Reading H.P. Lovecrafdt, Clark Ashton Smilh, Lord Dunsany, William Hope Hogson for inspiration then Robert W. Service for form we created some spooky things.
Hannah Tyndall
Under the light of the midnight sun
Sits the life of the darkness
Out they lurk for terror and fun
With no inhibitions within them.
They crawl and stagger all around
Through the cities and the towns
Teasing those that are lifeless and bound
To their houses and cozy beds
Under the street lamps out it stammers
With a vengeance strong in mind
That nothing the work of nails and hammers
Can stop it from peering in.
One does not know when or where,
Or how or what it does
All that is sensed is that still in the air
Stronger than any silence
Lying in bed the fear wakes you
With your heart beating hard and strong
This is not the world you wanted to wake to
But out of your hands it sits now.
Move even an inch and it can sense
Your body, your life, your very being
Yet you feel it in your presence
But that and only that, you know
Yet you cannot help the curiosity
The want, the urge, the need
To see what it does not want you to see
And know as much as it knows.
So it will continue to frighten
And it will continue to creep
In order to make those senses frighten
And lower your need to see.
Instead you will stay cozy in bed
And pull the covers up
Pull them far, far over your head
And drown in the deafening silence.
But this does not stop it from finding you
And it will not cease the search
To it this job is nothing new
And the fear you hold creates it
So what now? What is to come?
Will you run or sit and wait?
Is it worth it to leave your home?
And risk it finding you again?
Or will you stand and turn to fight?
Are you prepared? Or are you scared?
As it comes closer into the light
And the tremors through your body grow stronger.
Or will you awaken?
It is a simple feet, but can it end this all?
That power it has not taken.
But now is when it must happen.
Otherwise you are left to fall
Into this nightmarish abyss
Forever gone, soul, spirit and all
Without any hope to return.
CATHERINE STOBIE
“Where is Old Man Kerrigan?”
Out from the window sill, ants follow a line,
Something that must surely be a sign;
Mrs. Kerrigan has got that stare again,
Which no one can quite make out;
The rain drops that fall are the only ones to see it all,
As the doors were shut tightly;
And Old Man Kerrigan fell down the stairs again,
While the frail old woman could not hide her glee.
Old Man Kerrigan was raised where the cows would graze up in the county of Marin.
But one day when April of 1930 turned to May, a jackpot of money his family did win.
He was still but a country boy, with money being his new found joy, which should have brought him bliss.
Instead he found his former hopes turned into jokes, as he took a shot at higher society and missed.
Now the family of Mrs. Kerrigan owned Lake Michigan, and was one with great wealth and rank.
She attended boarding school, as was the rule, but in fact she and school mates mostly drank.
When she entered the last of her teens, the stock market shattered her dreams, so she would soon have to marry.
Marry a man as dumb as a can, whose children she would soon have to carry.
And so it came that such a spoiled dame would marry this country-born man.
He thought her amazing, with outer beauty unchanging, yet she did not give a damn.
She hated how he loved to fish, oh how much she did wish that he would just work on his golf game.
But not a word of this she said, as they lie in bed, for his wealth allowed her a good name.
After some years of suppressed shedding of tears, many a children they had.
And after a while, each individual child had more children which made the old Kerrigans glad.
Even still, as Old Man Kerrigan signed his will, Mrs. Kerrigan felt incomplete,
By years of tears and forced wedding cheers, she felt her life obsolete.
One day a thought which she had not sought, went running through her head.
“No, no,” she yelled, for that would smell, and who knows what would be said.
So by and by, after attempted try, she felt the urge to act;
She would need to perform with accuracy and speed, and most of all great tact.
To have a life purged of former strife, was too great a desire to overcome.
To no longer wake next to that wealthy fake, was as beautiful a feeling as the springtime sun.
“But how?” she wondered now, was the answer she did seek.
She may be old, but with a soul so cold, Mrs. Kerrigan was anything but weak.
So on one stormy morning when it was pouring, Mr. Kerrigan arose;
And in this gloom stumbled from his bedroom, unable to see in front of his nose.
Unable to see that his beloved wife, the woman who for so many years brought no strife, was waiting for him at that top of the stairs.
Clomp, clomp, with steps that stomp, this old man fumbled around without any cares.
The next morning was quite the story, as a police report was made.
An old man, happy and peaceful as a lamb, and with his family he usually stayed,
Had gone missing, with the entire Kerrigan family wishing that their dear old pops would be found soon.
But Mrs. Kerrigan had that stare again, one of calm as long as no one entered that room.
A peculiar line the police did find, of ants streaming in from the window sill.
“I just need to get in pest control” she said to cajole, for she had opened the window to ease the chill.
“Alright” the officer said thrice, that will suffice, but curious he remained.
For this lie was a quizzical reply, for the expression on her face looked pained.
That night she sprayed and sprayed with all her might, to make those pests go away.
A memory she long wished not to see, day after miserable day.
Freedom at last! Which would soon pass, as these ants would make their way through the massive house.
She performed this act with great tact, so quiet as not to disturb even a mouse.
Mr. Kerrigan had not been found, for it was said he most likely drowned, when taking his walk near the sea.
“Alas!” she thought, again not at all distraught, as her old frail heart jumped with glee.
To live again, not under Mr. Kerrigan, was the greatest gift of all,
But just as these feeling arrived, of how wonderful a life she had contrived, the house received a call.
“We will be coming by tomorrow,” the officer said, words that Mrs. Kerrigan did dread, but she composed herself and said “alright.”
So that day, again she would have to spray, to get those ants out of sight.
“They must be done by now,” she said as she wondered how anything could still be there.
So she sprayed and stomped, but never clomped, and as for peeking she would not dare.
In the morn there was storm when the officers soon arrived.
