WHO AM I?

Who am I?
Who was I?
A man.
A woman.
A doctor.
A soldier.
Maybe a murderer.
Does it matter?
Does it matter anymore?
We all end up the same.
Underground.
Buried.
We end up as skeletons.
But it is how we are
remembered
that matters.
Our memory lingers on.
Remembered as a
doctor,
soldier,
or murderer.
It’s your choice.

THE TERMINAL

Grand Central Terminal.
There is no other like you.
Keeping the pace through
the calm and the hectic.
Providing light through your
mullioned windows.
The watcher of it all.
The keeper of schedules.
But most of all the
keeper of time for those
passing through your gates.

THE DEAD ARE WATCHING AND WAITING

THE DEAD ARE WAITING

Come inside and visit.
The door is open for you.
The Dead are waiting for you.

THE DEAD TAKE NO PRISONERS

What is happening inside the gazebo?
It is the dead of night in Oasis, Florida.
Mingled with the sounds of the howling wind
are sounds of chanting.
These sounds grow louder
as we step closer to the gazebo.
What is inside the gazebo?
Candles are lit in a circle, their
lights unwavering in the growing wind.
And in the middle of the circle, there is
a body dangling from a noose.
Dark figures are circling the body
and chanting in a foreign language.
The Dead Game has begun.

BENEATH END HOUSE

witchinqhour:

✩☽Witchinqhour’s Edits☾✩ l Source

THE FLOOR AT END HOUSE OPENS UP.
THE POOR VISITORS FALL DOWN
A LONG, DARK TUNNEL.
THEY TRY TO GRAB ONTO THE SLIPPERY
WALLS, BUT THEY CAN’T HOLD ON.
THEY FALL FURTHER DOWN THE STEEP SLOPE.
WHAT LIES BENEATH THE NETHER REACHES
OF END HOUSE?
ONLY THE DEAD KNOW.
THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist