in the center of her living room. It seemed dark and strange and incongruous against her small, meager apartment walls with their various light paintings of flowers… Her place she had tried her best to decorate and shape into some semblance of a home.
She sat and drew a shaky breath. It was proving to be a long day. The hours stretched out with nothing to do. Nothing shimmered with hope.
She didn’t work. She’d been on disability since she was in her twenties for bipolar depression, and though she’d tried her hand at different jobs throughout the years, she could never seem to keep a job for longer than a year. Her longest employment had involved working at a funeral home. She’d fiercely loved it, and she’d felt like she was helping people. She’d felt needed, and necessary.
But it hadn’t lasted. And for some reason, none of that seemed to matter now.
She continued to sit.
***
Dusk began to fall outside her window.
She reached for one of the television remotes, but something stilled her hand. She was in no mood to watch TV.
She picked up a book from the bottom of the table. But when she opened the first page, the words began to swim in a blurred haze before her eyes. She closed it softly.
She missed her 24 year-old daughter. But she knew her daughter was busy with her own life. A boyfriend, online college, work…
She had no friends. No lover.
It was gradual, what she liked to call the “fading.”
Simply, a darkness slowly crept over and inside her like a murky blanket; nothing shimmered with pleasure, or promise. Her mind fumbled and tried desperately to catch at small activities, small hopes that would bring her distraction from the growing sense of pain and emptiness that was welling inside her, which only seemed to grow more intense as the night grew quieter and the shadows lengthened.
Her eyes traveled to the window. The black wheelchair was reflected there.
Her breath caught softly in her chest.
She thought, for one fleeting glimpse, that there was a person sitting in the wheelchair. A shadowy form seemed to be hunched in the seat, forlorn, lifeless, as if there was no hope, no purpose. No meaning anymore to be found within existence.
But it was just a play of shadows.
But the night grew even darker. And so did her soul. She felt herself slipping away. And desperately she tried to grab on to invisible tethers inside her heart and mind, like ropes, that might save her from the emptiness and the shadows.
As tears slipped down her face, she raised herself slowly and painfully, and walked silently to the wheelchair.
***
When the police opened the apartment some days later, they found a motionless, lonely form slouched in the wheelchair.
She was gone.
It looked to be in good condition. She dusted it off and slowly wheeled it through the front door of her place. It seemed sad for such a thing to be thrown away. She wondered if the person whom it had belonged to had maybe passed away.
She tried not to think about it.
Maybe she could have use for it. It would be a useful thing to transport trash bags with. She hated going to the trash bin, and there were already numerous bags of trash accumulating in her kitchen.
It was difficult for her to walk now. She’d gained so much weight. She was forced to use a walker, and it was humiliating and degrading.
She sat down at her small table in the living room. This table was actually a wooden electric wire spool covered with a meager table cloth, upon which she housed what comprised her life: her medication bag, makeup, jewelry, perfume. Two television remotes. Face cream and baby wipes. And a few, errant, empty plastic water bottles. Books rested at the bottom of the table, books she hadn’t read in so long. A tablet of white art paper sat unused, along with pencils and small paints and brushes.
She’d tried to draw and paint again. But nothing came.
She looked to the black wheelchair sitting in the center of her living room. It seemed dark and strange and incongruous against her small, meager apartment walls with their various light paintings of flowers… Her place she had tried her best to decorate and shape into some semblance of a home.
She sat and drew a shaky breath. It was proving to be a long day. The hours stretched out with nothing to do. Nothing shimmered with hope.
She didn’t work. She’d been on disability since she was in her twenties for bipolar depression, and though she’d tried her hand at different jobs throughout the years, she could never seem to keep a job for longer than a year. Her longest employment had involved working at a funeral home. She’d fiercely loved it, and she’d felt like she was helping people. She’d felt needed, and necessary.
But it hadn’t lasted. And for some reason, none of that seemed to matter now.
She continued to sit.
***
Dusk began to fall outside her window.
She reached for one of the television remotes, but something stilled her hand. She was in no mood to watch TV.
She picked up a book from the bottom of the table. But when she opened the first page, the words began to swim in a blurred haze before her eyes. She closed it softly.
She missed her 24 year-old daughter. But she knew her daughter was busy with her own life. A boyfriend, online college, work…
She had no friends. No lover.
It was gradual, what she liked to call the “fading.”
Simply, a darkness slowly crept over and inside her like a murky blanket; nothing shimmered with pleasure, or promise. Her mind fumbled and tried desperately to catch at small activities, small hopes that would bring her distraction from the growing sense of pain and emptiness that was welling inside her, which only seemed to grow more intense as the night grew quieter and the shadows lengthened.
Her eyes traveled to the window. The black wheelchair was reflected there.
Her breath caught softly in her chest.
She thought, for one fleeting glimpse, that there was a person sitting in the wheelchair. A shadowy form seemed to be hunched in the seat, forlorn, lifeless, as if there was no hope, no purpose. No meaning anymore to be found within existence.
But it was just a play of shadows.
But the night grew even darker. And so did her soul. She felt herself slipping away. And desperately she tried to grab on to invisible tethers inside her heart and mind, like ropes, that might save her from the emptiness and the shadows.
