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The Visitor - 3/7
V
I've not been to high school in many a year
but I vaguely remember the girl sitting here
aside from her pallor, she’s almost the same
though I can't remember her first or last name
the bo0k doesn't say, which is kind of bizarre
the point of a yearbook's to note who you are
but there's nothing there but a bad photograph
of a girl in a pink dress, with no smile or laugh
she looks rather timid, face hid by long hair
as if she'd rather not have been stuck posing there
(gnarled finger pokes the page as if to attack it
to show me she's wearing a varsity jacket)
my memory just then, as if opening a door
shows me a detail from eight years before
the jacket she's wearing's from our football team
not from that year -- it's the wrong color scheme
but just to make sure, I flip through the book
to the sp0rts pages, just to take a quick look
plenty of photos of our football games
shots of the players, along with their names
the jackets they're wearing, though - all darker blue
not the red in her photo - so what do we do?
"I'm sorry," I stammer, "I think we're off track"
but she forces my hands to flip two pages back
to a full-page spread: the state championship
her fingers so gnarled the skin starts to rip
her face forms a rictus of horror and rage
fingernails scratching the edge of the page
it takes me a second to realize that
the players are not what the girl's pointing at
but a man in red coat, sitting high in the bleachers
I realize then that he's one of the teachers
coach's assistant, to be more precise
we'd never met, though I'd heard he was nice
from her expression, I'm guessing that's wrong
she looks like her focus won't last very long
in fact, she's losing her body as well
blood boiling her flesh as if soaking in Hell
she moves toward the window, l0oks me in the eyes
then vanishes right before morning's sunrise
VI
she hasn't come back for a couple of nights
I worry I might've extended my rights
just by touching her hands, as if she were mine
not some decaying horror, zombie Frankenstein
but once night three comes, I hear a loud rap
on the glass with a rock, not a cold finger's tap
so I rush to the window to see if she's there
she's out in the yard peering through her dark hair
it looks like her, mostly, but gruesome and meaner
her body's hunched over -- so shorter, but leaner
her fingernails look like knives made to cut steak
her eyes are much bigger, milk white and opaque
she wants me to follow, but I can't be sure
she's not mad at me and her motives are pure
I ask with a small, solid lump in my chest
"where are we going, my friend -- what's our quest?"
but she doesn't answer, just stares up at me
her fingers start scratching the bark of the tree
before l0ng, a word appears carved in the bark
PLEASE is her answer, stark white in the dark
I throw on my coat and I head out, away
trying to keep up or at least make my way
through the black woods, but she's too far ahead
I want to keep going but sit down instead
just for a minute or two, understand
the girl doubles back and takes hold of my hand
she looks in my eyes with her huge, monstrous face
lifts me off the ground from my quick resting place
the comes a mixture of horror and fear
I stammer "I don't know what I'm doing here
please tell me, my friend -- I want to help you
but you've got to tell me what I need to do"
she blinks, puts me down, urges me to keep walking
but slows down her pace to a walk without talking
til finally she stops and points at the ground
and I see quite plainly it's a burial mound
with a hole right next to it, four feet or so deep
with claw marks all 0ver (my skin starts to creep)
I realize with horror, trying to stay brave
that she tore her way out of this grim, shallow grave
I've not been to high school in many a year
but I vaguely remember the girl sitting here
aside from her pallor, she’s almost the same
though I can't remember her first or last name
the bo0k doesn't say, which is kind of bizarre
the point of a yearbook's to note who you are
but there's nothing there but a bad photograph
of a girl in a pink dress, with no smile or laugh
she looks rather timid, face hid by long hair
as if she'd rather not have been stuck posing there
(gnarled finger pokes the page as if to attack it
to show me she's wearing a varsity jacket)
my memory just then, as if opening a door
shows me a detail from eight years before
the jacket she's wearing's from our football team
not from that year -- it's the wrong color scheme
but just to make sure, I flip through the book
to the sp0rts pages, just to take a quick look
plenty of photos of our football games
shots of the players, along with their names
the jackets they're wearing, though - all darker blue
not the red in her photo - so what do we do?
"I'm sorry," I stammer, "I think we're off track"
but she forces my hands to flip two pages back
to a full-page spread: the state championship
her fingers so gnarled the skin starts to rip
her face forms a rictus of horror and rage
fingernails scratching the edge of the page
it takes me a second to realize that
the players are not what the girl's pointing at
but a man in red coat, sitting high in the bleachers
I realize then that he's one of the teachers
coach's assistant, to be more precise
we'd never met, though I'd heard he was nice
from her expression, I'm guessing that's wrong
she looks like her focus won't last very long
in fact, she's losing her body as well
blood boiling her flesh as if soaking in Hell
she moves toward the window, l0oks me in the eyes
then vanishes right before morning's sunrise
VI
she hasn't come back for a couple of nights
I worry I might've extended my rights
just by touching her hands, as if she were mine
not some decaying horror, zombie Frankenstein
but once night three comes, I hear a loud rap
on the glass with a rock, not a cold finger's tap
so I rush to the window to see if she's there
she's out in the yard peering through her dark hair
it looks like her, mostly, but gruesome and meaner
her body's hunched over -- so shorter, but leaner
her fingernails look like knives made to cut steak
her eyes are much bigger, milk white and opaque
she wants me to follow, but I can't be sure
she's not mad at me and her motives are pure
I ask with a small, solid lump in my chest
"where are we going, my friend -- what's our quest?"
but she doesn't answer, just stares up at me
her fingers start scratching the bark of the tree
before l0ng, a word appears carved in the bark
PLEASE is her answer, stark white in the dark
I throw on my coat and I head out, away
trying to keep up or at least make my way
through the black woods, but she's too far ahead
I want to keep going but sit down instead
just for a minute or two, understand
the girl doubles back and takes hold of my hand
she looks in my eyes with her huge, monstrous face
lifts me off the ground from my quick resting place
the comes a mixture of horror and fear
I stammer "I don't know what I'm doing here
please tell me, my friend -- I want to help you
but you've got to tell me what I need to do"
she blinks, puts me down, urges me to keep walking
but slows down her pace to a walk without talking
til finally she stops and points at the ground
and I see quite plainly it's a burial mound
with a hole right next to it, four feet or so deep
with claw marks all 0ver (my skin starts to creep)
I realize with horror, trying to stay brave
that she tore her way out of this grim, shallow grave
Published 23rd Mar 2016
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