THE VELVET ROOM

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THE VELVET ROOM

I enter the room of blood-red walls.

I pass the velvet furniture

and step in front of the mirror.

The lamps on either side flicker.

The glass turns foggy

until I can’t see my face.

Mist swirls around my features

like snakes roaming a corpse.

The fireplace at my feet sparks.

Heat suffuses my body,

beginning at my feet.

The fog clears in the mirror.

The face doesn’t belong to me.

An old woman’s face.

She has my features and eyes,

but she’s wrinkled and bony.

A smile lifts the corners of her mouth.

I touch my mouth.

I’m not smiling.

An arm in the mirror

wraps around her scrawny neck.

A snap.

Her head tilts at a strange angle.

Lifeless stare past me.

A hand touches my shoulder.

I scream and run from the room.

Laughter follows me from the house.

I will never return.

by Susanne Leist

THE JOURNEY

The mist follows close at my heels,

Relentless in its pursuit.

Roots poke through the ground.

Tree limbs grab at me.

The fog clears.

The forest ends.

I’ve reached the clearing.

He waits for me.

A black stallion is his ride.

I grab his extended arm.

He lifts me behind him.

We ride like the wind.

I sigh and turn my head.

A scream is lodged in my throat.

His face isn’t of my loved one

but a mask of death.

We ride like the wind

to the ends of the earth.

Hell’s gates shut behind us.

No one is knocking on its doors.

A POEM WRITTEN FOR ME! by KENNY MCPHEE — “SPOOKY SUSANNE”

I’m surprised and honored to have a poem written for me by fellow poet, Kenny McPhee.  Most of my poetry is on the spooky side. I began writing poetry as a way to showcase my book. Soon I found I love to write poems. I’ve added nature and inspiration to my repertoire, but I’m basically a creepy poet.

SPOOKY SUSANNE You enjoy a walk on the dark side, susanne if you take a train, it will be the ghost train if you have a dream, it will make you scream you like to shiver and feel the menace of demons, ghouls and shady fellers you’re into stephen king and james herbert I bet you have a rat for a pet and paranormal tendencies Nobody true, they say, but once in a while a poet can make the spine tingle with the rightness of his or her words.  May you enjoy the holy terror, my dear, forever more!

THE DEAD LIKE THEIR GAMES

Source:sandylamu

Trees and bushes fill the conservatory.

Wolf wants to show us what’s hidden inside.

Linda follows him into the bushes.

Her scream curdles my blood.

We run to her to find cages of snakes.

Their tongues slipping in and out of the holes.

Hungry for their next meal.

The trees draw closer to our group.

Lifting up their massive roots to take chase.

Time to leave this sorry example of the macabre.

The Dead like their games a little too much for comfort.

THE DEAD GAME

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THE DEAD LIKE THEIR GAMES

Source:sandylamu

Trees and bushes fill the conservatory.

Wolf wants to show us what’s hidden inside.

Linda follows him into the bushes.

Her scream curdles my blood.

We run to her to find cages of snakes.

Their tongues slipping in and out of the holes.

Hungry for their next meal.

The trees draw closer to our group.

Lifting up their massive roots to take chase.

Time to leave this sorry example of the macabre.

The Dead like their games a little too much for comfort.

THE DEAD GAME

OUTSIDE MY DOOR

leirelatent

“Institute Benjamenta” (1995)

dir. Timothy Quay, Stephen Quay

Has he come for me?

I hear his footsteps.

Walking up the steps.

All turns quiet.

The leaves stop rustling.

The wind stops blowing.

The silence is overpowering.

A strangle hold on my nerves.

Is he standing outside the door?

Waiting for me to open it.

I won’t.

I won’t let him in.

He wants me.

I won’t become one of The Dead.

THE DEAD GAME

http://myBook.to/TheDeadGame

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Source:theartofmoviestills

THE CREEPING LIQUID

Mysterious under-door seepages - “I Do” (1921)

The creeping liquid from my nightmares..

It is now alive in my book, THE DEAD GAME.

     They are racing down the staircase, carrying their children, eager to reach the front door. Diane stops dead in her tracks. A dark red substance is oozing into the house from under the door, creeping across the floor, devouring everything in its wake. The circular rug and then the hall table disappear into the thick slime. It turns to make its way toward them.
     Mary hears a high-pitched keening cry coming from within the slime. She backs herself into a corner and screams,  “It’s going to swallow us!”
     “Run out the back!” John shouts above the children’s frightened sobbing. He pushes her ahead of him. “Don’t think. Just make sure you get out of this house and down the stairs to the beach. Or else you might be living here forever.”
     They climbthrough the destroyed kitchen, through detached pieces of ceiling, through broken pieces of cabinets and sharp shards from shattered dishes.
     Once outside, they're struck by flying debris. The patio is engulfed in a strong wind, which lifts the furniture high into the air. The white wicker pieces crash against each other, the broken pieces falling into the empty pool.
     The pool hadsbeen filled already twice this season. The house has a mind of its own: it wants the pool empty of water and her family gone; and it's making sure that it remains this way.
     The red liquid is creeping beneath the kitchen door, inching its way toward them. Mary screams above the sound of the howling wind. “It’s getting closer. It’s followed us outside. WE ARE ALL DEAD!”
      “We must escape now! Don’t look back! Just run!” Her husband shouts back.
      She gazes down the steep staircase to the rocky shore below, to the jagged rocks that are being beaten by the raging waves of the ocean. In her heart, she knows that their fate is not going to be much better.

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