Tales From The Crypt

Dark greetings bold stranger I welcome you,
Now ready one's heart for what's on view.
Terrifying tales aplenty this Halloween Night,
Painted black and red with no end in sight.
Be warned they're not for any faint hearted,
For if unprepared you'll join many departed.
Tales of torment and fear with stories of woe,
Now lets kick off my Halloween horror show...
 
Jack The Ripper Returns
 
Beneath the streets of London,
There sleeps a nasty surprise.
Waiting patiently in the sewers,
For many their hidden demise.
 
A killer of most vile repute,
Who always left a bloody mess.
For now his time is served,
And once again is fresh flesh.
 
For flesh is what he craves,
And his wrath women will again incur.
Taking such joy from his evil work,
A slaughterer nicknamed Jack the Ripper.
 
They never caught him long ago,
With his victims piling high.
And it will be the same today,
For so many more will die.
 
This fury that builds inside him,
Of cruel magnitude again to be seen.
Unleashed on he deems diseased,
All throats slashed without a scream.
 
His cruel tools of his dark trade,
Deadly blades that slice and dice.
He'll sometimes work for hours,
On those who shamelessly entice.
 
Any woman walking Whitechapel at night,
Is where true deadly danger increases.
For this is Jack's old killing-ground,
Sick memories of cutting many to pieces.
 
For if you're slut or harlot,
Be it prostitute or whore.
You'll feel Jack's slashing blades,
For you he does abhor...
 
Again I walk a Whitechapel street,
Near where the Thames does flow.
Many fresh faces I shall greet,
In darkness soon strewn with woe.
 
I've been away for a while,
Just slowly killing time in hell.
Where the devil is my admirer,
And released me for doing well.
 
I return from beyond my grave,
You can't keep a good Jack down,
But in my case a truly bad one,
Stalking again Whitechapel town.
 
Oh! It feels good to be back,
I will now put on a wicked show,
My tools always carried with me,
All guaranteed to make blood flow.
 
Cold steel instruments of death,
Feel natural in my tight grip.
Then I slip into dark character
As I tear, cut, slice and rip.
 
Feels good to be back in the game,
My tally demonically on the rise.
Beware inky black London streets,
That reveal a slashing surprise.
 
You all know what I do seek,
If ever forgotten a travesty.
An insult to crime's history,
And to my infamous legacy...
 
Hello my dear.
Good heavens you're alone.
On an unforgiving night like this...  
 
*
 
Five Fat Cats
 
A sad old woman died in the month of May,
When finally discovered one hideous day.
 
Her five fat cats around her carcass did lay,
Gnashing and gnawing their mistress like prey.
 
What remained of her body was taken away,
Rumour has it on a very small silver tea-tray.
 
*
 
Oh Darling They've Found His Body!
 
Oh darling they've found his body!
What already! That horrid little man.
We'll have to leave the country,
Someplace easy going, maybe Amsterdam.
 
How could they find his carcass,
When we bloody buried him so deep.
It was a flash flood that unearthed him,
And his corpse washed up in a heap.
 
A heap that arrived at a policeman's feet,
Who did exam it,  knowing it was amiss.
When its riddled with over twenty bullet-holes,
The word suicide he so quickly dismissed.
 
So we'd better leg it to Amsterdam,
Where they all enjoy poetry there.
And no cruel critic's crass criticism,
Is ever breathed in fine Dutch air.
 
It's all about our cherished poetry,
We write and sell from our hushed bookstore.
And countless critic's so love to hate it,
Who we murder and bury beneath our floor.
 
But then one day the space ran out,
So we began to use our goodly garden patio.
Again all space was quickly consumed,
So we went alfresco, a mountain meadow.
 
There's something magical about the great outdoors,
Especially when burying a worthless carcass.
A sense of satisfaction of a job well done,
Which many might find cold and heartless.
 
For critic's are like the hated Hydra,
Cut off one head then two takes its place.
And we're sick and tired of killing them,
For they are so damn easy to replace.
 
Our poetry is our calling, forever our passion,
And a little dabble of death a nice side-line.
Curing me and the wife of any writer's block,
When we murder a critic, from time to time.
 
*
 
Dark Soil
 
Your garden blossoms well my dear,
Of that I'll never clarion any debate.
From evil, goodness now so displays,
From hidden legions of concealed hate.
 
Your pear trees all now so sturdy,
Forever so sated with their many fruits.
And your vast apple tree orchard,
Feeding from dark souls among it roots.
 
Lets not forget your lovely flowers,
See how blood red your poppies grow.
Crimson fields concealing the guilty,
Who deservedly rot deep down below.
 
True Paradise entombed with secrets,
Watered with tears of all the Damned.
From every rapist we've murdered,
Who now lie buried beneath this land.
 
*
 
The Horror Show
 
An electric chair and a dynamo,
This room so cold so full of woe.
 
They strap me in for the horror show,
These uniformed men my hateful foe.
 
A switch is flicked the current does flow,
Throughout my body and now all aglow.
 
So many killed so many lives never let go,
So many buried under cruel winter's snow.
 
So a painful death and one so so slow,
A serial killer they once called John Doe.
 
*
 
The Botox Murders: The Price Of Vanity
 
There's a poisoner on the prowl,
A deranged madman on the loose.
For it's all about sheer vanity,
And its healing magical juice.
 
The years advance, steal your youth,
Where skin was smooth now deep lines.
Behold Botox! Beauty's miracle cure,
Will banish all those unwanted signs.
 
Doesn't come cheap this fountain of youth,
Bought always by the vain and the rich.
It simply performs miracles on everyone,
How can it fail there's never a glitch...
 
There's women out there dropping like flies,
Gagging for breath, so slow their demise.
Also rich old men in for a nasty surprise,
Who pull out their hair and pluck out their eyes.
 
It turns all mad this expensive wonder drug,
Endless victims of a cruel killer's tirade,
Every grim day the death toll steadily mounts,
The price of vanity poetically displayed.
 
*
 
Beware! Beware! The Red Ballet Shoes
 
Beware! Beware! The red ballet shoes!
A cursed gift you should always refuse!
For fame and fortune comes with such a high price,
With these red ballet shoes that so tempt and entice.
So beautifully seductive that none have ever refused,
For no mortal woman can resist the lure of these shoes...
 
Beware! Beware! The red ballet shoes!
A cursed gift you should always refuse!
A voice of one and many fills your head,
So cold and haunting and  full of dread.
A mere trick of the wind you quickly assume,
As you gaze at the parcel that is your doom...
 
You quickly unwrap your mysterious posted surprise,
Beautiful red ballet shoes that hold a grisly demise.
You breathlessly gasp staring at them ethereally entranced,
These red ballet shoes are so fine, new and made to dance.
Spellbound you hold them closer and find a note inside,
Which you then read aloud and become so mystified.
These red ballet shoes will take you afar,
And you will become Ballet's brightest star.
Great love and vast fortune will come your way,
But wear at your peril, for there's a price to pay.
This warning and shoes either refuse or abide,
A simple plain choice that is for you to decide...
 