As tears slipped down her face, she raised herself slowly and painfully, and walked silently to the wheelchair.
***
When the police opened the apartment some days later, they found a motionless, lonely form slouched in the wheelchair.
She was gone.
Written by toniscales
(Lost Girl)
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Bishop's Ferry
“You not from ‘round’ here, are you?”
Sam turned to find a brown-haired mousy little girl peering over his shoulder. “How would you know that?”
“I ain’t seen ya before. That means you ain’t been here.”
“Do you keep attendance at study hall or something?” Sam shifted in his seat for a better view.
“Or something,” she smiled. “You from up north, ain’t ya? Got a weird accent. It’s kinda cute. I bet you use a lot of big words.”
“Should we be carrying on a conversation in the middle of study hall? I mean, aren’t we supposed to be quiet… eh, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name?”
“My name’s Meg, and it’s hard to catch. Like smoke, sometimes it’s best to breathe it in. As for being quiet, don’t nobody actually study in study hall. The term is a guise, as you northerners like to say. All we do in here is shoot the shit and jerk off.” Meg leaned over and folded her arms across the back of the seat in front of her. She peered into Sam’s green eyes. “Just to be clear, the girls shoot the shit. The guys do the jerking… unless they need help.”
Sam dropped a handful of pencils on the floor and nearly knocked his laptop off his desk. It took him several seconds to gain his composure. Megan curiously watched as he collected himself. “That teacher up front doesn’t bother you about talking in class?”
“Who, Mr. Aardvark?” Meg giggled conspicuously. “He’s locked into nudes on his cell, oblivious to the world. I’ve walked up there before and seen what he was doing… snuck up on him just like a cat, scared him half to death. You could bang me against the wall in here without ever disturbing him.” The girl gave Sam her best Groucho Marx imitation, working her dark eyebrows up and down.
“You don’t need to be so crass,” he finally responded, firing up the screen on his computer.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Meg replied.
“It means I didn’t come from up north. My parents moved here from Texas. Dad got a new job just in time for my senior year.” Sam sounded exasperated.
“That’s not what it means,” the girl sneered. “And you don’t talk like no Texan I’ve ever heard. Wait, did ya’ll buy that big house on 5th Street… the three-story job?”
“That’s the one,” Sam confirmed. “The trucks pulled up last week with the furniture. The weather’s been miserably hot, dealing with all those boxes. The house is a freaking dust bowl.”
“That’s the Lipscomb mansion. It’s been on the market for years, and everyone knows the place is haunted. The old man’s wife shoved him and his mistress off the bedroom balcony one night. Now, their ghosts roam the halls for eternity.”
“I guess they’re banging against the walls too,” Sam chuckled.
“There and everywhere else,” Megan laughed. Several heads turned to see what she was doing. She covered her mouth, slightly embarrassed. “But you shouldn’t be so crass, Sam Nash.”
“How did you know my name?”
“You wrote it on the front of your notebook, silly… or did the ghosts write that for you? Please don’t tell me your mother’s responsible.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Sam curtly responded, looking away at his computer and feigning disinterest.
“Do you believe in banging?” Megan traced the boy’s hairline on the back of his neck, gently teasing his skin with her fingertips.
Sam spun in his chair, completely flustered. “How old are you?” he insisted. “You look like you belong in junior high.” The lights flickered in the room. There was a sound of thunder followed closely by a faint, hollow whisper.
“I am older than you know, Sam Nash… and tonight, the weather grows cold.”
“What did you say?” Sam could barely hear anything over the rain on the roof.
“Nothing.” Meg was looking up into the lights before turning her attention back to Sam. “Lots of guys think I’m younger than I really am. It doesn’t help that my tits are so small. I’ll forgive you if you let me take you out.”
“Take me out? Out where? I don’t want to go to the Halloween dance, Meg. I’m not into that crowded scene, and I don’t know anybody.”
“I’m not into it either, Sam. I’ll take you to a special place for a very special evening. Tonight is a witch’s moon. How often does that happen on Halloween night?”
“About every nineteen years.”
“Oh, I’m impressed. How would you know that?” Meg’s face gleamed with curiosity.
“I have an interest in astronomy.” Sam hesitated, listening to the downpour. “But I don’t think you will see the moon tonight.”
“The clouds will clear by late evening. I will come for you then.”
Suddenly, the bell rang at what sounded like one hundred times the usual volume. Sam held his hands over his ears, dipping his head in agony while students around him grabbed their belongings and headed for the door. When he turned, Meg had mysteriously vanished as quickly as she had appeared.
Sam swirled through boxes and furniture as he traversed the foyer making his way into the family room. The screen door slammed behind him, bouncing against the wooden frame. He was soaked from the deluge outside and headed towards his downstairs bedroom, changing into sweats with a T-shirt. Willow, his mother’s Border Collie, followed.
In the kitchen, he heated up a cup of hot cocoa to melt away the October chill. “The temperature certainly changes quickly around here,” he remarked, passing through the maze of stacked items yet to be sorted. “We’re not unpacking this shit tonight,” he announced defiantly. “Mom and dad won’t be home until midnight, and I’m not spending Halloween stocking cabinets.”