“Good morning Madame, I’m officer Sam,” and into the questioning he dived.
“But wait!” she said to demonstrate, how calm she could be.
“Officer, oh please, just put yourself at ease and I’ll make you a pot of tea.”
But this Officer Sam has his own plan, and so looked over at that window,
That curious sight that he did see left a mark on his memory, where the ants ran in a row.
A faint line, he could find, of ant scattered here and there.
A so the line he followed, while the old woman thought he wallowed over on the living room chair.
He thought he lost it, but then found a closet, which seemed to have what he was looking for.
Swiftly he turned the knob, hoping to corner this old snob, and right behind the door,
Lay what must have been Old Man Kerrigan in a hole beneath the floor.
But the strangest sight, to the old woman’s delight, was that the ants around the corpse had been smashed.
“Oh yes,” she said, as her testimony she read, as the jury’s hopes of any innocence were dashed.
“Oh yes Officer Sam, this was the plan, for even these pests need something to eat.
I let them try, for he would not die, and even ants will eat live meat.”
Out from the window sill, ants follow a line,
Something that must surely be a sign;
Mrs. Kerrigan has got that stare again,
Which no one can quite make out;
The rain drops that fall are the only ones to see it all,
As the doors were shut tightly;
And Old Man Kerrigan fell down the stairs again,
While the frail old woman could not hide her glee.
NICOLE WHITMAN
Emily’s Good Deed
Emily loves the hills, in greens, purples, and blues
Every morning she rises and it is the hills she pursues
The walk is slightly rocky, the road she does abuse
Stopping now and then, as the blues accrues
The sun alone is the only thing that breakthroughs
The privacy of the hills, oranges and greens infuse
Making it an enticing and stunning debut
The light dancing off the landscape forming cues
And lighting the path of justice for virtues
The guiding reason acting as her muse
Emily was born and raised on the outskirts of a large city
She was known to be smart, kind, and very pretty
She attended school every day, from the beginning classified as witty,
So kindhearted, the sick and poor always received her pity
Then one day when as she walked out of her house she heard a scream
She ran back into her house to find the floor agleam
Shining brightly and darkly, an escaping bloodstream
After tending to her beaten mother she cried in blaspheme
She quickly found the culprit who had beat her mother down
And told him she wanted to save his soul by pointing him out of town
Towards the hills, their tops cast against the sky like a crown
assuring him that at sundown, his sins the hills would drown.
Time passed and then one day at school Emily heard a shot
Students, Teachers, Parents all distraught
An innocent girl murdered by a crackpot
I chased him all the way down the parking lot
She finally outran the man who had shot the girl down
And told him she wanted to save his soul by pointing him out of town
Towards the hills, their tops cast against the sky like a crown
assuring him that at sundown, his sins the hills would drown.
Another time, another day Emily saw a girl thrown to the ground
No one had heard her scream and Emily was glad she was finally found
She listened to the girl’s story of the disgusting hound
Who violated her to immobility at the nearby playground
After calling for help she and ran to hunt the rapist down
And told him she wanted to save his soul by pointing him out of town
Towards the hills, their tops cast against the sky like a crown
assuring him that at sundown, his sins the hills would drown.
Everyone thought Emily was too generous all along
Too willing to forgive those who had done wrong
Claiming that everyone had a right to belong
And she kept on sending people to the hills all lifelong.
Emily loved the pills, in vivid multicolored hues
Rattling in their capsules, until their caps she unscrews
Greedy blood waiting for the drugs to transfuse
She deals them out hidden in tissues
Addicts in debate, green purple or blue? Which to choose?
Debating doesn’t last long, they just want to use
Taking effect their bodies tremble through their sinews and tattoos
Warming their brains but freezing their veins like igloos
And Emily just plays along, innocently smiling as their organs begin to ooze
Confident and proud that she is the one to help off all the world’s wahoos.
Claire Durling
The Man of Tucason
A bunch of girls are sitting together
Waiting for fun and flirt,
The bar they were in was full of noise
Dresses and heels and skirt.
At the end of the bar, there sat a man,
Eagerly staring a midst,
Wondering what their lives were like
His inner conscience hissed.
“What do you think, my fairest one?”
The voice had whispered again,
The man in the corner was in distress,
In a fearful stupor of sin.
“What you ask of me, I cannot do”
He mumbled with a glare,
Whatever he felt, whoever it was
He stifled under his stare.
There are people you see that you don’t forget,
And this man was certainly one;
Hunched to the right of the musical act,
Sat the man of Tucason.
Now Tucason is a place and name,
That is familiar only to few;
Amongst it’s ancient texts and cults,
You’d think these facts are skewed.
These men , or things, I like to say
Are numerous as a whole,
But due to their name and famous regard,
Incognito is always a goal.
In the corner he sat, among glasses of beer
Waiting for he knew not what,
He sat and he stared at the numerous girls,
As common as your typical slut.
“Your duty has come”, the voice hissed back,
The reason he came was clear;
But deep inside, he knew he could not,
Despite his well known fear.
In the culture of cults and groups of men,
Duties are left to all;
Who would have known, that the boss himself
Felt doubt and a conscience call.
The man of Tucason got up to leave,
His heart heavy with guilt;
But his party of girls were right before him,
His moment had just been built.
The night was cool with the color of fall,
The street an eager crowd;
Behind them he followed, his distance afar
Their fate an unknown shroud.
The people dispersed, it was just them now
And little did he know;
That his duty he was instructed to do
Would create a fancied foe.
The delusions came, his head a blur
Tucason had taken ahold;
Its was then the girls had turned around
Theirs screams were loud and bold.
The dawn had come, one sunny and bright,
The night had come to pass;
The buildings of brilliant shades of blue,
Their secret as sheer as glass.