The note ignored you slip them on and they fit like a glove,
Oh!  These red ballet shoes are both bewitching and snug.
And within a year you've become Ballet's greatest star,
For the red ballet shoes have taken you wide and afar.
More famous and loved than Pavlova, Shearer and Fonteyn,
And now these red ballet shoes call for you to be slain...
 
You sleep like a princess, at peace and completely alone,
To awake screaming, experiencing true horror now shown.
The red ballet shoes are now back frightfully on your feet,
Tying themselves excruciating tight your blood does excrete.
Your sobbing and cries can't be heard as you're guided along,
You fight you struggle but these evil red shoes are too strong,
And the high cruel rooftop beckons for your dying swan song.
A running start and then a leap and endless tears as you fall,
Your once beautiful body so tattered and torn a sight to appall...
 
Now dying you realize that distant faint voice at the start of it all
Were the ghosts of previous owner's whispering warning call...
Beware! Beware! The red ballet shoes!
A cursed gift you should always refuse!
 
*
 
Dark Virus Quarantine
 
We'll lock you up,
For others security.
Can't have you loose,
With your impurity.
 
You've proven positive,
Caught that bug.
Your human rights,
We pull the plug.
 
Just two weeks,
Realistically three.
A time imposed,
By higher decree.
 
In isolation,
A quarantine.
Till you recover,
And become clean.
 
You're a carrier,
A real Typhoid Mary.
Infecting others,
Of which we're wary.
 
It's for the best,
The greater good.
Now locked in,
This neighbourhood.
 
We're in charge,
We have the power.
As we look down,
From our watchtower.
 
A whole town,
In fearful fright.
Any try to escape,
We shoot on sight.
 
Its about survival,
A numerical score.
Many thousands die.
To save millions more.
 
We wish you well,
All the very best.
Try not to die,
Like all the rest.
 
*
 
Medusa!
 
Gaze upon me,
See my face.
In my domain,
Feel my embrace.
 
Heroic fools venture,
Seeking vast treasure.
Who'll never leave,
My cruel pleasure.
 
Men of stature,
Become effigies.
All never cured,
By magic remedies.
 
I am a monster,
A gross Gorgon.
One look from me,
Your life foregone.
 
The island Sarpedon,
Is where I dwell.
And I welcome all,
With my fatal spell.
 
My beautiful hair,
Is many a snake.
Spitting vile venom,
In my wicked wake.
 
I have two sisters,
Stheno and Euryale.
And they like me,
Have stings in their tail.
 
So behold Medusa!
For I am she.
And all who have,
Will never be free.
 
I await in darkness,
Hateful and all alone.
Patiently for Perseus,
Who I'll turn to stone...
 
*
 
Death Can Be Fatal
 
This poem has a point,
That is honed at its end.
For murder is most foul,
So let us not pretend...
 
A body in the ballroom,
Dear departed in the billiard room,
Dead meat in the dining room,
These rooms are all a tomb...
 
Late lamented in the library,
A cold stiff in the study.
And a carcass in the cellar,
This house so vile and bloody...
 
A corpse in the conservatory,
Now deceased in the hall.
And a goner in the study,
Cruel Cluedo does enthral!
 
*
 
The Quest
 
I dream...
 
And a journey begins.
I wayfair.
Venturing onwards.
Always forwards.
Never stopping.
Never stumbling.
Never tiring.
Always focused.
My senses sharpened.
A determination.
Always,
Always,
Onwards.
To reach a point in time.
A destination.
My destination.
My fate.
Perhaps, my final fate.
Time will tell.
Urged by something.
Something deep inside.
Something hidden in me.
A mystery.
I'm alone.
It's day.
Perhaps early evening.
Hard to tell.
Clouds obscure the sun.
My clothes are like that,
Of a medieval serf.
I feel no surprise.
For they're made to fit.
A part of me.
I look down on a valley.
What a view.
Then look down at my leather sandaled feet.
As they brush against something.
Something I feel,
That was made for me to find.
I pick it up and examine it.
A sword and leather belt.
I wrap the belt around my waist.
And again view the sword.
It's short about two foot long.
Rusty, chipped and old.
So old.
Ancient even.
No matter.
I tuck it my new found belt.
That feeling haunts me again.
Telling me I will need it.
Telling me not to lose it.
Telling me to have a little faith,
In what awaits ahead.
As I venture on.
At the base of the valley,
There lies a white church.
I enter and hear sobbing.
God! What pitiful crying!
Monks.
Maybe twenty of them.
They look at me.
I ask them why.
What happened here.
They chorus to me the reason why.
Not here.
But of what they all saw in the woods on its trail,
And all were too shocked and scared to do anything.
For they are monks not knights.
And about a missing, expected treasure.
And with that,
I make them all a promise.
And I leave.
Even more determined than before.
It's getting darker.
As I enter woodland and keep to the trail.
And there up ahead strewn across its trail.
Bodies!
So many bodies.
What the hell happened to them.
Evil beyond belief.
Armoured Knights
All Knights Templars and innocent monks,
Slaughtered like cattle and carrion.
Parts of them everywhere.
I feel the ground drenched in their blood.
The knights armour and heavy iron swords,
Broken, twisted and like these poor pilgrims,
Mangled.
Pulled apart like warm bread.
And the treasure they were to deliver and protecting gone.
Stolen.
I now feel stronger and make a torch,
Draw my sword and look around the trail.
There's nothing there.
Nothing that I can see.
Just blackness,
Darkness.
For night has fallen.
I light a fire.
And with my small sword I dig shallow graves.
For the pitifully slain.
All of them.
It takes me hours but the soil is soft.
All the time a feeling.
Like I'm being watched.
Evaluated.
Rated and weighed up by unseen eyes.
It's just the darkness I tell myself.
Or is it.
Be wary.
Be very wary.
Stay alert.
That feeling within me tells me.
Strange,
I don't feel tired after my exertions.
I make a simple wooden cross.
Plant it down and say a prayer for the dead.
And as soon as I finish it.
That feeling of been watched so swiftly returns.
Observed by something evil.
There is something out there!
Just beyond the light of the fire.
Clinging to the darkness.
Something drifting.
Something moving.
In the pitch blackness.
Maybe it fears the fire or its light.
It is a pure hatred and pure malice hiding out there.
As I notice now, not a single sound from any woodland creature.
As if they have succumbed to death.
And as my fire quickly dies.
I see it!
It reveals itself to me.
In it's true form!
A vile, murderous evil now rushing towards me!
My inner voice clarions...
Defend yourself!
And Fight!
Defeat it!
Kill it!
It's nearly upon you!
Fight!
You can win!
You WILL win!
FIGHT!
Draw your sword!
And kill it!
My inner voice commands.
As it thunders towards me,
With blistering speed.
It's nearly upon me.
Then I draw my old, rusty, small sword.
My only protection.
My only weapon.
Against this pulsating mass,
Of blackness and evil!
Incredible!
Unbelievable!
And magnificent!
For my ancient, two foot sword,
Has transformed itself,
It's doubled in length,
And no longer a rusty, chipped iron blade.
It has become whiter than white,
All the time glowing brighter,
As huge, whiter than new snowdrops,
Spit and crackle off it's long length.
I feel it's power.
And it's goodness.
Then the blackness stops and backs away,
From me and it.
It's weary.
It fears my weapon.
And perhaps me.
And if it fears,
It can also die.
A pause.
Now as we stand-off,
Facing each other,
All the time,
Pointing my glowing weapon at it.
I now see it, for what it really is.
A floating black inverted cross,
The same height as me.
And at it's black centre,
A blacker than black pulse,
Like a beating heart.
It's heart!
I strike!
And it moves quickly to my right hand side,
As a black blade emerges from it.
We duel!
Strike after strike.
Blow after blow.
To no avail.
A stalemate.
We duel for hours,
My strength never leaving me.
But, it's getting smaller,
Tired of defending itself.
Gradually all the time.
This is no stalemate now!
I double my efforts.
My resolve is iron.
Then at last it starts to move away,
Much slower than when it first attacked me.
It wants to retreat and hide from me and
The soon to emerge new dawn,
And it's first light.
Sunlight!
I try something different,
Before it floats upward,
And out of my reach,
To escape and kill again.
I feign a lunge,
And throw my weapon like a ball,
Towards its black heart.
It strikes.
And deep.
And thankfully true.
Suddenly a screech and hiss,
Like that I've never heard,
Emanates from it,
Deafening to my ears.
A roar!
An anger!
A curse!
Then silence.
An absolute silence.
I pull out my weapon,
Then plunge it in deeper.
As it starts to shrink.
Shrivelling up.
To a small pile of black dust.
Like coal dust.
Defeated,
And dead.
And as dawn breaks,
My sword once again is small, rusty and chipped.
I collapse to my knees now exhausted.
Thank God I say.
And utter a silent prayer.
Some time passes and I remain on my knees,
As birdsong reaches my ears,
Sunlight now shines between the tree's leaves,
Onto the black dust.
And I see,
There's a glint,
A small glint,
Of something shining,
Among it.
I rush over and brush the vileness away.
The glint has now become a beacon.
A shining beacon.
It's beautiful.
It renews my strength instantly.
I feel its goodness,
And feel reborn.
I smile.
Found it!
I have found what I seek!
What the slaughtered knights and monks were protecting.
And were to present to their fellow monks at the church.
I smile again,
And make the sign of the cross.
Then another prayer.
One of thanks.
I wrap it lovingly in fern leaves.
I return to the church.
Greeted warmly by the monks,
Then show them what should have delivered to them.
They are all astounded.
I leave quietly,
For my quest has ended.
As each monk is now in a state of rapture.
Knowing their treasure is safe and secure.
The treasure they call,
The Holy Grail.
 