Sam and Willow looked out the screen door together. “The good thing about storms is they will certainly cancel trick or treating. We should have a quiet evening to ourselves.” The two of them laid down on a couch facing the door, Sam comfortably sipping his drink. The rain pummeled the tin roof and a hypnotizing fog descended like a cloud across the yard.
Sam awoke to Willow barking, a shadow behind the screen in the mist. “May I come in?” It was a feminine voice, a soft southern drawl. She entered the room cautiously. “Well, hello,” she said sweetly to Willow, patting her on the head to sooth her agitation. “Are you ready to go, Sam?”
“Go where? Who are you?”
“You don’t remember me from school?” Meg shuffled through the commotion of scattered articles and sat down on the couch next to Sam. She placed her hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. “You promised to go with me to a special place. It will be our own private Halloween adventure.”
Sam shook the cobwebs out of his brain. Of course he remembered. “Where is this place? It’s 9 pm; did you notice?”
“Folks round here call it Bishop’s Ferry, but they don’t run the ferry no more.”
“What’s so great about it?” Sam inquired.
“It’s quiet, a little spooky, adventurously romantic.” There was something about her smile that was just too inviting. Before Sam could blink, they were strolling hand in hand down the riverwalk, dim lights on lampposts haloed in the luster of midnight.
“I told you the clouds would dissipate, Sam. There it is,” pointed Meg. In the center of the river was an island. On the island was an enormous, dark house.
“I thought this was a ferry.” Sam tugged at Meg’s arm, signaling he had gone far enough.
“That’s the old Bishop place,” she explained. “Mr. Bishop operated the ferry back in the day. The house has been abandoned for decades.”
“And it can stay abandoned.” Sam pulled Megan’s arm a little harder. “To be sure you’re not planning to…”
“Of course we’re going out there, Sam. I didn’t take you down here just to look.”
“We don’t even have a boat. How do you plan to…”
“Of course we have a boat.” Meg pointed at the shore where a canoe was tied to a tree, two paddles in the bed, pretty as a picture.
“This isn’t right, Meg. People don’t leave boats on the riverbank like this. What’s going on?”
“Maybe some Indians left it. I told you, it’s a magic night, Sam. Untie it and get in.” The two of them paddled across the Tombigbee with Meg on her knees in the front, her pink thong poking out of the top of her jeans. “You liking that view back there, Sam?”
“It’s pitch black. I can’t see anything,” he fibbed.
“That’s why I gave you a flashlight.”
In the distance, Sam spotted what he thought was a pile of dead tree limbs. Upon closer inspection, the limbs glistened in the moonlight like a mountain of sun-bleached bones. “What the hell is that? It looks like skeletal remains.”
“Calm down the melodrama, Sam. Trash washes up by the river all the time. The moon is playing tricks on you.” Meg guided the vessel to the edge, then hopped on the bank where she pulled the bow into the grass littered with signs to KEEP OUT… NO TRESPASSING.
“This is illegal,” Sam warned.
“So is this.” Meg turned, facing Sam, plopped his hands on her ass, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “You shouldn’t be making out with junior high girls,” Meg sniggered, bounding up the creaky, oak stairs to the porch.
Sam followed incredulously until they stood before the ominous front door, studying a rusty knocker with faded initials. “C.B.,” Sam read aloud.
“Charon Bishop,” Meg clarified. “Should we knock to see if anyone’s home?” She grabbed the heavy metal bar and slammed it down repeatedly. The noise echoed like gunfire through the hollowness of the building. Sam cupped his palms over his ears, the decibels of the racket hugely magnified in the quiet darkness.
“Your hearing is so sensitive,” Meg chortled as the door squeaked open. There were boxes and old furniture smothered in dust. “Looks a little like your living room, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not funny, Megan. Can we leave now?”
“We just got here, cowboy. Now, it’s time to explore. Hold my hand so you don’t get lost.”
Sam shivered as Meg guided him through a maze of narrow hallways, disheveled rooms filled with dilapidated furnishings, a long dinner table beneath a candle chandelier, dishes and silverware in front of every chair, a kitchen littered with pots and pans atop a wood burning stove.
“Are you cold, baby?” Meg’s voice sounded deeper in the emptiness as she reached for an oil lamp, sparking it with the flame from her lighter. “Our batteries are dying. Save the flashlights for later. Hey, you wanna take a hit?” She pulled out a tightly wrapped blunt from her pocket, then fired up the tip before taking a drag.
“I don’t.. do.. drugs,” Sam stammered, shaking violently.
Meg blew smoke from her nostrils like a Game of Thrones dragon, regarding him with a lustful gaze. “I bet your blood tastes like a virgin,” she whispered with a smirk.
“What?”
“Come here,” she insisted as she sucked in another lung full of heat. The tip of her joint was a glowing red ember. She kissed him hard, exhaling her charred breath down his delicate windpipe. Sam coughed until tears filled his eyes. “That’s how you catch my name, Sam Nash. The deeper you breathe it in, the warmer you feel.”
She kissed him again. Her tongue tasted sweet. His chest burned with every gasp like a bubbling black cauldron. “I feel dizzy.”