“Did anyone know?”, they had to ask
Of the fateful call they received,
A man in hysterics and tears of woe
Left the men at present deceived.
Of the man they knew not, nor what he done
The girls were gone from sight;
The legend remains an unknown end,
Of the Tucason man that night.
Hannah Obanni
Disappearance of Julia G.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who long for young girls;
Wisteria Lane has its secret tales
That would make your stomach curl;
The mothers have seen mysterious sights
But the most mysterious they ever did see
Was that night on the street of Wisteria Lane
When someone kidnapped Julia G.
Now Julia G. was only three, the age when you discover and grow.
With curly blonde hair, living without a care, there was no way she would know.
Inside a house was a man, sneakier than a mouse with a pretty disturbing obsession
He held it back and tried not to crack, the longing for his prized possession.
On a sunny day, she came out to play, having no care in the world
She skipped, and she flipped, she was a normal three-year old girl.
In the grass so tall she would fall, not knowing what was out there
She did not know that she was a show for his sinister glare.
The night then came with its infamous fame, bringing Julia to bed.
There she laid quiet and afraid, of the noises in her head.
But the noises she heard never occurred inside her juvenile mind
But from the man outside with the menacing plan, who was feared by all of mankind.
He knew he should wait to catch his bait for another time.
It had to be more devious, not like the previous, he really was true slime.
He had a scheme that would make his dreams to catch little Julia G.
He was a man that had a plan that would allow her no time to flee.
The next day, it was quite grey, because even the sun knew.
It didn’t rise when Julia opened her eyes, because it didn’t want to bid adieu.
Julia went out and about, going on her merry way
Her cheer and glee, would soon flee, and be enveloped by dismay.
Her mom called her in, for it had been, a while since she’s seen her daughter
Julia didn’t appear, and her mom began to fear, that her baby may have been slaughtered.
She began to cry, as the night took over the sky fearing the worse situation.
She called the police hoping for some peace, crying in desperation.
The man in the house, that’s as sneaky as a mouse, looked out the window once more
He did not see little Julia G. the girl that lived next door.
He saw her family by the old oak tree looking all around.
But what they didn’t know, during their woe, was that she was next door under ground.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who long for young girls;
Wisteria Lane has its secret tales
That would make your stomach curl;
The mothers have seen mysterious sights
But the most mysterious they ever did see
Was that night on the street of Wisteria Lane
When someone kidnapped Julia G.
SEAN NEWELL
Horror Story
Shed your clothes and don your robes
Do me a favor and take a seat
I will tell you a story; I’ll try not to be gory
And fear will be your treat
It’s raining outside and with your minds open wide
You might just happen to enjoy
A tale of friendship and loss, fun and dross
But I assure you it is no ploy
It starts off one day, under the bright sun of May
In a red house lived a boy named Sam
And Sam’s best friend was a dog he named Glen
Who to Sam made his life worth a damn
Together they would stay, in his backyard they would play
Under his parents close supervision
In his magical castle, he and Glen would do battle
A land of fantasy, Sam would envision
A grand world of terrible frights, red dragons and black knights
Ran wild within his imagination
His innocent mind, would become scarred in due time
Was that of infinite creation
And every night before sleep, to make sure he wouldnt weep
Sam dangled his hand off the bed
And Good old Glen, Being Sam’s best friend
Would give it a lick with a tongue cherry red
Returning home from school one day, under the bright sun of May
Sam arrived to see his Mom
Speaking with his dad, as if a fight had been had
Something was apparently wrong
Turns out a 5’10” male had just escaped from jail
And was at the moment at large
And all the police in town, couldn’t track this man down
For manslaughter the criminal was charged
‘Don’t worry,’ said his dad, ‘This isn’t all that bad,
They will catch this guy sooner or later.’
But this didn’t help Sam, for his father couldn’t understand
His fear would long be savored
To get his mind off of things, he played on the swings
As Glen’s jolly barked cheered him on
And once again they played, in his backyard they stayed
Boy and dog both blissfully withdrawn
Until night’s grasp found Sam at last
And his terror returned again
In his eerie dark room where the shadows loomed
An entire night he would spend
But Sam refused to be scared because no matter how he fared
At least he had his buddy Glen
So off the bed he dangled his hand, and just as planned
He felt the comforting lick of his best friend
He awoke in the night, in a hysteric fright
To the sound of whimpering and dripping
With all the courage he had, trying to be like his dad
He went to the garage, a flashlight he was tightly gripping
He became paralyzed to his core when he saw Glen’s lifeless body on the floor
Eyes fixed to the words on the wall like glue
His eyes began to flood, the words were written in canine blood:
“Murderers can lick hands too.”
Frankees Samad
Forever young
Our love was such that no one could bear
Forbidden, delusional, and ill conceived
Nothing of what was said was fair
We were young, foolish, and sixteen
What more could you want at that age
What more than loves sweet dream
We’ve spent many hours speaking of this
What our loves true purpose is
One day, on the alter we’ll stand and share
our scared wedded kiss
They told us “Take it slow”
But what goes slow does not grow
And our love has proved that so
Our days spent lying in the grasses green
Questioned and probed as to where we were
“I was studying mom”
The lies they forced us procure
They have forbidden before
Family’s feel they’re right
To choose who we adore
They have told many stories of love gone wrong
But this can never fail
Our love is too deep and far too strong
To sings Romeo and Juliet’s tragic tale
One day as I come home from the best day of days
When I spent my time with you in a haze
My mother gave me a brown suitcase
And said I am going very far away
My heart stopped a beat
As I hear we’re all moving
But I will not separate
From my love they’re disapproving
The next day as I told you upon the cold rooftop of the school
You promised forever would come very soon
We could live forever, within each other
If we made this one move
A pact we held
A bond forever renewed
A new life to come
With no bitter family feud
So upon the next morning
We kissed our loved ones goodbye
Not telling them this it the last time they’ll see us
As we embark into our new life
It was a cold day in the morning of May
As we waited for your parents to leave
We went into your house and up to you room
To go through with this pact that you conceived
“You first” you said,
“No together” I plead
And you agreed
And then I did proceed
My lips turned black as my skin turned pale
And all I hear dead lovers wale
I have yet to see your bloodshed
As I lay and see you above my head,
You guided me through this tunnel of faith
But it seems I took a wrong move
As I became loves casualty
My soul, my body did remove
My eyes turned grey, as you strayed away
My destiny is here trapped in your lie
You left me here with a promise decayed
Without the faintest cry
I try to assimilate my own blood
A calamity that would never be
If only you had done it with me
You lied to me a lie so grave
And this I will not forget
While you stood above my head you said
“Don’t be afraid, you'll live within me.”