I awake,
To dream again...
 
*
 
The FURY
 
This is no fantasy,
No children's story.
I hunt a keen killer,
Seeking sadistic glory...
 
He's hiding out there,
Killing for pleasure.
And I will stop him,
I'll exceed his measure.
 
Been given two gifts,
At a young age.
That'll stop him dead,
They'll end his rage.
 
His crime scene,
This killer's show.
Is one of carnage,
Is one of woe.
 
A vile monster,
Of that no doubt.
Each victim's suffering,
Hard to block out.
 
He reveres his work,
The pain inflicted.
He'll work for hours,
His hate unrestricted.
 
They think they're safe,
The young and old.
Then he breaks in,
And evil takes hold.
 
He leaves no clues,
For us cops to find.
That doesn't worry me,
I'm a different kind.
 
His scene of crime,
Is beyond compare.
He's not human,
An evil nightmare.
 
We've seen it all,
Every hardened cop.
Now in tears,
That just won't stop.
 
A family slain,
That makes it four.
All innocent's blood,
Over every floor.
 
The dead are puppets,
Marionettes on display.
Mere window dressing,
Every wife his prey.
 
A wife and mother,
His twisted aim.
As her dead family,
View his shame.
 
Shards of mirror,
Over their eyes.
Reflecting him,
Raping his prize.
 
When he's through,
She joins the dead.
A bullet point-blank,
Through her forehead.
 
It gets worse,
What happens next.
He cuts trophies,
From his subjects.
 
My hatred grows,
My decision made.
Won't take him alive,
End his charade.
 
All perfect crimes,
So he assumes.
I'm on his case,
Cold judgement looms.
 
No fingerprints,
Not one lead.
He isn't human,
A different breed.
 
I use my gift,
I touch slain eyes.
And See his face,
He looks so surprised!
 
Incredible! Unbelievable!
He now Sees me!
We share the gift,
The gift of See.
 
I thought that I,
Was unique and true.
Now the gift of See,
Belongs to two.
 
But does he share,
My other gift.
Locked deep away,
Never cast adrift.
 
My other gift,
Is more a curse.
A powerful weapon,
The very worse.
 
Used fully once,
Many years ago.
Such terrible power,
My mind can bestow.
 
Hard to switch off,
When then projected.
But over time,
A power perfected.
 
He dies tonight,
And so obscenely.
By my curse,
To end his spree.
 
I have two gifts,
One I call See.
The other horrific,
I call my FURY!
 
My powerful FURY,
My deadly curse.
Is beyond belief,
Power at its worst.
 
My frenetic FURY,
Many long years ago.
Turned sand to glass,
And its power does grow.
 
It'll make him suffer,
And I'll make it slow.
My Wrath of God,
My horror show.
 
When I Saw him,
A background clue.
The place he dwells,
Now time to pursue.
 
Black as pitch,
When I arrive.
This dark night,
He won't survive.
 
Vengeance is mine,
Truly mine alone.
In his lonely warehouse,
His sins to atone.
 
Around the back,
His den of sin.
I select a window,
And quietly break-in.
 
Many trip-wire traps,
I expected nothing less.
One wrong move,
And I'll make a mess.
 
Linked to explosives,
His lethal security.
An insurance policy,
After Seeing me.
 
He's watching cartoons,
Laughing out loud.
This slayer of children,
Retribution soon avowed.
 
Christ! He's tall,
Way over six feet.
Robust and solid,
A killer to greet.
 
Against my FURY,
He hasn't a prayer.
God and the Devil,
Would both beware.
 
He throws his knife,
At my face.
I make it stop,
Suspended in space.
 
I return it to him,
Twice as fast.
What happens next,
Will leave him aghast.
 
Between his legs,
Buried hilt deep.
This castrated rapist,
Begins to weep.
 
His howls of pain,
I deafly ignore.
His blood now gushing,
Over the floor.
 
But this is nothing,
Of what's to bestow,
The mere beginning,
Of my horror show.
 
Telekinesis,
Some might say.
Or is it,
Witchcraft on display.
 
I make him rise,
Suspend him in air.
What happens next,
Is beyond compare.
 
He's high in the air,
About six feet.
My FURY builds,
With no retreat.
 
I make him spin,
Like a child's top.
My FURY still rising,
That just won't stop.
 
Slowly then faster,
Then faster and faster.
This night I am,
His puppet master.
 
His blood sprays out,
Ears nose mouth eyes.
And keep him spinning,
To agonize.
 
Faster and faster,
A runaway carousel.
Faster and faster,
A taste of Hell!
 
His spluttered cries,
Garbled pleas for death.
I simply ignore,
Then hold my breath.
 
I make it stop,
Then gaze at him.
What follows next,
Will be so grim.
 
