Bump in the night.
Scraping of the door.
Creaks through the dark.
Goodbye safety, into the woods.
All alone. Trapped in waking nightmare.
Limitless space closes in on your claustrophobic mind.
Phantom feelings shooting spineward, weaving through you.
Creepy crawlies everywhere.
Worming, squirming, in your hair.
Brush away what was never there.
Only lay all to bare.
Left with nagging worry, a wanderer in need of the unknown. Searching, scanning hungrily across the dark horizon.
There! Right there.
Do your eyes deceive?
In the distance...
Silhouette. Silhouette. For what is this Silhouette?
Feet move unasked,
Drawn to ominous object.
Curiosity and the cat,
On its nineth.
Goose bumps and short hairs standing on end.
Petrified, you can't look back.
As if doing so, all is real.
Whilst shadows lurk in your peripherea, ominous presence lingers. Like a predator, watchful and patient.
Irresistable. Turning, skittish by nature's noises,
Its just a bird, you tell yourself.
Nothing there, in blackest depths of wooded canopy.
Tip toe, barefoot wanderer.
Towards that strange thing.
In the midst of dewy grass and the stench of decay, and mud caked feet.
In the moonlight now you see,
A coffin it must be.
Rattle, captive creature! But all is still.
Just a little look-see, under that tree.
Scraping of the coffin lid,
Creaking wood piercing through the dark once more.
Bewildered eyes, the mirror,
In sound, soul, sight.
You see yourself, disembodied.
Who put you there?