IMMAN HABEL
There’s a breeze, there’s chill, in the cold dark forest
As the hunter of souls floats in the ice
Souls trailing up, souls trailing down
and the hunter follows fiercely on their tails as they flee
By the trees we all hide, by bark, by the roots
Under the rocks we all bury
In the cave we all veil,
The hunter, as dreadful as the horse he rides
Risen from the dead we all presumed
Flesh as icky as a dead man’s foot
Appearance as dreadful as Frankenstein’s description
Gallop, gallops, gallop,gallops
Whishers, in the cave by the young among the lost
“Shhhhhhhhhhhh” Quiet, quiet, shh, shh,
Unless, you dearly, want your throat with him,
Id advice that you keep your yap shut
Yea, shh, shh, yea, shhhh
But im scared, it’s dark, it cold, mommy
Shh, not quite sure mommy would approve
Silence in the darkness of the dead and alive
Slowly approached footsteps as the leaves ruffled,
heart beats rose as the temperature rose
We bit our tongues as we heard the footsteps
We shivered in fear as the footsteps approached
Splash, water? ,the footsteps retreated
Oh, how close, we all breathed
Lul’s whispers and her words we heard
“weren’t kaja and J under the ocean rocks”
Oh no, oh dear, too late their captives
Screams, screeches, chase, Silence.
And the footsteps again came closer than we hoped
Sniff sniff, Bark bark, houl
Silence again, and we thought to leave
We sneaked under the moon
In hopes to move along
To find a place less dreadful than this
A place much safer for our souls
We walked silently into a cave silent and dark
We heard a ruffle, and all stopped dead
a shaky whisper from the corner of the cave
Shivers top to bottom, spine alert for flight
Who’s there? Show yourself, ive got a dangerous weapon
Whispers :Nzi, that you? Yea yea
oh save it, a slipper?
Much better than the sweater kaja tried to use
Was she taken, please say no
She was, I saw it, the cave overlooks the ocean
I was there, but I ran faster than Ive ever ran
Jay? You survived?
Sniff, sniff, tear, tears,
Shhh. I turned to little one and carried to comfort
Fearful thoughts overwhelmed us all
For the thought we were the only ones alive
Brought tears to us all
How dreadful the thought of thoughts is
How sad the fear we all shiver by
How brave the little for staying strong
How strong he must be to want a share
The night as dark and cold as a cell
The main man tired and ready to retreat
“hey guys, I give up, its almost midnight,
Ma will be furious if she finds out we came out”
We all breathed for the tention was dreadfull
We all came out shivering and cold
We all had goosebumps from the chase and the thrill
We all wished we had dressed a little bit warmer
We all laughed for we thought the tears, shivers and thrill
Were all too good for just a game of hide and seek
KATY RYAN
The Basement
The dungeon she called it, so frigid and stale
It beckoned her down its steps with no rail
And as she descended she caught a faint scent
That caused her to jump and back up she went.
But that small dreary room did not give up so easy
She walked past its door always feeling so queasy
She had heard many tales of owners who’d passed
But no one would answer the questions she asked.
The family before her had left in a rush
And their abandoned secrets were kept very hushed
Her nerves told her no, to stay far away
But a feeling inside that she couldn’t describe
Caused her troubled mind to sway.
Again she descended the steps with no rail
And she thought she detected a small child’s wail
And as her bare feet touched the icy, hard tiles
She let out a scream that could be heard for miles.
Back up the stairs clutching her chest, she fled
She sobbed for she saw on her cheek she had bled
The monster below was something of sin
But the evil was her, it had come from within.
She boarded and locked the door, threw away the key
Convinced if it stayed closed, safe she would be.
She sat on the floor, tears beginning to dry
Safe she did think, but that was a lie.
A year of her life passed and she lived in peace
Until one fateful night when she rose in her sleep
With bleeding hands, wood and nails she tore
And the boards came down, and with them, the door.
She didn’t awaken until she again felt that tile
And the feeling of dread bubbled in her like bile
The scream that had come a whole year before
Was lost in her throat as evil took her core.
She felt all the pain of people who’d entered
That very basement, their demons centered.
Her fight was lost from the first terrifying view
In each of her veins the monster surged through.
The child came slowly, almost from thin air
And smirked into the eyes of the woman in his lair
“You do know now what must be done”
The small boy said, with voice of fun.
She turned from him, up the steps with no rail
Determined and strong she knew she’d not fail
Calmly she moved and washed her hands
And went to the box that held rubber bands
She floated her way to the tall willow tree
She hung up her rope and tied it like he
“Perfect”, he said. And she grabbed the ladder by the gate
And as she fell her mind opened, but it was too late.