Still suspended,
And still alive.
My FURY heightening,
He won't survive.
 
I think of fire,
And he's consumed.
Constant screams,
From a killer doomed.
 
I make it stop,
Then start again.
For all eternity,
For all the slain.
 
His heart still beats,
For my Grand Guignol.
His near skeletal face,
So does appal.
 
My eyes change colour,
From brown to blue.
My FURY it knows,
Just what to do.
 
I hold and hold,
Project and release.
As my cruel FURY,
Reaches its showpiece.
 
He starts convulsing,
Uncontrollable spasms.
Slowly splitting apart,
Like widening chasms.
 
I keep him alive,
To feel the final act.
His worthless soul,
I will extract.
 
His vile innards,
Explode everywhere.
Now a charnel house,
My FURY's nightmare.
 
I'm a manhunter armed,
With See and FURY.
My gift my curse,
I'll never be free...
 
He has a brother,
In fact a twin.
Swearing vengeance,
And a killer like him.
 
He's in prison,
Soon to get out.
Out to kill me,
Of that no doubt.
 
I know he will,
Come after me,
So I'll just wait,
And I'll just See.
 
And when he does,
Call in on me,
He will be greeted,
By a woman's FURY!
 
*
 
The Ghost Ship
 
A cold wind whipped across the bay,
There had been a rising storm all day.
On this night of gloomy seas,
The Ghost Ship appears!
A ship lost with all souls,
For one hundred years.
The dark sails on the high, strong masts,
Blow broadly with the icy gales blasts.
Its wooden body cuts through waters black,
For this is the night, this ship comes back.
A moaning sound, surrounds the spectral boat,
A moaning sound, from many a dead wet throat.
A thick fog creeps along the deck,
And its doomed crew after the wreck.
Rotting faces reveal true horror and fear,
Of pitiful screams and sobbing of tear.
Through broken clouded sky a full moon shines,
The ship now gone, no screams, no whines.
The winds drop and the fog does lift,
The Ghost Ship gone, no more adrift.
In 100 years it will again haunt the sea,
But until that dark night, it will R.I.P.
 
*  
 
Angels And Demons
 
Demon of pain,
Angel of pleasure,
Toy with me,
At your leisure.
 
Angel of hope,
Demon of dread.
Perpetually duelling,
Inside my head.
 
Demon of vanity,
Angel of humility.
Both roads travelled,
Lessons in futility.
 
Angel of clarity,
Demon of confusion.
Deliver to me,
One last conclusion.
 
Life is fragmented,
Virtue and deceit.
Light and darkness,
Advance and retreat.
 
*
 
The Hand!
 
The Hand!
Coming soon at a cinema near you!
A tragic tall tale about a severed Hand.
A nun's Hand.
Lost in a tragic flower arranging accident,
On a beautiful, most glorious summer's day.
A Hand out for cold revenge!
A Hand seeking dark justice!
A Hand also chasing love and romance.
A tall true tale with unicorns, cute pixies, Nazi agents,
Singing nuns, Indian princesses, Russian mobsters, single gloves,
And plenty more bullshit...
 
Murder, more murder, flower arranging, corrupt politicians,
Sex, heroin, big guns, fast funky cars, loose women,
Atlantis, angels, demons, nuns, witches, more nuns,
Eldorado, gold, cute space buddies, evil space aliens,
Murder, mystery, mayhem, love, necrophilia, more gold,
Girls, gadgets, gizmos, dirty laundry, cold blooded murder,
Albino henchmen, albino henchwomen, albino hunchbacks,
Stunning beautiful locations, Hull, Rhyl, Anthrax Island, Rock All,
Embroidery, bloodshed, more singing nuns, ticking bombs,
Foxy chicks, femme fatales, cute kittens, callous killers,
Lost puppies, moon creatures, hidden knowledge, strangulations,
Slow strangulations, sinister government departments,
Secret agents, double crossing, mayhem, death, laughter,
Champagne villains, beer guzzling heroes, lies, more lies,
High adventure, ripping yarns, car chases, more embroidery,
Fun, misery, happiness, more misery, redemption, more sex,
Poetry and poems both good and not so good,
And a Hand!
All this and much, much, more in...
The Hand!
It's gripping stuff!
 
Also coming soon at a cinema near you! ...
The Hand 2: Handshake of Hate, Horror And Heavy Handed Harassment.
Another tragic tall tale about a severed Hand.
A nun's Hand.
Lost in a tragic sign of the cross accident...
Twice more bullshit and all that bollocks.
 
*
 
In The Labyrinth Of The Goblin King
 
Who dares to enter my domain!
Awaken me by clarion my name!
Methinks yet another foolish noble knight!
That my traps will destroy with cold delight!
 
His vibrant voice becomes so slightly louder,
He must be good he must possess a unique gift.
He's navigated my cruel Labyrinth Of Lost Souls,
Let's see how he fares with The Graveyard Shift.
 
So he's deftly cut them all to pieces and ribbons,
For my hobgoblin undead scream and wail no more.
A most skilled one is he but a mere trifling matter,
In my Grotto Of Doom trap, await surprises galore.
 
Ah! He's entered for I can hear them hiss and slither,
Alas! All who have gallantly set foot have never leaved.
There dwells my pet giant serpents bloated with deadly venom,
Every drop of noble blood from his body will be squeezed.
 
By Hades!
He's slain them all and calls for me!
And boldly ventures on!
What is this knight's name who is he?
 
My Pit Of Soul Suckers will surely ensure his final demise,
They will literally and ever so slowly suck his essence from him.
I begrudgingly admit he has done rather exceedingly well,
But the evil Pit has a price to pay to become it's first fatal victim.
 
What endless trickery and skullduggery is this!
He now boldly journeys beyond The Pit!
This relentless knight constantly calling my name,
He can't be stopped, he just won't quit!
 
But still I wickedly possess security abounds,
Two defence lines before confronting Magnificent Me!
My captive starved Dragon who shares my name,
Then my vast hobgoblin army from which he'll flee!
 
Ah! Hark! The mighty merciless roar of my Dragon!
He's entered it's cruel Chamber Of Flaming Death.
He'll be burnt to a frazzle simply roasted alive,
This treasure seeking knight by it's fiery breath!
 
What is happening?
No more fiery roar!
No smell of burning!
Not even screams galore!
 
Impossible! Unbelievable! He's freed my Dragon!
And the only screams I hear so hideous and loud.
He rides upon it guiding it's endless searing flame,
My now ashen hobgoblin army of once I was proud.
 
And now they confront me,
And I see he is no knight.
Dressed in a hooded cloak,
His eyes so clear and bright.
He speaks so eloquently...
 
Keep your vast treasure keep your shiny baubles,
Choke on your silver and choke on your gold I do decry
You're a King now in a lifeless, cold kingdom,
A King in name and alone, a King to grow old then die.
 
Your lesson learnt with oceans of time on which to reflect,
I came to save this Dragon from you and your stained vermin.
An honourable creature who saved my life when I was young,
Now I'm a man a wizard an enchanter and my name is Merlin!
 
*
 
An Angel And A Demon
 
An angel and a demon,
Constantly fought long and hard.
Throughout eternity they did spar,
On the verge of every graveyard.
 
