The dark stone house on Donevan’s Hill
seemed to swallow up the sunlight.
A foreboding place where the
ancients sacrificed to
evil fallen ones.
A gateway place
where this world,
connects
to
that
filthy
land beyond.
Where demons lurk
and wretched souls scream.
Drawing the worshipers,
of the old gods of the deep.
to sacrifice lives and dead souls
in the shadows on Donevan’s Hill
From my window only darkness
in the nearby cemetery.
Then I hear the jackals,
howling in the night.
Sheets of lightning show
dark silhouettes of ghostly trees,
broken headstones, tangled creepers.
Then in my dreams,
I hear it still:
the echo of barking
through an impenetrable jungle.
a pack of jackals still pursues me,
fangs barred, ears pricked,
eyes yellow, amber, gleaming.
These are the spirits of the dead.
Dogs of the underworld
hunting, howling, at dawn and dusk.
Lovers, dancing cheek to cheek.
Outside, snow drifts
pile against walls and windows.
Fingers of moonlight touch
snow-dressed trees,
pools of darkness
flood the lonely house.
The music quickens,
the tempo, throbbing, insistent.
He holds her closer,
whirling past skeletal chairs,
while rags of black curtains
flap against broken shutters.
A bare bulb hanging from
a dark cord, swings madly,
casting crazy splinters of light
over the mold-covered walls.
The dancers, now silhouettes,
become one shadowy outline,
Twisting, twirling
caught in
the mad crescendo
of music,
blind to dead, eyeless faces
pressed to cracked windows.
He feels a stab of pain.
Sharp incisors
piercing, biting
into his neck,
tempting smooth skin, blue veins
Music screaming, darkness descending,
blood running freely.
Valentines, vampires
blood lovers, brothers,
dancing cheek to cheek.
Do you see the shadow people?
Out of the corner of your eye?
Lurking,
watching,
waiting.
They are always there,
but never when you look.
Just a shape that moves,
and escapes your gaze.
Creepy-crawly critters.
That spider across the floor;
now on the wall.
Never really seen.
The thing in the tree,
smiling at you,
with fangs and drool,
till you look for sure.
The black dog following me,
late at night,
but never really seen.
Did you see the bat,
swoop past your head?
Was it real?
Or shadow life?
Visions from
beyond the veil.
Spirits spying,
watching,
waiting,
to pounce
at the midnight hour.