SAM HATAMIAN
Merchants Schemes and Deeds
In the south of France, were the women dance and the turtles swim by the sea
Men of great wonder, trade with partners, the greatest merchants that can be
Their ships return under the falling sun, the wind carrying their tune
The promise of gold, silver, jewels and plenty of sparkling galloons
Yet there is a but a man, in a rusted shack, living on a mountain named pearl
He overlooks the merchants schemes, their deeds and what they awhirl
A fragile man, with a black top hat, his heart stained with wretched pain
Of a lover taken by a wealthier merchant who forcefully married with no disdain
The man’s only friend is nature’s beast; he spends day after day taming
He grows stronger from the magic of the earth, collecting energy while it’s raining
His shack becomes his paradise, a labyrinth of samples and potions
Day after day, he walks down and collects samples from the Mediterranean ocean
He masters the art of wind and fire, he is soon to command the earth
An inferno of rage, smoldering in his eyes, forgetting the innocence of his birth
Night after night he dances and dances in a rhythmic and hypnotic tune
Thoughts of revenge, thoughts of the merchant, he schematically controls his doom
Men begin to notice, the peculiar sounds, coming from mount pearl
The periodic flames in green and red they continually spin and whirl
Like the path of a dragon flying in air, they soon disappear to the sky
Yet no man knows the cause of such disturbances and no man asks why
Yet the merchants are busy, consumed by greed, they wait….for their cargo
Recently there was no trade with Spain, a war causing an embargo
The man bringing back cargo is the merchant who stole our mountain man’s wife
Loved by all, he brings fortune to the coast, he is the spark that gives it life
The day soon comes where the beloved merchant’s ship is set for return
The entire town crowds the coast, their eminent cheers are heard
And soon the magnificent vessel tips over the horizon
And their stands the magnificent man grinning as if he were a wise-man
But suddenly an enormous wave one hundred feet to the eye
Engulfs the ship and shatters its frame leaving everyone one on board to die
A storm cloud forms and rain begins to pour, and thunder begins to flash
The town in hysteria, begins to weep, the merchants ship had no chance to dash
No remnants are left, only blood is seen, turning the color of water
As if god’s mighty hand came down for a quick and easy slaughter
With the cargo gone, the town is poor, no more merchant deeds
But heed to this warning, the story is not over, and town anger must be pleased
Suddenly, loud echo’s are heard from the top of mount pearl
A sudden boom, the flashing of lights, and green flames that curl
Laughter is heard, shrieking through trees, wind carrying its motion
Merchants around town feel the urge to leave their beloved ocean
Up and up they begin to traverse, through the mountainous path
To maybe find the reasoning behind the oceans great wrath
Yet the roads slip, trees fall, and animals display their hate
The mob is perplexed, the animals are vexed, the merchants begin to debate
Yet they persist, they continue to insist to break the path of fate
Even when it begins to hail, adding to the struggles of their weight
A mudslide emerges, the crowd disperses, and four men are killed
Yet the rest have will, their friends were killed but revenge must be filled
Finally after miles, the mob reaches the shack
A cloud disperses, the falling sun emerges almost on its back
There they see a fragile man, with the blackest of top hats
On his knees, a whirlwind surrounds him, as he sits on a mat
Finally he begins to stand and harmoniously waves his arms
And what the mob sees next has cause for the greatest of alarm
For the motions of his hands move up and down, always in sync
With the mighty ocean, seen from the mountain, the mob does not blink
For every time the man’s hands move, so does a wave
And every time the man closes eyes, fire ejects from caves
And every time the man stomps, mudslides begin to form
And every time the man breathes, the animals worship and adore
The crowd knows now the cause for their beloved merchants death
This man of magic, this ghastly wizard, who caused such a wreck
The mob rushes and ties him up, thirsting for his blood
The man of magic robbed the town and took their beloved
The man too weak from causing a wave 100 feet, cannot resist their rush
He screams at them, than his lovers name, but the crowd does not budge
They tie him up and pull him away, his black top hat is crushed
Down and down the mountain they go, as if they were in a rush
Finally they reach the coast and tie him to a noose
Put the rope around his neck, they make sure it’s not loose
They place a log for him to stand, until they can push it away
For him to fall and break his neck, there is no room to stray
The crowd condemns and begin to jeer, for he is the cause of their woes
They lost their fortune and beloved friend, hope is what the magic man stole
But before they can end the life of the magic man
A great wave appears and sweeps the town, killing everyone on land
The only one to survive is the man in the rusted shack
For his is tied to the earth, from a rope around is neck
The magic man sits, and contemplates his fate
And then a gust of wind pushes the log, as if never to be late
The man’s neck breaks, blood gushes from his face, he is now dead
It seems that nature always has a way to balance life, its appetite must be fed
RYAN MENDOZA
“Hello there little children, how do you do,
My name is Jerry Bildren and I’d like to tell a story to you.
Come gather around, invite your friends, you can all join
Just take a seat on the ground, open legs to not hurt your groin.
Take some candy while you’re here, it is delicious, it is free.
Taste the sweetness and do not fear, you can trust me.”
His talk was like a song, he had such a melodious voice
The entire playground was drawn, they really had no choice.
Little ones can be so naïve, so unaware of the truth,
None could leave, they were drawn to his inner youth.
His eyes were a baby blue, so trustworthy, so soft,
He had one green, one red shoe, he always politely covered his cough.
Jerry’s previous life was bleak, he was a chemist for years.
He worked week and week, his unhappiness showed in his tears.
No history of mental disease, no one could have seen it coming,
Till one cold day, outside was 15 degrees, his head started drumming.
The continuous pounding, how could it not make one insane?
The pain was resounding, and soon the darkness came.
“This is a story about a knight named Joe” he started to tell
“Who used to make visits down to a terrible city named Crell,
His mission was a valiant one, his intentions were clear…
O gather round everyone! Take some sweets while you are here!