“Of course you do, baby. That’s some serious prime shit. Maybe I should build you a fire. There’s wood by the stove and fireplaces all through the house.”
“You’ll burn the whole place down,” Sam objected. “This place is a tinderbox.”
“You worry too much,” she said, gathering up chunks of kindling and walking towards the front of the home.
“How do you know your way around so well? Have you been here before?”
“You know,” she yelled back from the game room, piling her wood on the felt of a billiards table, “it feels like I’ve always been here.”
Sam stumbled into the room as the fire started crackling. “Have a seat in this chair,” Meg suggested. “I’ll start a few more fires elsewhere and light up some sconces on the walls. I’ll make this place seem like home in no time.” She kissed Sam on the cheek and was off on her mission as he was closing his eyes to rest, comfortably warm at last.
Sam awoke with a start, the fire almost ashes, the time on his watch 4 AM. As he stood from his chair, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The deteriorated mansion had morphed into elegant opulence – gorgeous tapestries, Persian rugs, fine linens and mahogany. Every room was embellished with the flicker of a hundred candles. “Meg!” he cried out, but his voice only echoed in solitude. “Meg, where are you?” He rushed up the stairs, searching diligently through luxurious guest bedrooms, rich and cozy and immaculate. “Megan!!!”
From the window, he saw it, the shudders pulled aside, the north wind cool on his face. “What do you see, Sam?” She was standing behind him in a sheer hooded cloak, an adult woman’s body underneath – nude and glistening, firm and pronounced, beautiful and mysterious. “What do you see?” she repeated.
“He’s out there,” Sam pointed. “Bishop’s coming on his ferry.”
“So he is,” she agreed, despondently gazing at the boat with its dull, golden lantern and the menacing figure at the rudder. “We still have time.”
“We should run for the canoe!”
Megan smiled. “You should lie down on the bed, Sam. I can make you feel better.”
“But he’s coming! Can’t you see?”
Meg sighed out a puff of smoke. “Do you like this body, Sam?” She slithered up against him, her hands roaming across his anatomy, her breasts pressed against his chest. “Breathe me in,” she demanded as she kissed him. A gust of wind blew out the candles, and the room was somber and gray.
Sam found himself strapped across the bed, spread Eagle in four-point restraints. Meg was at the foot, undressing. “Do you like this body? Show me.” With a wave of her hand, his clothes shredded spontaneously into pieces. The tattered strips and scraps floated across the room, falling into a fireplace full of smoldering cinders. They ignited with a poof and disappeared.
“You like what you see, don’t you?” Meg stroked Sam’s firm manhood as it towered and bobbed in explosive readiness. He tried to speak, but his voice completely failed him. “Shhhh,” Megan motioned with her finger across her lips. “No talking. Just sucking.” Then, she leaned over and took him in her mouth.
“You’re so close, Sam. I know you must be aching for release.” Meg stalked up his body, dangling her hard nipples like bait above his mouth and allowing him to crane for them successfully. She moaned as he suckled, holding the back of his head in her hand for assistance. The front door downstairs slammed open. Sam jumped with horror.
“Our time is short,” she said, sliding her sweaty body into position. Sam hopelessly struggled against the ligatures. “Put it in me,” she whispered, slipping softly down over his hard, eager shaft. Her undulating motion was like a foamy sea of pleasure, the sloppy sounds of slickness invading the room. The bed squeaked as she rocked with more urgency. “Yeah, fuck me, Sam! Fuck me!”
Heavy footsteps slowly pounded up the stairs, proceeding at a zombie pace, agonizing and determined. “Bones to the pile. Bones to the pile.” The voice had a rough granite edge. Megan kissed Sam’s protuberant clavicles, then licked the pulsations on his neck.
“Time to taste you,” she murmured.
The bedroom door opened with a gush of frigid air. “Bones to the pile. Bones to the pile.”
“No daddy, he’s mine. You can’t have him yet.” Megan growled like a cougar and flashed her long canines. Sam’s eyes almost popped from their sockets. His young heart was racing. His sweat glands were pouring. Meg peered at her prey empathetically.
“This is going to feel so good, Sam. You can come now, baby. Let it go.” She buried her fangs and ripped open his neck as his testicles unloaded inside her. In a glorious floating moment, Sam felt all his lifeforce flood out of him as if a dam had somehow imploded.
“Watch, daddy. Watch me.” Megan lapped up the blood as it spurted, warm like a shower across his shoulder and chest… and the feeling for Sam was nirvana.
BAM!!!!
Sam woke up on the floor beside the couch, Willow licking the remnants of hot chocolate that had spilled across his shoulder after placing his cup on the arm of the furniture. “What’s going on in here?” asked the girl at the door. “You’ve had ghosts and goblins banging on your screen all night. You haven’t handed out the first piece of candy. Your yard’s been rolled about five times.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Meg from across the street. You know, the girl you’ve been ogling with your telescope all summer sunbathing in her backyard?”
“But we just moved in a week ago.” Sam scanned around the room, not a box in sight.
“Excuse me? You’ve been micro-scoping my ass for a year. Looks like your dog enjoys the taste of hot chocolate.”