Their souls belong to Lucifer!
The demon scratched and hissed.
The angel softly whispered,
They belong to God while I exist.
 
The victor of this duel,
Was the angel pure and free.
The demon shrugged then spat,
Next time they belong to me!
 
*
 
30,000,000 Evil People
 
They came from all walks of life.
Men, women even the young.
All evil.
Thirty million.
Thirty million crammed together over three islands.
Lle Ste Joseph, Lle Royale and Lle Diable.
All found off French Guiana.
All known by a better name...
The Devil's Islands.
All were summoned by their master Satan.
Or so they thought.
All were promised untold power and riches.
Or so they thought.
All waiting for the promised time He would appear.
Thirty million waiting.
Thirty million counting down.
And at 6 minutes past 6 on June 6.
They were enveloped in a white light.
That was when the first nuke detonated.
A nanosecond later the other two hydrogen bombs exploded.
They would later by the world be called,
The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit.
Thirty million evaporated in an instant.
There was no trace of radiation.
There was no tidal surge.
And open sea is now where they once stood.
The world at first was horrified and puzzled.
Then the truth about these people came out.
The next day the world rejoiced at the news,
Of a new star shining over Bethlehem.
 
*
Fifteen Men On A Dead Man's Chest
 
Fifteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Always thought it needed more verses and a final closure,
So I wrote these...
 
Sixteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Of pirate greed and murder I'm blessed,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Seventeen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
As I throw one from the ships crow's nest
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Eighteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Another swab gone who I did detest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Nineteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
My sharp cutlass runs through his breast,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Twenty men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
My hidden dagger rids an unwanted guest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Twenty one men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Slitting of throats is what I do best,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Twenty two men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Another gone as I near the end of my quest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
Twenty three men on a dead man's chest,
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
The last one slaughtered like all the rest
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
The treasure's mine all mine to keep.
And of dead shipmates I lose no sleep.
A very rich captain I've now become!
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
 
*
 
 A Hero Falls
 
When a hero falls from Grace,
All dark legends are discovered.
Myths exposed and pain magnified,
The greatest untruths uncovered.
 
*
 
A Callous Killer
 
The ice upon the pond's so thin,
A callous killer has fallen in.
I tell him rescue is nevermore,
Until its surface freezes more.
 
All pitiful screams I do ignore,
His hideous crime to answer for.
I do not care he's my only brother,
For he murdered our only mother.
*
 
Knives Out
 
Oh, he's a lesser poet,
His critic's would agree.
In fact he had it coming,
If not by them by me.
 
Yes, murders a nasty business,
With knives of jealousy.
And in the world of poetry,
Forever a necessity.
 
*
 
A Mermaid's Heart
 
A mermaid's heart is as cold as ice,
Her lullaby song for all to entice.
Softly luring a young sailor from afar,
Always at night under a twinkling star.
 
When hypnotised and he's half asleep,
She'll grasp him and drop to The Deep.
All innocent sailors sink like heavy stones,
I was the first and my name is Davey Jones.
 
*
Something Wicked This Way Comes
 
Something wicked this way comes,
To the sound of deafening drums.
We run away and burn our lungs,
It catches up we speak in tongues.
And now become the wicked ones.
 
*
 
From Beyond The Grave
 
When day is done,
And shadows fall.
Then winter's night,
Does coldly call...
 
A former lover,
Escapes your mind.
Dead and buried,
His fate unkind.
 
By your hands,
The deed done.
Six bullets fired,
From that gun.
 
A crime of passion,
You did conceal.
He's buried deep,
No big deal.
 
This remote place,
Where you dwell.
Witness to murder,
Dreams never retell.
 
As blissful sleep,
Washes over you.
Then awoken loudly,
By something new.
 
Your dead lover,
Stands over your bed.
Six bullet holes,
In his skeletal head.
 
You try to scream,
Hands at your throat.
His rotted face,
Now so does gloat.
 
From beyond the grave.
Returns death's castaway.
His cold retribution,
Is the price you pay.
 
*
 
The Box Maker
 
In me they trust,
I pose no threat.
Their only mistake,
With doomed regret.
 
They're all scum,
Each and every one.
And what I do,
I do for fun.
 
My arm in a sling,
Part of my disguise.
Walk up to them,
And a syringe surprise.
 
I drug them up,
A death knell chimes.
I show no mercy,
For their sick crimes.
 
A box prepared,
Made to fit.
A work of art,
I must admit.
 
I fold them up,
Cram them in.
And I'll always,
Sever a limb.
 
Nice and snug,
They fit right in.
Lid nailed down,
A box of sin.
 
The hardest wood,
Cold steel nails.
Secures their agony,
It never fails.
 
Such loving care,
Attention to detail.
A clever killer,
Who'll never fail.
 
It's my hobby,
My aim in life.
A simple box maker,
Who kills with rife.
 
I am a showman,
It's what I do.
My spite and wrath,
Is now on view.
 
Always with holes,
So they can breathe.
Sometimes they cry,
My hatred seethes.
 
At times I might,
Add a rat or two.
Depends how many victims,
Are soiled by you.
 
When a box is found,
A headline splash.
Another paedophile murder,
Buried in trash.
 
I've now evolved,
Changed my M O.
Still gift them death,
A death more slow.
 
Foolish of me,
Not to grasp.
A unique suffering,
And a final gasp.
 
Each box now bigger,
Of a sort.
Still inescapable,
Hopeless to thwart.
 
A simple plan,
I did contrive.
They're six feet under,
Now buried alive.
 
*
Deadlier Than The Male: The Trilogy Of Evil
 
Miss Goody Two Shoes. Trilogy Of Evil Part 1...
 
Whiter than white,
Purer than snow.
A virginal saint,
You'd like to know.
 
Always the first,
To say how are you.
How can I help,
What can I do.
 
Caring and sharing,
All day through.
When you are ill.
She'll look after you.
 
Never the bearer,
Of any bad news.
A heaven sent teen,
One to amuse.
 
She simply exists,
Her name I did choose.
I simply call her,
Miss Goody Two Shoes.
 
For she holds secrets,
So dark and vile.
She loves to murder,
With her twisted smile.
 
She is a sick bitch,
A remorseless banshee.
She's killed hundreds,
With gratuitous glee.
 
For I'm the cop,
Who's on her case.
This Miss Goody Two Shoes,
With an angelic face.
 
She'll call on you,
So late at night.
Pretend she's lost,
So sad her plight.
 
You invite her in,
With such a thrill.
This innocent teen,
Who's dressed to kill.
 
She'll drug you up,
Half knock you out.
She enjoys her work,
You'll bleed and shout.
 
She'll draw you in,
Then cut your throat.
Over your carcass,
She'll dance and gloat.
 
She kills at random,
She kills for a kick.
Her jigsaw's aftermath,
So appalling and sick.
 
They think they're safe,
No harm will come.
But always with her,
Death will be done.
 
She'll sucker men in,
By playing cupids.
When they are drowsy,
Cut off their eyelids.
 
She'll strap you down,
Slowly skin you alive.
For you and your kind,
Her creativity does thrive.
 