Anyways, this knight was famous, his name was known through the land,
He had sleighed a dragon for us, and he did it with only one hand.”
The children were mesmerized, the lullaby was working.
They accepted sleep without surprise, their last image being Jerry smirking.
Chemists know many recipes, but this muse only needed one,
Ingredients came from trees, the result was no more sun.
Why he chose kids was unknown, he did not choose his attraction,
“The knight ended up on the throne” he finished the story with little reaction.
His laugh was innocent, there is no way this man is evil,
He gave up something every year for Lent, his courtesy to others was medieval.
Yet this man has a dark secret, something he can’t control,
Something he does frequent, the only thing that makes the pain dull.
And with that in his mind, he picked up the victim he liked the most
He was gentle, very kind, and then he left leaving no mark like a ghost.
Little Jimmy’s body was never found, no one had seen what happened.
The children rose hours later on the ground, not remembering their story friend.
For a day, Jerry’s pain stopped, replaced with a full stomach,
The pounding was soft, but he knew it would return, he could already
feel the ache.
Little ones can be so naïve, so unaware of the truth,
None will ever leave, they are too drawn to his inner youth.
Nneka Umeh
Town of Many Voices
T’was once a large house that sat on the corner
that had remained there for many years. Owned by a mourner
who lost his wife, eyes full of tears. He never did leave, instead
he remained alone in darkness and wished he like his wife were dead.
This old man had once owned the town,
him and his wife, conducted business right and never let anyone down.
His wife grew ill, doctors searched for the pills, that could possibly save her life.
But it was too late, the man’s wife died and pain cut him like a knife.
Stories were told, some were sold, about what they believed went on,
see voices were heard, they often disturbed, any one walking the streets near dawn.
Many were unsure of where the voices were from. Assumptions arose from
the mouths of the people, but to ever enter that house and find out would be dumb.
Around town, there was a group of three,
poor men who were suspected to be
up to no good with their clownish ways.
They hung around the streets, nothing to eat, begging for food for days.
Little did people know, these three foolish guys
would plan to solve the mystery of this man. Acting as spies,
they smiled as townsfolk walked by, never made any noise, as they put together their plan.
To steal from this man, were the thoughts that ran, through the minds of this stupid clan.
Many people watched them day to day
as they moved through town, over doing their stay
as they remained close to this old man’s house. Suspicions
arose of their sneaky acts, ‘but what to do with them was the old man’s decision.
Late one quiet evening, the men decided to creep about
to discover what treasures possibly lied within this house. A shout
was heard by some that night, who assumed the men has seen a gruesome sight
of what made the scary voices at night.
A week had past and the three men never came back,
to roam the streets of town. With common sense they did lack,
they put their lives in danger to ever despise a plan to enter that house.
The voices were no longer heard at night except for the occasional squeal of a mouse.
A couple weeks had past; the people of the town grew weary
as they thought of the curious three men. Eyes never grew teary
but the days grew dreary after the disappearance of these three guys.
After this occurrence it has been known that no one has ever seen a spy.
The town continued to talk
of what they believed happened to those men. Yet, no one dared to walk
past that creepy house of that old man. The men must be dead
or trapped in that house are all that people said.
A month had passed and talk grew low,
Accusations simmered down but one evening they began to grow
Voices began again, this time they did stay
Seeming not only to resound at night, but also in the day, they would come out and play
One person once heard a baby cry, another heard the three men scream,
Yet curiosity remained and no one yet able to deem
enough courage to knock on the door and find out
what the old man did to the men to make them shout
One October night when the sun was about to set
A woman had fainted on the street from the frightening figure she got a glimpse of. She let
the town in on the horror that appeared from the screen,
That of the door that opened ever so slightly to show the face of the old man she had seen.
The old man had scars, scars that covered his entire face.
The secret is believed that something remains behind the horror of that place.
Little did the people know what secrets hide behind those closed doors,
If the towns people knew this could have all been avoided with a simple cure.
Before the madness began everything was okay,
The old man’s wife was pregnant and conceived a baby where she lay
on a cold winter night in mid-October, that day changed
the life of the old man as he grew deranged.
Deranged from a wife that bore a baby with a deformity,
a baby that left her ill. At the time there was no conformity
to live with a women who spoke and did crazy things.
She attacked her husband and grew ill in the head; at night it was only madness she would sing.
A face full of scars, a wife mentally ill, suicide is what she committed that caused the house to grow still. Her ghost haunted the house as he cared for the baby still new,
new the father’s touch and care he could not give,
so laid his baby to rest and protected it from a life it should not live.
The cry and voices are of the mother’s ghost
as she rocked her baby to sleep at night. To most
the voices were scary, for the old man it was never an alarm
The three men were frightened by the dead baby that was left in the mother’s arms.
MATTHEW SWEENEY
Friends Forever
As the story began there was a man by the name of John.
He had a friend around the bend who went by the name of Don.
John and Don had a tight bond one that could not break,
They were of the same feather and said “friends forever”
when their hands would shake.
They were close cohorts, that always played sports, basketball was their game.
They’d shoot hoops and hustle for loot, they were never put to shame.
On the court they owned the sport and couldn’t get much better.
After they won a game, it was always the same, slap hands say “friends forever.”
They were almost the same, except for dames, John was always picked.
He’d always get ladies, he said at least 80, he was super slick.
Don would tell us, he never got jealous, and he was telling the truth.
He’d only be alone, when John would get boned, inside the telephone booth.
Then one day, came Sally May, into the neighborhood.
Some would say, she was pretty as may, yes she looked quite good.
She wore a red blouse, lived in a red house, and drove a shiny red car.
With a body like a bottle, she could’ve been a model, or a movie star.