“Didn’t I meet you in study hall?”
“Since when does high school have study hall? You been smoking something?” Meg giggled. “Look, I just wanted to ask you out, give you some respite from your hermit lifestyle.”
“Ask me out where?”
“There’s this place by the river I want to show you. It’s quiet, a little spooky, adventurously romantic. You know, tonight is the witch’s moon.”
Written by DampKitten
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In Silence
Deep in the wilderness, something screams.
Deep in the wilderness, something cries for its life
We stand and listen as one unseen entity brutally overpowers another
The unseen struggle, made vivid by presence of sound and lack of sight
Deep in the wilderness, something screams and the forest comes alive, echoing whispers of fear and agony
We stand and feel the tense air
Frozen by ancient memories older than the land
Continued wails and the rustle of leaves betray an agonizing fight against death
Deep in the wilderness, something screams
Deep in the wilderness, fear is never far away
We stand and feel the tense air, beholding another scream as flesh rends from flesh
The stars above, winking down, as something out there is dying
Deep in the wilderness, something ceased screaming
A hush falls upon the forest
We stand and feel the tense air give out
The song of fear and agony dies, too
Cannot the peaceful stars be asked to care of the passing of one sentient being?
In silence, two entities return to the forest
One of them empowered by new life
The other as a ghost among thousands
Deep in the wilderness, something cries for its life
We stand and listen as one unseen entity brutally overpowers another
The unseen struggle, made vivid by presence of sound and lack of sight
Deep in the wilderness, something screams and the forest comes alive, echoing whispers of fear and agony
We stand and feel the tense air
Frozen by ancient memories older than the land
Continued wails and the rustle of leaves betray an agonizing fight against death
Deep in the wilderness, something screams
Deep in the wilderness, fear is never far away
We stand and feel the tense air, beholding another scream as flesh rends from flesh
The stars above, winking down, as something out there is dying
Deep in the wilderness, something ceased screaming
A hush falls upon the forest
We stand and feel the tense air give out
The song of fear and agony dies, too
Cannot the peaceful stars be asked to care of the passing of one sentient being?
In silence, two entities return to the forest
One of them empowered by new life
The other as a ghost among thousands
Written by Vision_of_insanity
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The Hike
HISTORY
Glen Onoko Falls April 2019
Closing down soon from a history unclean
Many injuries and over a dozen deaths
From hikers falling and trails unkept
So my friends decided to hike the trail
Breathe in natures splendor then exhale
But I had a different plan in mind
Eternal solitude I was hoping to find
Internally I was at the end of my rope
An Intentional accident was my hope
Escape the voices and make them cease
The powerfall waterfalls to bring me peace
A chance to free my life and pain
Erase my mistakes and start again
Release my demons in this violent air
These dreams forged from lifes nightmare
CHAMELEON FALLS
We followed the path up the 1st waterfall
Enjoying the stunning beauty of it all
Standing atop in the two merging streams
Pushing my adrenaline to the extreme
On a rock looking straight down the cascade
From out of nowhere a young lady strayed
We talked a little and secrets she shared
Telling me about the last time she was there
She showed me an area she tried for a pic
But then everything happened relatively quick
I'll always remember what she had to say
That her friends tried to save her that day
She pointed to an area off to the side
That area would be impossible not to slide
Down the falls to the rocky bottom
The thought of that was deeply solemn
ONOKO FALLS
I returned to my friends to continue the trek
We made it this far there's no turning back
The dirt and rocky terrain was quite rigorous
But we remained determined and vigorous
At the top of there I again went to the edge
Foolishly standing on a smooth slate ledge
Looking straight down a vertical 60 feet
My mysterious friend appeared indiscreet
She jumped down to sit and dangle her limbs
Over the edge as a new conversation begins
She mentioned how she wore the wrong shoes
And she acted like she had nothing to lose
We were the only two to adventure so close
At the edge of the waterfall while getting soaked
After awhile I returned to my friends
To finish the hike and start our final ascend
CAVE FALLS
At the summit we explored the hidden cave
That lies behind the shortest cascade
Conquering three waterfalls this amazing day
Refreshed by nature in a therapeutic way
Now one last final trail we get to follow
But did we bite off more than we could swallow
We walked around and relaxed a bit
Then decided it was time to go so we split
My new friend asked where we're heading next
The ridge to the overlook is all that's left
She asked to join us as she's never been there
I said I don't mind and my friends didn't care
So the four of us headed to the overlook
But then my friends found a rocky nook
They wanted to stop and smoke some weed
So her and I walked ahead at a leisurely speed
THE RIDGE
She reflected on her last journey here
Details she shared seemed so sincere
We talked about obstacles in life's way
Telling me how she skipped work that day
We walked down the ridge line pretty straight
Then leaned up against a tree to rest and wait
I turned and saw my friends in the distance
And like that she disappeared out of existence
My friends then asked where she had went
Since visibly she was no longer present
Confused by where she could possibly be
We continued hiking but then it hit me
I thought about all the things she said
Then turned pale white as if I were dead
Showered by reality I was dosed
With astonishment I realized she was a ghost
THE OVERLOOK
We continued further down the trail to see
Maybe she went to the overlook possibly
Irony is we never saw her or the overlook
But to my core I was definitely shook
Our thoughts are always so subjective
But this experience changed my perspective
I saw a ghost wanting her life back eternally
Reflecting on key moments in her memory
Appreciating everything that she ever had
And sharing her experiences good and bad
Originally this hikes mission was for my death
But I learned to appreciate every single breath
That no matter what hold your head up high
Any moment could be your last goodbye
And even when the days seem so dark
Believe in yourself and become the spark
Glen Onoko Falls April 2019
Closing down soon from a history unclean
Many injuries and over a dozen deaths
From hikers falling and trails unkept
So my friends decided to hike the trail
Breathe in natures splendor then exhale
But I had a different plan in mind
Eternal solitude I was hoping to find
Internally I was at the end of my rope
An Intentional accident was my hope
Escape the voices and make them cease
The powerfall waterfalls to bring me peace
A chance to free my life and pain
Erase my mistakes and start again
Release my demons in this violent air
These dreams forged from lifes nightmare
CHAMELEON FALLS
We followed the path up the 1st waterfall
Enjoying the stunning beauty of it all
Standing atop in the two merging streams
Pushing my adrenaline to the extreme
On a rock looking straight down the cascade
From out of nowhere a young lady strayed
We talked a little and secrets she shared
Telling me about the last time she was there
She showed me an area she tried for a pic
But then everything happened relatively quick
I'll always remember what she had to say
That her friends tried to save her that day
She pointed to an area off to the side
That area would be impossible not to slide
Down the falls to the rocky bottom
The thought of that was deeply solemn
ONOKO FALLS
I returned to my friends to continue the trek
We made it this far there's no turning back
The dirt and rocky terrain was quite rigorous
But we remained determined and vigorous
At the top of there I again went to the edge
Foolishly standing on a smooth slate ledge
Looking straight down a vertical 60 feet
My mysterious friend appeared indiscreet
She jumped down to sit and dangle her limbs
Over the edge as a new conversation begins
She mentioned how she wore the wrong shoes
And she acted like she had nothing to lose
We were the only two to adventure so close
At the edge of the waterfall while getting soaked
After awhile I returned to my friends
To finish the hike and start our final ascend
CAVE FALLS
At the summit we explored the hidden cave
That lies behind the shortest cascade
Conquering three waterfalls this amazing day
Refreshed by nature in a therapeutic way
Now one last final trail we get to follow
But did we bite off more than we could swallow
We walked around and relaxed a bit
Then decided it was time to go so we split
My new friend asked where we're heading next
The ridge to the overlook is all that's left
She asked to join us as she's never been there
I said I don't mind and my friends didn't care
So the four of us headed to the overlook
But then my friends found a rocky nook
They wanted to stop and smoke some weed
So her and I walked ahead at a leisurely speed
THE RIDGE
She reflected on her last journey here
Details she shared seemed so sincere
We talked about obstacles in life's way
Telling me how she skipped work that day
We walked down the ridge line pretty straight
Then leaned up against a tree to rest and wait
I turned and saw my friends in the distance
And like that she disappeared out of existence
My friends then asked where she had went
Since visibly she was no longer present
Confused by where she could possibly be
We continued hiking but then it hit me
I thought about all the things she said
Then turned pale white as if I were dead
Showered by reality I was dosed
With astonishment I realized she was a ghost
THE OVERLOOK
We continued further down the trail to see
Maybe she went to the overlook possibly
Irony is we never saw her or the overlook
But to my core I was definitely shook
Our thoughts are always so subjective
But this experience changed my perspective
I saw a ghost wanting her life back eternally
Reflecting on key moments in her memory
Appreciating everything that she ever had
And sharing her experiences good and bad
Originally this hikes mission was for my death
But I learned to appreciate every single breath
That no matter what hold your head up high
Any moment could be your last goodbye
And even when the days seem so dark
Believe in yourself and become the spark
Written by Mstrmnd1923
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A Haunting In The Sky
A holy spirit high in the sky.
Cloaked in white and burning strong.
The stars vanish beneath its light.
The moon, transparently, lingers on....
The sunflowers sway to see it's face.
Unaware are the simpletons.
The reign that drenches us is bright.
The chariot of Apollyon.
It's umbrella is a godly might.
As it densely rages on.
Helios sits alone at the top.
The nobles are it's throne.
He casts out, conquering,
Hypnotic, negative spikes.
That weak minds must condone.
Zombies are his children.
His mouth is their home.
Everyday they pray to be forgiven.
For things they've never done.
They faithfully await.
For Cupid's trumpet moan.
The blackest hole at the top.
A cap that hasnt blown.
A lonely god. The facade.
A city of silicone.
That devours all it claims to love.
The only story ever known.
The holy spirit passing by.
So gloriously its shone.
Creeping around day and night
Imprisoned and disowned.
Cloaked in white and burning strong.
The stars vanish beneath its light.
The moon, transparently, lingers on....
The sunflowers sway to see it's face.
Unaware are the simpletons.
The reign that drenches us is bright.
The chariot of Apollyon.
It's umbrella is a godly might.
