As I drive through the
valley of the shadow of death,
I realize three things:
One, that I'm definitely no longer in Finland.
Two, that for the first time ever,
Google Maps guided me to
the destination I had entered.
Three, that I misspelled
Santa's Village.
Alabaster skin.
Onyx hair.
Jade eyes.
She stole my heart
the moment I saw her.
I am bound to her forever,
loyal to her desires.
The one who saw me.
The woman who wanted me.
The witch who sealed my heart
in a jar.
He promised me a new life
and trouble-free days.
If I chose him.
So I did.
Now I'm locked in a cage,
waiting for the necromancer's
dark ritual to begin.
I should have read the fine print.
The sign: Keep Out.
The crime: I didn't.
The result: The eldritch horror bit me.
Now I'm sprouting tentacles,
hawking up ink,
and farting toxins.
Why did I ever go down
the Airbnb's dark basement?
She invaded my dreams again.
Eyes dark
as the abyss that spawned her.
Horns strong
as her sway over me.
A lust demon,
stealing my essence
through perverse acts.
Tonight'll be her last visit.
Tonight I'll become hers
for an eternity of torment.
I started writing and couldn't stop.
Days turned into nights and nights into days,
and still I couldn't stop.
I'm tired now;
my story is almost at an end.
For I realized too late
that I had poured my soul
into my writing.
Literally.
Beware the travelling salesman,
knocking on your door after sunset.
You never know what he really sells.
I invited him in.
The vampire bit me,
feasted on my blood.
Now I'm putting on a hat,
ready to knock on another's door.
I look at the waxing gibbous moon
and bask in its beauty.
Tomorrow I will be howling
at the full moon,
my first since the wolf's bite.
I can already feel
the beast within.
Tomorrow I turn.
Tomorrow I hunt.
Tomorrow I eat.
In the beginning, life was beautiful.
Earth thrived and nature prospered.
Then homo erectus discovered fire
and evolved into homo sapiens.
And the world entered
its post-apocalyptic phase.
I may have accidentally
summoned a demon.
There I was reading text in a language I don't remember
learning from a book
I don't remember buying,
when the lights flickered,
the curtains flapped,
and the bloody cat hissed.
Problem is,
I don't have a bloody cat.
I don't know what
my roommates' problem is.
I have lived here for 10 years,
graciously allowed them
to share my house,
and yet they refuse to talk to me.
Even worse,
they summoned Fr. Winston
when I started slamming doors
and knocking down
glassware in frustration.
And here I thought things
couldn't get any worse
after I died 2 years ago.
She screamed in pure ecstasy;
such was her way when
she was approaching
the end of her
nocturnal activities.
I wonder whose poor soul
the banshee that haunts
these accursed woods
is tormenting tonight.
Oh, the bright luster
of the moonlight on her skin!
Oh, the loud thumps
of the heart in her chest!
Oh, the low moans
of the girl in my arms!
Oh, the vampiric fangs
of my mouth in her neck!
As I waited to pick up
my child from school,
I noticed the bushes outside
the windows twitching.
I looked and saw scared eyes looking at me.
I winked and let the child be.
Even little ghouls
deserve a chance to learn.
For too long had we argued.
For too long had we fought.
All because of one girl.
I wanted her, but so did he.
I got tired of fighting,
so I buried the hatchet.
Deep in his chest.
Now she's mine.
I saw this dude last time
crying on his wife's grave.
He was telling her how sorry he was
that he slept with her sister.
Then he told her she should have calmed down before she gave herself that heart attack.
She burst from the ground,
ate his face, and
lay back down in her grave.
I think she still hasn't calmed down.
That sweet melody!
Up the stairs it comes,
note after note.
Oh, what a euphony!
Down the stairs I go,
step after step.
Note after note I follow,
step after step I take,
until the door leading to
the recital I find.
Down the dark basement I go,
following the music,
until the piano playing the symphony I find:
ancient, broken, abandoned.
Mary had a dark secret,
its core was pure evil;
and everywhere Mary went,
the devil was sure to go.
It followed her to town one day,
which was against the rule;
it made the townsfolk
scared to death,
to see the devil there.
And so the townsfolk hanged Mary,
but still it lingered near.
For she had cursed them all:
Mary Easty was her name.
I jokingly asked:
"Mirror mirror on the wall,
who's the fairest of them all?"
A woman's reflection appeared behind me,
laughed mockingly,
and said: "Your soul is."