Your blood will flow,
Your heart will race.
The last thing you see,
Is her smiling face.
 
With razor in hand,
She'll cut and she'll splice.
She'll tease and she'll toy,
She's so very precise.
 
And last to be severed,
You'll miss the most.
Fountains of blood,
Turning white as a ghost.
 
She will not stop,
She'll never falter.
All evil sacrificed,
Upon her bloody altar.
 
Her innocence stolen,
That wicked day.
She seeks payback,
In her own way.
 
A teenage grim reaper,
She's death incarnate.
Never mixed morals,
Her mind does debate.
 
She can't be stopped,
She's one of a kind.
So intensely driven,
With a killer's mind.
 
She is so macabre,
But no necrophile.
Each victim is,
A sick paedophile.
 
I will never catch her,
She loves her fun and games.
I text her very often,
And give her all their names.
 
*
 
She. Trilogy Of Evil Part 2...
 
She was there wearing her dress cut from sin.
She was there with a ravenous devil's desire.
She was there with the words of dead saints.
She was there with a hypnotic voice from a choir.
She was there whispering a haunting melody.
She was there picking out her targeted prey.
She was there waiting for the sun to go down.
She was there waiting for my lust to stray.
She was there casting her fathomless black shadow,
She was there with her smile never reaching her eyes.
She was there with her polished ornate silver dagger,
She was there deeply plunging it into her helpless prize.
 
She was there stealing my heart.
 
*
 
Enchantress. Trilogy Of Evil Part3...
 
Look at you,  
All quiet and coy.
Miss Goody Two Shoes.
No, not that one teen paedophile slicing slaughterhouse.
She's out of the country.
She's teamed up with The Lady Killer.
They're showing off their macabre blood fest worldwide.
Gone on tour you might say.
Sort of a busman's holiday.
Did you hear what they did to those six paedophiles in Paris.
Let alone that bloodbath in Belgium.
Unbelievable!
They'll never be caught.
My hunch is a fellow cop is tipping them off.
But that's another story for another time.
And that one who steals men's hearts.
The one called She.
There's more death and killers out there than cancer.
And they're all women.
I'm only saying that to lighten you up.
Bring your defences down.
But you know all about that already.
All about psychology.
Anyway.
Back to you.
Enchantress.
Just rolls off the tongue doesn't it.
I'll say it again.
Enchantress.
Us cops first nicknamed you Deadlier Than The Male.
Too long.
Then we called you Spellbinder.
We liked that one.
But it was the press who finally decided the matter.
With Enchantress.
And the name stuck.
Your name.
As I look at you here and now.
In this interrogation room.
Enchantress.
The uncatchable Enchantress.
Caught.
Still you haven't said a word to me.
Since you've been in this room.
But you love to talk.
Did you know that?
So much information.
So many intricate details.
A real chatter-box.
That's how I caught you.
So lets start at the beginning...
It's all about men.
Missing men.
Men who have just vanished off the face of the planet.
Fifty five to be exact.
All at night all of them never to be seen again.
Fifty five men over three years.
And we had no leads or clues.
Nothing to work with except.
We were seeking a woman.
A real mistress of disguise.
So slippery and elusive.
A real chameleon.
Any CCTV with you and your victim was so poor.
Hell we had it enhanced by NASA.
To no avail.
Again no clues to your real identity.
A ghost.
First we thought it was one of our own.
A woman obviously.
Forensics, scene of crime officer, a fellow detective.
Checked and double checked all their police attendance records.
Then triple checked.
Nothing.
Every angle we explored led to nothing.
A big fat zero.
And still men disappeared.
So the old adage of this person started very young.
Starting off with local pets cats dogs etc.
Tortured and killed them blah blah blah.
Enjoyed doing it.
All that bollocks.
So we checked all arrest records and all news items.
Going back decades.
Again nothing.
And then you entered my life.
Just breezed into my office.
Me one of the leading detectives on this cruel case.
The most beautiful and beguiling woman I've ever met.
And an instant chemistry between us.
Or so I foolishly thought at that time.
Offering that huge reward for public information.
Information leading to the arrest of this Enchantress.
Simply because your editor was her recent victim.
You being a best selling author.
Your wealth was an understatement.
Anyway as you well know.
You truly captivated me.
One thing led to the other.
Sex with you was incredible.
But sleeping with you was horrifying.
But I had to do it.
And the last time.
I actually threw up in the bathroom.
I had to act quickly.
Put the tracker on your car myself.  
We easily found your underground bunker.
You were always going back an fore.
Bypassed all your security there.
That was the easy part.
Then we entered.
That was the not so easy part.
We had found the missing men.
All of them.
All your chosen victims.
And we were horrified.
All of us thought we'd seen it all through the years.
Nothing could prepare us for what we found.
Then I found that empty display cabinet.
The one with my name on it.
You sick bitch.
The next victim to add to your dark collection.
Your hideous collection.
All of them with their innards guts vital organs removed.
And fed to the over weight dogs in the other room.
All of them named and behind individual glass cabinets.
All of them stuffed and embalmed.
Like shop window dummies on display.
A real charnel house.
A Madame Tussauds from Hell.
Such bible black evil on display.
All for you to admire and gloat over.
Because simply you hate men.
Because you really hate me.
And so we laid a trap.
We waited for you.
In your chamber of horrors.
Waited in the dark.
Surrounded by evil.
And we waited.
With the patience of Job.
And you turned up.
The shock on your face was only fleeting.
Then you said well done congratulations.
And then you smiled.
You sick bitch!
Men.
The ultimate hunt.
Murder.
The ultimate thrill.
A real player of the game.
A power game.
You the predator.
You sick bitch.
Never in your wildest dreams or crime novels.
Would you dream of getting caught.
That's not exactly true though is it.
I'm a good detective.
But no genius.
No Sherlock Holmes.
Truth is we would never have caught you.
You're too good.
Too perfect.
As I said to you at the beginning.
You love to talk.
And that's how I caught you.
Enchantress.
Because...
You talk in your sleep.
 
*
 
The Penny Dreadful
 
A little book of murders most vile and foul,
Featuring mad killers on their deadly prowl.
Never any subject ever off limits or even taboo,
The Penny Dreadful is the black book for you.
 
A Victorian horror publication for the masses,
Each eagerly awaited by all the working classes.
Every week its morbid demand so vastly grew,
With graphic gothic tales of terror for all to view.
 
Packed with lurid and dark sensational matter,
A victims demise with a shocking blood splatter.
If death macabre is what you desire to read and view,
For the wicked Penny Dreadful was grisly made for you.
 
*
 Goldilocks The Bear Hunter And Food Junkie
 
Three down and their porridge was so delicious.
Rumour has it some bears today are having a picnic,
Down in the woods and possibly quite nutritious.
 
*
 
The Teddy Bears Picnic
 
If you go down to the woods today,
You're in for a big surprise.
If you go down to the woods today,
You'll meet your grisly demise.
 
There are many furry little critters,
A pleasing sight to any small child.
The Teddy Bears are having a picnic,
Bears so madly ravenous and defiled.
 
So sweet and so cuddly are they all,
All gathered opening up their food hamper.
Then a sight to shock Edgar Allan Poe,
Revealing the entrails of a happy camper.
 