As it densely rages on.
Helios sits alone at the top.
The nobles are it's throne.
He casts out, conquering,
Hypnotic, negative spikes.
That weak minds must condone.
Zombies are his children.
His mouth is their home.
Everyday they pray to be forgiven.
For things they've never done.
They faithfully await.
For Cupid's trumpet moan.
The blackest hole at the top.
A cap that hasnt blown.
A lonely god. The facade.
A city of silicone.
That devours all it claims to love.
The only story ever known.
The holy spirit passing by.
So gloriously its shone.
Creeping around day and night
Imprisoned and disowned.
Written by AfterSexDilemma
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Anonymous
The children of the Hardship all gather around,
and soon their parents come too.
“Tell us the tale of Death’s Dusky Duds, Cap`n!”
the children wail as their parents wink and beckon, too.
Death’z Duzky Dudz
How Death grievez fer itz dudz iz an oft ne’r told tale
but I tell ye da truth, thiz tale iz real,
az real az anyone haz told a tall tale.
I will tell it, to zome extent, in a suitable dialogue...
In rode the pale horse
to pillage n’ rage.
Trampler of brambles, gambles,
n’ corn.
Leave nothing.
No, not trivial, causal,
or scorn.
Death is blind.
Death, equine in.
Its mission: Steal my souls.
My mission:
¡Not by da ooze o’ me one scurvy eye!
Death’s stallion,
Scheol,
wrecking, wreaking, woe maker
pale n’ murky as miasma is foul,
rides across Nyx
blending in,
abstracting out,
fitted to the nines,
fixated on subtracting the souls in my billet.
Death’s raiment,
the finest that the Netherworld affords.
Silky sable threads,
wreathed cloak n’ cowl,
mellifluous molten Geneva gown
festooned with heavy cuffs n’ collars.
All held with baby mother o’ pearl oyster shell buttons
from top to bottom.
He was dressed to the hilt to his grim reaping hook.
When Death knocks heavy at your exit,
some welcome it in for its leonine catwalk alone.
“¡I challenge ye, Death!
Death, with yer hooded habiliment zo pleazant;
da Tailorz o’ Hell
burned in an inferno o’ertime
to drezz ye zo well,
yet I barter yer attire
will be torn n’ tattered,
shady n’ zpectral,
n’ dull n’ duzky
if ye dare brave yer ztepz n’ reapin’ hook
down below deck
o’ me Hardship
n’ meet yer adze encounter.
I taunt ye, Death.
‘Enter me parlor.’”
Death cawed as its cowled-covered face split and spat in a damnable risa salvaje (mad laughter).
“I am Death!”
And off Death dismounted,
standing seven feet tall
to the shoulders of its hooved insipid quadruped, Scheol.
“Show me the door.”
El aire hove immobile. (The air was immobilized.)
We pointed with our eyes.
“When I return untouched,
my garments unscathed,
scathed of your souls,
you and your crew will be, Captain.”
Death thundered in a skreiching glee,
“Scathed of your depths! All 365,248 souls!”
Death let out cackles
that shivered me brig’s shackles
n’ put a little shudder in me too.
I take a bracing breath n’ foolheartedly shout,
“¡I hopez ye’ll adorn yer tatterz with contempt all da diurnalz o’ yer...
Whate’er yer exiztenze be!”
As for me mateys n’ me, we laugh Death to disdain...
Death steps down,
being seven feet tall
n’ deigns to enter below deck,
consigning its reaping hook
to my femur embellished banisters,
leaving it behind
as he shrieks,
“Lovely décor.
I reminisce of Hell and your soon-to-be new quarters!
Hahahahahahahaaaaa...”
Dead silence.
Spare me pun
n’ quelled fun
for the laughter n’ glee,
well, it went n’ fled
n’ not even a flea dare
flutter a flit.
Da spirit of complete silence in life
is an irrefutable rarity
n’ I took it
for me booty
n’ savored it numinously.
Silence is the finest sound I have ever heard,
but alas, it didn’t last.
“¡Look! ¡Lizten! ¡Death beginz to ztir!”
It floats on the air
but struts like Felidae Majesty.
It stops n’ stares
n’ ends lifespans
n’ in silent quivering dread,
you breathe your
everlasting last.
But below deck, there’s something rare.
None can stop n’ stare,
yet there’s something there.
What is that shrill?
Death stirs,
n’ nothing verves still.
The moan of Death’s echo
is as if a billion souls are losing their free will.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!!!
“¡Death,”
I whizper a dirge fer ye fer,
“¡Yer echo blowz! ¡Yer echo blowz!
¡Ye shiver me timberz,
shiver me timberz,
shiver me timberz
to da depth o’ me core
fer da firzt time
in me death,
shivered,
am sure!”
My mateys n’ me of the Hardship
became folklore on that Nyx upon the Zea
when Death, ragged n’ tattered, dusty n’ dirty,
absconded from my Hardship n’ me.
Below deck, Death met its match
n’ swore everlasting contempt n’ repudiation
as it stampeded off into Nyx on Scheol
blending in,
abstracting out,
Death’s echo blowing,
“O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!!!”
n’ donning dismal dusky duds.