All the guys in the town, chased her down, trying to get a date.
She would go on some, bet never thought one could possibly be her mate.
When John asked her out, that was the bout, the guys gave up the fight.
John was the man, strong and tan, he’d have her by the end of the night.
She went out with John, nothing went wrong, it all seemed quite fine.
She was a great catch, he was a perfect match, but something was on her mind.
While the guys all chased, one hadn’t raced, to get to Sally May.
He was so shy, a different guy, and in her mind he stayed.
So while with John, she kept thinking of Don, he was the one.
She had to say, the very next day, “John we are done.”
Soon after that, she was in Don’s lap, and John was more than mad.
He went in a rage, a violent craze, and destroyed all he had.
A week went by, and Don wondered why, he didn’t hear from his buddy.
He wasn’t getting rest, and had a big test, John always helped him study.
He was going to fail, his friend had bailed, all because of a girl.
He missed John, was sad he was gone, to him John meant the world.
A couple days later, in an elevator, Don ran into John.
He said “hi, I missed you big guy, what’s been going on?”
John just stared, he really didn’t care about his old mate.
He finally said, with his face red, “you stole my perfect date!”
Don apologized, with tears in his eyes, said he’d dump her on the spot.
He said “I love you John, I was in the wrong, man you’re all I’ve got.”
Don went for a handshake, for old times sake, and said ‘friends forever?”
John said “no more, I hate you in my core, we will be friends never.”
That very next night, John turned out the light, and he went to bed.
He was sick of don, ready to move on, was happy with what he said.
He awoke with a start, in the cold dark, and felt something in his bed.
It was Don, his breath was gone, and his hands were blood red.
John yelled, “What the hell are you doing here!?”
Don replied, he had to confide, “John I am a queer.
But now you can be, happy with me, now we’ll be friends forever,
John pulled away, but he could not stray, their bodies were stitched together.
CORY HASKELL
The wind blows and the trees shudder
Pounding of the drums grows louder
Through the weeds and the vines
The timid against the strong
In our raw emotions darkness can grow
Can you remain unscathed?
The story of such a journey
Running fast, adrenaline sheer
Put simply, driven by fear
Faster, quicker, rapid, swifter
Time a luxury forgotten, a niggardly gifter
Footsteps echoing in the dark
A resounding thunder to those close by
Sinew straining, the mind fatiguing
So close! Almost there…just a little further
I can hear him behind me despairing
My chances, a sinister whisperer uncaring
Through the forest I fly, goal firmly set in mind
The twilight fleeing my advances
The dark nipping at my hills with broken lances
The Whisperer right behind growing louder with every step I take
The thorns rip into my clothing, tearing fabric and skin
The Mind, body disconnected, fixated solely on my kin
The Whisperer grows louder, “you will save nothing,
You do not have the will”
(The clearing! So close…within grasp
Keep pushing…don’t stop now. At last!)
Pushing through the last of the brush
my knees buckling, paying for the rush
I gaze down the vista to the floor below
The object of contention lays waiting
Frozen in time as if in a painting
But my strength depleted movement slowed to a crawl
The Whisperer laughing with glee
“I’m getting closer. I will find you and mine you’ll be.”
Forcing heart and sinew far beyond their turn
The Whisper… I draw staggered breath
Gazing ahead, goal in sight
Lying as you left her, poison seeping through her veins
The carcass of the villain near, unmoving, the snake
The elixir rattling in my bag, of master’s make
The distance closing now with every step I take
The Whisperer, above me, taunting, reaching out with ghostly claws
I slow turn and face my ghost plaguing me on this journey
“Screw you, I will!”
The wind blows and the trees shudder
Pounding of the drums grows louder
Through the weeds and the vines
The timid against the strong
In our raw emotions darkness can grow
Can you remain unscathed?
The story of such a journey
Running fast, adrenaline sheer
Put simply, driven by fear
MATTHEW VALERIOTE
The Rain
The corner of Manhattan’s Houston Street is where this all occurred.
In an old, inherited house it happened that day – June the third.
It’s where the Nuborne family had lived for many years.
And our protagonist, middle son Nelson, cast away his fears.
The day was overcast, an oddity for early June.
The darkness of the clouds hinted it might rain soon.
Nuborne mother Laura and sister Jane gardened tirelessly;
While father Greg, and brothers Todd and Michael cheerfully prune the tree.
The neighbors there on Houston Street all came down the sidewalk.
T’was just past 4 and everyone had already punched the clock.
On this one day the only soul inside was the middle Nuborne son.
In bed sick with the flu asleep was brown-haired, teenaged Nelson.
And then, as if not strange enough to be overhead at all;
From those out-of-place summer clouds heavy rain began to fall.
The busy neighbors had no time to get themselves inside;
From this all pervasive rain they had nowhere to hide.
‘Twas not long at all after the first drop came down
That normal blue skies returned to Manhattan town.
But the blue was not a pure one among other blues;
The rain had somehow left a mark of tainted hues.
Some hours passed and young Nelson grew a thirst;
He called downstairs for his mother’s aid first.
When no reply resounded he released a sigh,
And crawled out of bed kneading hand into baggy eye.
Entering the kitchen and drawing his water he found no one;
The family had surely been long outside in the sun.
So slipping on his slippers and enrobing himself in his robe,
Nelson stepped outside where the sun beat down like a strobe.
But upon his steps down from the door he gave a puzzled look,
For outside there was no one in sight, not in any cranny or nook.
Trowels sat in lonely dirt in the garden by the hedge,
The clippers above the pruned leaves hung from a branch’s edge.
Nelson stood confounded out there underneath the tree;
He could think of nowhere else that everyone might be.
It was while he stood there contemplating his position
That he sensed something down the road with vague intuition.