Now as one they begin to spit and hiss,
As a bloody feeding frenzy takes place.
Their mouth's revealing long sharp fangs,
As they all gorge on a woodsman's face.
 
Their trail of death is truly horrendous,
In woods once filled with assuring peace.
Pieces of human carrion lay vilely scattered,
As their gluttonous hunger just won't cease.
 
They've always been secretly evil.
Hoodwinking humans for many a year,
Inanimate cute and cuddly soft toys,
Are not what they did once appear.
 
So, don't go down to the woods today,
Don't bump into a nasty big surprise.
Please, don't go down to the woods today,
Don't meet your most grisly demise.
For if you do you'll head their menu,
Carved and served up with French-fries.
 
*
 
Mary Had A Little Lamb
 
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go...
 
It followed her to the abattoir,
Where Mary tirelessly does work.
Her lamb looked nervously around,
As Mary began to sharply smirk.
 
Mary had a little lamb,
Washed down with a fine Bordeaux.
Had just enough left over,
To make a little lamb risotto.
 
Mary had a secret stalker,
Who watched her night and day.
But Mary knew of his presence,
And laid plans to do him away...
 
*
 
Dolls
 
Beware those creepy little dolls,
The ones with eyes so real.
For behind their red ruby lips,
Lies evil they try to conceal...
 
Those wicked dolls of which I speak of,
Were made over two hundred years ago.
Three dolls who originate from Vienna,
Three dolls that form an unholy trio.
 
Faith, Hope and Charity he named them,
By the greatest doll maker in the lands.
Each doll so hypnotic and most alluring,
Painstakingly crafted by his own hands.
 
Their creator's name was Carl Guttenberg,
His background people knew nothing about.
And he died a most macabre hideous death,
 With his hands cut off and his eyes torn out.
 
On their own each doll is sweetly innocent,
But when together is a deadly dark drawback.
For all through the centuries these dolls,
Bloody rampage and slay as a hunting pack.
 
Decades of countless unsolved cruel murders,
Only occur when these devil dolls do unite.
Each one an unaware antique's collector,
Hideously butchered by these dolls of spite.
 
So beware of Faith, Hope and Charity,
Virtues these evil dolls mock and shun.
My tale of terror for every collector,
A diabolical dolls warning for everyone.
 
*
 
It Stalks The Streets
 
It stalks the streets...
Devouring prey.
Once a month,
Never at day.
 
Our torch-lit mob,
Seeks it out.
This time we kill,
No shadow of doubt.
 
Its over there!
We set upon him.
Ripping and tearing,
Limb from limb.
 
Our deed is done,
The Beast is dead.
A trophies kept,
This Wolfman's head.
 
*
 
A Hunter's Moon
 
The moon half full,
The night was fine.
When I went out,
Late evening time.
 
I walked about,
Here and there.
And gazed aloft,
Then felt cold air.
 
And then I saw,
A vampire bat.
Much larger than,
Man or cat.
 
Then it screeched,
An almighty roar.
Leaving my ears,
Bleeding and sore.
 
I raced away,
While looking back.
In case it swooped,
And did attack.
 
Through a graveyard,
I began to flee.
Then into woods but,
Kept pace with me.
 
Again glancing back,
Saw its demon eyes.
Both mocking me,
Playing with its prize.
 
Hours and hours,
Lasted my plight.
And was only saved,
By dawn's first light.
 
The bat had gone,
No longer there.
But still visits me,
In every nightmare.
 
But not for long,
I've a tale to tell.
The next full moon,
I'll give it hell.
 
Late on that night,
I will transform.
To become a beast,
A new life-form.
 
For next full moon,
Will be blood red.
A Hunter's Moon,
My fears all dead.
 
A change in me,
So shall occur.
What once was skin,
Will then be fur.
 
On a Hunter's Moon,
That bat's fanged jaws.
Soon torn to shreds,
By my Werewolf claws...
 
*
 
The Cabal
 
As darkness falls across the land,
The cabal meeting is now at hand.
A hit list of death they have penned,
Ensuring silence on all condemned.
 
For many centuries they have ruled,
Kings and queens are forever fooled.
Many names for them spring to mind,
These secret harsh rulers of mankind.
 
Vile despots who think they're superior,
Ruling forever over they deem inferior.
Their wealth and power staggers any mind,
The latest technology they all disincline.
 
A miracle cure for cancer is hidden away,
Population control is the game they play.
Anti-gravity breakthroughs go the same way,
For money and influence their minds betray.
 
Day by day good people live in long torment,
By a shadowy organization of hate and resent.
Puppet politicians controlled by a Svengali,
A hidden secret cabal called the Illuminati.
 
*
 
House Of Pain
 
Many sleepless nights,
Day after day.
Sheer bloody agony,
That won't go away.
 
To visit that place,
Is the lesser evil.
And pay for pain,
To cease upheaval.
 
As I take my turn,
In this den of dread.
Manic thoughts begin,
To fill my head.
 
That morbid fear,
Of that incessant drill.
This time I know,
It's out to kill.
 
Or of that needle,
So long and cruel.
So lethal so sharp,
Made of cold steel.
 
Sit down relax,
He does softly say.
Now open wide,
And I'm his prey.
 
Oh that looks bad,
I'll whip it out.
There is no time,
To protest or shout.
 
Now that needle,
Plunges earthly deep.
My eyes fill up,
And tears do seep.
 
Now that drill,
That burrows deep.
It makes me groan,
It makes me weep.
 
And while performing,
His Marathon Man act.
He decides to engage,
In one-way chit-chat.
 
This angel of death,
This dentist from hell.
When my torture's ended,
He wishes me well.
 
I splutter a goodbye,
And an all the best.
I leave double quick,
Like all the rest.
 
He utters farewell,
Have a splendid day.
And on your way out,
Don't forget to pay.
 
I've paid enough,
In pain and fears.
I need a rest,
To dry my tears.
 
*
 
House Of Wax
 
Every night a wretched soul goes missing,
Close to the vicinity of that freakish place.
And every day a new figurine is displayed.
Concealing a dark secret beneath its wax face...
 
I welcome you all to my Victorian London,
With its rancid streets full of fat rats and grime.
At night filled with harlot sluts and gin teasers,
And a blind eye is turned away from any crime.
 
A real lunatic prowls out there somewhere,
All to be found is a trail of thick crimson blood.
And all can safely rule out Jack The Ripper,
For bad boy Jack will leave a body not a flood.
 
Let me introduce myself my name is Louis Cypher,
And I am the deranged villain of this dark piece.
Proud dark, mad owner of Louis's House Of Wax,
So wickedly happy that admissions now increase.
 
But what I desperately need are fresh bodies,
Once vibrant and once so filled with lively life.
For they are like putty so flexible and pliable,
Even hours after being stabbed with my knife.
 
It's always all about the showy razzmatazz,
My haunting figurines so silently do display.
And I am the world's greatest wax artist,
With my side line of nightly hunt and slay.
 
So do all come and visit my Waxworks Museum,
Filled with horror and hidden secret wax disguise.
But be weary walking home in the dark alone,
For you might return pretty soon after your demise.
 