I looked behind me
and saw no one.
I looked in the mirror again
and saw the woman's
reflection by my side.
That's when the demon stole my own reflection.
Now I'm empty inside,
for that reflection was my soul.
I drank the coffee, I ate the cake,
and I joined the virtual meeting.
The door slammed,
the floorboards creaked,
and the windowpane shattered.
I turned around and saw the presence behind me.
I turned back to the camera
and apologized for the interruption.
The damned kid haunting me
won't get it:
I'm not sharing my cake.
There's an old woman
who lives in the woods.
Her house is stone and ivy.
Her garden is crops and flowers.
Her pets are cats and dogs.
She loves children:
she loves reading with them,
playing with them,
cooking with them.
Alas, she is always sad,
for the crone has no one
to share their tender meat with.
Our human existence is insignificant
in the grand scheme
of the infinite cosmos
that stretches beyond
time and space.
We are nothing but meat
wrapped around bones
bound together with sinew.
But we do have a consciousness
that transcends the body and
becomes part of the cosmos
once our human body and
mind are no more.
Unless some eldritch
abomination consumes it.
Then we become
insignificant once again.
One, two, three, four, five,
once a demon caught me alive.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
then it let me go again.
Why did it let you go?
Because I scared it so.
What made it scared of you?
My dark soul screaming Boo!
Alone, but not lonely.
Alive, but not breathing.
Intelligent, but not thinking.
So why do I leave the dark depths
of my sepulcher every night?
Hungry, and I shall eat.
Thirsty, and I shall drink.
Craving, and I shall have.
And that is why I leave the
dark depths of my
sepulcher every night.
2x eye of newt
2x head of bat
2x tongue of iguana
3x (pints) blood of wolf
2x (drops) tears of virgin
(male or female)
My wife's new hobby sure comes
with a weird shopping list.
I hope the local Convenience
sells all this.
I'm not in the mood for Lidl.
I sneezed hard today; it felt good.
Someone said, "Bless you!"
I said, "Thank you!"
After some time I realized
that I was alone at home
and the bless you
had come from my
private library.
I checked.
There was no one,
but the new book I bought
was open on the floor.
I don't recall opening
Is Your House Haunted?
Fickle thing, time.
It waits for no one;
so we are told.
It speeds up for no one;
so we are told.
Yet, when we are having fun,
it speeds up.
Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock.
And when we are bored or sad,
it slows down.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Time doesn't care about us.
It warps reality,
driven by its morbid lust,
enjoying its power
over our existence.
He touches her.
She moans.
He sighs.
She bites his ear.
He kisses her neck.
She bites his.
He roars.
She gorges on his blood.
He slashes her chest.
She screeches.
He laps her blood.
She moans again.
Their love is forbidden,
but they don't care,
for the vampire loves the werewolf,
and the werewolf loves the vampire.
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my alter ego gave to me:
twelve headless bats,
eleven wagging tongues,
ten ghoul brains,
nine blood pints,
eight plagued rats,
seven flayed cats,
six shrunken heads,
five rotten limbs,
four severed toes,
three broken bones,
two spider eyes, and
a moldy pound of old brie.
Under the house was a basement.
Under the basement was a tomb.
Under the tomb was a well.
In the well was an abyss.
In the abyss was a fog.
In the fog was a light.
The light was fire.
The fire was cold.
The cold was primordial.
And deep inside it all,
an ancient evil dwelled.
By the age of one,
I could walk on two feet.
By the age of two,
I could chant three prayers.
By the age of three,
I could whisper four curses.
By the age of four,
I could recite five bibles.
By the age of five,
I could speak six languages.
By the age of six,
I could outwit seven sages.
By the age of seven,
I had butchered eight people.
And I started with the exorcist,
the one who tried freeing me
from the demon within.
He couldn't speak,
but he could point.
He couldn't touch,
but he could influence.
He couldn't smell,
but he could feel.
He could point at the letters.
He could influence the planchette.
He could feel our terror.
The one we accidentally
summoned on Samain.
A son asked his dad:
"Do ghosts exist?"
The dad replied:
"Only if you believe in them."
And from that day forward,
the son saw ghosts
everywhere he looked.
I need my fix.
I need my fix. Needmy fix.
My fix. Myfix. Fix.Fixfixfix.
writingnowwritingnow.Imwriting now.
I'mwriting now. I'm writing now.
I'm fixed now. Yes, I'm fixed.
For now.