Nelson made his way out to the street to find what he was sensing;
But the moment he set foot on pavement he felt his stomach wrenching.
For down the street at sidewalk’s end was everyone who’d gone;
With hair slicked down and shoulders damp, clearly recently rained on.
The legion stood in single file rows across the boulevard;
As his eyes darted ‘round the group he spotted his family who’d left their yard.
But something had changed about his kin that Nelson could not pin down.
The look on their faces was one of coldness, more piercing than a simple frown.
Nelson stared down the army of family and friends
Unable to form a single sentence, as he stared down to the street’s end.
The faces that should be familiar to him were looking on with hate,
As if they all had a strange new bloodlust they could not satiate.
Young Nelson could not possibly prepare himself for such a sight
As that of his loved ones looking on like lions before a fight.
And what happened next he never expected, receiving neither warning nor hint;
The ferocious on-looking crowd he faced barreled toward him in a sprint.
MAI-ANH NGUYEN
Horror Poem
Your last touch
Look over me there is a spark where no one can see
Your touch is all I ever need
Hold me tight where I couldn’t almost breathe
Why is this happening?
I gasp for air while you gaze at me
Breathe one time, breathe two times
You still won’t let go
I shout, I fuse, I fight
Yet there is no sign of your blue eyes
Veins pop, while I try to keep everything at place
Why is this happening
All I want is your last touch
Instead I get blood dripping from top to bottom
This can’t be happening
Who are you? What have you done
Look at me, I scream
Your face is as rough as the skin of an alligator
Your eyes is shot with red lines
Your lips is rusty purple with full of anger
I think I’m going blind
My last touch became a nightmare
I try to speak but yet you won’t respond
I’m assuming theres no cure
Because your making me move on
I refuse to let go
But you wont let me do so
I wonder why, and I keep on wondering why
Again you wont let me know
Show me that once soft baby face
But yet you turn away
I see something sharp on the side of your bright smile
Why do you keep on hiding? I wont be amaze
Rushing through pain
What were you thinking?
We were once in the bright sunlight
Now it’s a dark shadow where no one will ever know
Your mind is made up
Obviously we cant rewind the hands of time
My last touch was with a vampire
A vampire that denies turning to me
Sparkle rises as the sunshine enters
This is the last moment we have together
I cant be near
Because eventually you will make me feel fear
Kathryn Chun
The Birth of a Monster
Before me, there lay nothing but an ancient sigh
Of arid desert, moonless dark, and nothing to light the way
I clutched my husband’s hand, his skin was cracked and dry
For we were in the desert, on abandoned land
We were stranded as the silence began to expand
We were familiar to this abysmal misery
For we are nomadic folk, born with maps on eyes
But tonight was full of urgency, in my ending pregnancy
We had hoped to reach the city, and find a doctor there
But here we were, the time upon us, and absolutely nowhere
My face was flushed, my pace was slow, and I would need to rest
I asked my husband could we stop, and with relenting give
He lay me down on sordid ground and tried to smile his best
Though as his wife, I knew that pressing fear
Had told him that this birthing was soon near
A jolt of pain ricocheted through my burdensome being
Which decided then and there to bring this child now
My husband, desperate, his voice began to ring
In the shock still silence, void of any life
He cried for the mother of his child, for his dearest wife
He shouted for help, his hand still holding mine
Try as he might, he could not see a thing
Then in great surprise, saw my body’s outline
And surely all the rest of me from mysterious light
For in the distance, was a torch to aid his sight
A man with a mule was soon at our side
He had heard my husband’s pleas for help
Echo to him from a neighboring tribe
He told my husband he could save both lives
For at his camp were mystic midwives
Delicately they put me on the back of the beast
And towards the darkness we trustingly went
It was all we could do as my pains had increased
The camp came into view and I was rushed to a tent
Where midwives were ready, though I was hesitant
They boiled water, spared no linen, and took great care
They chanted blessings and eased the pains
The doubts and any lingering despair
For the delivery was a victory and I was overjoyed
My husband, tears were flowing, received his only boy
He held him close and touched his foot, and upon inspection
Saw a birthmark on his heel that formed a little cross
In amusement showed me, this sign of resurrection
But to the midwives’ horror, amusement turned to severity
As they claimed it was the mark of the devil in cold, despondent clarity
They said that days of old had prophesized and foretold
The coming of the devil, for not just Christ was born again,
But also his nemesis, would take this human mold
And walk the earth, keep the balance, and answer for all the sin.
These women said it was unjust but necessary at the end.
With grave faces, they asked us at once to go
And cast out, weak and worried, my husband held his child
‘What if,’ he said, ‘they tell this truth of woe
And we have ruined the earth with this ungodly birth
That would bring about the end of joy and mirth
One to kill in place of all would be just sacrifice’
Lunacy, I could see, was in his fearful eyes
‘Don’t you see, it’s just a babe, a human with clean slate
He has done nothing wrong, but come into this life
And if they say is true, we’ll raise him with such love
That no matter devil or demon he will rise above’
My husband relented, and contented with my explanation
Held his child to his breast and rocked him back and forth
After hours of needed rest that comes with life’s creation
I noted that the baby never screamed nor cried
Nor whined, nor wiggled, nor released a sigh
My husband’s confidence drained from his countenance
As he denounced this child, and eyes so scared and wild
Told me that we should leave him here
And save ourselves from villainous fear
I was shocked with disbelief, enraged though I was weak
And slapped him ‘cross his paranoid cheek
Angrily, he grabbed the babe and three of us did shriek
As he slammed it hard into the ground
My disbelief, my shock of this newfound
Incarnate of satisfaction that was in him
For it was not Satanic birth in my infant
But in my husband, in that chilling instant
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