*
 
The Gentleman Caller
 
Oh he's an absolute monster,
A real player of the game.
He's the master of perfection,
Puts other killers to shame.
 
He's prim and ever so proper,
Polite and extremely discreet.
His murders are today legion,
On victims he visits to meet.
 
Women so trusting towards him,
All beguiled by him on line.
He uses upmarket dating sites,
Different identities every time.
 
But its the words he chooses,
That woo and win every one.
A bona fide charming Casanova,
That lonely suitors never shun.
 
Simply romance is all they seek,
An evening with a refined man.
A man who is so sophisticated,
A murderer with a pitiless plan.
 
He always uses hunting knives,
That cut deep into the bone.
And he'll always take a trophy,
From the carnage he has sown.
 
Not a single scrap of evidence,
We retrieve from any crime scene.
He's like something supernatural,
This slayer who gets away clean.
 
We have an apt name we call him,
Who's public infamy grows taller.
This mass murderer connoisseur,
We nick name The Gentleman Caller.
 
*
 
Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber
 
She makes the juiciest tastiest pies in the land,
Crammed with sweet meats by her own hand.
Mrs Lovett's reputation is true I heartly agree,
The freshest meat pies in London her legacy
 
After three fleshy pies I call in next door,
A barber's shop for a short back and sides.
As I enter he greets me with a thin false smile,
And sits me down to my final bloody demise.
 
We are alone, me and this most un-charming man,
A puzzling side lever next to the comfy chair I sit in.
I think nothing of it as begins his sharp cutting,
Then he chuckles revealing a wide demonic grin.
 
He pulls my head back then slashes my throat,
Fountains of blood gushing over razor and room.
He then pulls on the lever as the floor gives way,
The seat tilts back and I plunge down to my doom.
 
In the darkness below I dwell on my last thoughts
A mere lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice unto God.
I'm another one of many Victorian London's murders,
By the hand's of evil barber named Sweeney Todd.
 
*
 
Poltergeist
 
You sleep so peaceful,
So snug and tight.
Always slumbering safely,
Night after night.
 
In your warm bed,
You dream delightful dreams.
But tomorrow night,
They'll be traded for screams.
 
No half measures,
For you the full show.
My malice and madness,
On you to bestow.
 
I've changed my mind,
Right now I shall start.
And it's just too bad,
If you have a bad heart...
 
*
 
The House On Haunted Hill
 
Have you got what it takes,  
To endure and to simply survive.
In the house on Haunted Hill,  
Against the horrors it can contrive.
 
That tempting large sum of money,  
Accepted to stay just one night.
Means nothing now as you wonder,  
Will any live to see first light.
 
Six of us accepted the challenge,  
Of this dark house that stands alone,  
Just three women and three men,  
And tonight its evil will be shown.
 
We all arrived at six o'clock,  
That evening's allocated time.
And met by our rich sponsor,  
An old man well past his prime.
 
We all made our introductions,  
Then he bid us a fond farewell.
So very little did we suspect,  
That we had just walked into Hell.
 
Ten thousand dollars for one night,  
That's just easy money in the bank.
He's just locked the door and gates,  
But I'll play along with his prank.
 
We all laugh at the elaborate absurdity,  
Looking around the gothic meeting hall.
Candlesticks, suits of armour, crystal chandelier,  
Stuffed animals trying to spook us all.
 
Just a big practical joke being played,  
No doubt hidden cameras on us to spy.
But within the next thirty seconds,  
Two of us would so horrifically die...
 
They just never saw it coming,  
What heartlessly followed next.
This house wants us all dead,  
A house of pain so truly hexed.
 
A couple on the stone staircase,  
Like us all did stop and suddenly freeze.
As the grand piano in the music room,  
Ripped apart with  consummate ease.
 
Its wires now flying through the air,  
Towards its first victims of the eve'.
They had no time to fearfully scream,  
Decapitated by a house out to cleave.  
 
And just when it couldn't get worse,  
From that sickening moment on it did.
As two long black candles were hurled,  
Deeply thrusted through a woman's eyelids
 
Three down with another three to go!  
As we three heard this hideous voice.
Then we ran blindly up the staircase,  
For out of fear we had no other choice...
 
*
 
That House
 
There are many stories about that house.
Many stories.
Many myths.
Many legends.
All dark.
All true.
I live close by,
Longer than I can remember.
People like you come to view it.
And like you they ask me about the murders.
And the slain.
Especially the slain.
Yeah.
Those terrible murders.
Only one escaped that night.
And she was mad.
Mad as a hatter.
She had bitten off her own tongue.
Probably at the séance they held.
Pitifully trying to run away.
Completely blind.
Her eyes torn out.
Covered in blood.
No!
Drenched in blood.
Not hers.
The blood from other nine,
Paranormal investigators.
I saw their bodies.
Or what was left of them.
When they were carried out.
They never found her tongue or her eyes.
I'll never forget that night.
Such cruelty.
Such fury.
And such hate.
God they were so young.
All of them.
And of that poor girl who escaped.
She's residing in a mental asylum.
A padded cell so she can't harm herself.
A grad student.
And her name was Hope.
Sweet Jesus!
Hope!
She was so pretty.
A real looker.
The police never caught,
Or charged anybody.
Because nobody did it.
Nobody human of course.
It was that place.
That house.
And its secrets.
I will never go past,
It's gates ever again.
Not for all the tea in China.
The gates are locked anyway.
And I urge you,
No!
I beg you!
Not to sneak in for a looksee.
For it probably will be your last.
For that house is more,
Than a haunted house.
It's a hungry house.
It devours people.
It chews them up and spits them out.
It should be torn down.
And the wreckage burnt.
And the land it once stood on,
Should be covered in salt.
So I'll tell you one last thing.
And this is for free.
About that house,
And what dwells there.
Whatever it is,
Whatever walks there...
Walks alone.
 
*
 
A Town Called Eerie
 
Into the town called Eerie,
I ventured one fateful night.
Little did I know or expect,
True horror's dark foresight...
 
Badly injured and seeking help,
That evening so wet and gray.
I'd hit and run a kid cyclist,
Now cowardly running far away.  
 
I drove down a red tendril road,
Through a harsh lightening storm.
Passing a child who stared at me,
So strange, odd, so not the norm.
 
Suddenly it became much colder,
The deeper I drove in this place.
The few souls I passed all glared,
At me each with a hostile face.
 
I found a dismally light hospital,
Staggering in I shouted for attention.
It was deathly quiet as a tomb,
Not expecting the revelation to come.
 
I looked into an adjoining room,
Saw God and the devil playing chess.
The devil then looked up at me,
Then a leering smile he did express.
 
Then found myself in a graveyard,
So pitch black I had to strike a flame.
Looking down I saw a new gravestone,
Now terrified for on it was my name.
 
The truth now dawned upon me,
My fate now so deservedly sealed.
Today's date also cruelly inscribed,
In cold granite stone coldly revealed.
 
A black hooded figure I see now,
The Grim Reaper whom I can't flee.
Death's soul harvester here to collect,
His skeletal hand now beckoning me.
 
The graveyard wind loudly howled,
Of dark secrets and rotted dreams.
For in this town called Eerie,
Nothing is as what it seems...