The Moon in her complete lunacy phase, the stars in their heightened glory,
Nyx upon the Zea n’ my mateys n’ me, bore witness.
Whispers in echoes whirl on by every Nyx upon the Zea
of how Death’s regal raiments are no more to see.
Epilogue:
They say it came by its image by time, n’ tales.
It came by its rags, they say by rot, moths, n’ snails,
but the truth lays, I say, zomewhere below deck.
Or should I dialogue...
...da true liez, zayz I, lay zomewherez in me tall tale.
Omni, aka Captain Phantom
©
Supplemental log.
Ornament Poetry.
Excerpt from an epic poem.
The Apple
For my stumbling child who
now stacks cracked bricks of grief
till his weathered eyes can not be seen
by winds of warm relief
or sprouting seeds, I grieve
I grieve for tattered skin
and flinch at that scattered manner in which he breathes
I grieve
for battered dreams
buried before the lanterns
left to hang by me
neath natures leaves, meant to light the way
to fortune more decadent than
I was meant to ever see
I grieve
For love deceased
and hope
he remembers home
now stacks cracked bricks of grief
till his weathered eyes can not be seen
by winds of warm relief
or sprouting seeds, I grieve
I grieve for tattered skin
and flinch at that scattered manner in which he breathes
I grieve
for battered dreams
buried before the lanterns
left to hang by me
neath natures leaves, meant to light the way
to fortune more decadent than
I was meant to ever see
I grieve
For love deceased
and hope
he remembers home
Written by ExercisingDemons
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A Rocking Chair
Lying in bed rifling through dreams
I heard a creak, not all is as it seems
It came from the drawing room
I lit a lamp and took a walk through the hallway gloom
There it sat, a rocking chair
Sounds were still on the midnight air
Nothing wrong, not a peep
I turn around and retreat to sleep
On the morrow all was normal
The day was drab and work was formal
Upon return I had a brandy before bed
Traipsing toward slumber to rest my weary head
As I snuffed the wick......a creak, "Tis nothing", I dismissed
Creaaaaak......."I'm hearing things", I persist
The incessant noise woke me in a rouse
I scrambled out of bed still in a drowse
Traversing through black, into the room I burst
As the door opened, all noise dispersed
The chair, in the same spot it was placed
From left to right my weary eyes traced
All night it continued!
I awoke agitated, in a grim mood
Every step I took, the creaking followed!
Like a walking corpse, my eyes hollowed
The sound unrelenting, I could stand it no more!
I grabbed the damned chair and smashed it on the floor
Finally, some semblance of solace
"Maybe tomorrow I'll awake like Adonis"
"Now I can finally get some-" creaaaaak
I heard a creak, not all is as it seems
It came from the drawing room
I lit a lamp and took a walk through the hallway gloom
There it sat, a rocking chair
Sounds were still on the midnight air
Nothing wrong, not a peep
I turn around and retreat to sleep
On the morrow all was normal
The day was drab and work was formal
Upon return I had a brandy before bed
Traipsing toward slumber to rest my weary head
As I snuffed the wick......a creak, "Tis nothing", I dismissed
Creaaaaak......."I'm hearing things", I persist
The incessant noise woke me in a rouse
I scrambled out of bed still in a drowse
Traversing through black, into the room I burst
As the door opened, all noise dispersed
The chair, in the same spot it was placed
From left to right my weary eyes traced
All night it continued!
I awoke agitated, in a grim mood
Every step I took, the creaking followed!
Like a walking corpse, my eyes hollowed
The sound unrelenting, I could stand it no more!
I grabbed the damned chair and smashed it on the floor
Finally, some semblance of solace
"Maybe tomorrow I'll awake like Adonis"
"Now I can finally get some-" creaaaaak
Written by ConsequentialChaos
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The winner of this competition and any runners up were decided by public vote.
Thank you to the following members for voting:
monovox128, Ms_LaCarte, Phantom2426, dimpy, Betty, IntoTheRain, Marks, ajay, SonderNinja, WillowsWhimsies, Thor_Azine, Anne-Ri999, Noble_Incubus, QuinnARichardson, Grace, DamianDeadLove, deadwolf, rowantree, Everavalon, PAR, Northern_Soul, delusionalfreakk66, down2dirt, mischief_cheesecak, LunaDahlia, nutbuster, Shilohverse, ReggiePoet, Her, gothicsurrealism, lepperochan, Mstrmnd1923, AfterSexDilemma, Razzerleaf, Verdonna, MadameLavender
Thank you to the following members for voting:
monovox128, Ms_LaCarte, Phantom2426, dimpy, Betty, IntoTheRain, Marks, ajay, SonderNinja, WillowsWhimsies, Thor_Azine, Anne-Ri999, Noble_Incubus, QuinnARichardson, Grace, DamianDeadLove, deadwolf, rowantree, Everavalon, PAR, Northern_Soul, delusionalfreakk66, down2dirt, mischief_cheesecak, LunaDahlia, nutbuster, Shilohverse, ReggiePoet, Her, gothicsurrealism, lepperochan, Mstrmnd1923, AfterSexDilemma, Razzerleaf, Verdonna, MadameLavender
