horror

The wind howls red

 

 

 

Fingers frozen, jacket tight, the merlot leaves taking flight

Foot steps long ,quick in pace, better hurry home, you are not alone

The wind howls red, the chill runs deep, you should be in bed, to Grandmas keep

The bramble cottage comes in sight, everyones sleeping, there is no light

You skip closer, just a little more, oblivious to the danger lurking beyond the door.

 
C.Grainger

Dr Clockstop's Sinister Sideshow

Off with your tweed and on with my silk,

The colourful carriage rears over the hill,

The Sinister Sideshow has come back to town,

Do you hear that unmistakable sound?

The clunking and banging of Clockstop's things,

Books and such, yes, and an army of strings. 

Strings, you say? Yes! His puppet display!

 Never been seen, always hidden away,

We know that they're locked in carriage number three,

If he sees you, I'll say it was nothing to do with me!

But enough of that now, On With The Show!

Starting off with a bow so unnaturally low, 

The leader's a dwarf, so we all know his face,

Then his ladies are adorned with silk, string and lace,

Blues, greens and reds dazzle drinkers and wives,

Diamonds glimmer lights into transfixed eyes,

There are songs of old friendships and songs of old lovers,

But the men see not stories, just girls in bright colours. 

'That's rather sinister...' Hmm? Yes, it is...

But old Clockstop knows where all these men live.

That is the trick of Doctor Clockstop's routine, 

You can leave if you manage to keep your hands clean!

Those who don't often boo at the Final Act,

As the puppet show dancers are emotionless and flat. 

But do not be fooled, for the puppets aren't wood.

I might have suggested you run, if I could...

Doctor Clockstop will follow with puppets in hand,

You can plead, but don't expect him to understand:

Men who grope women and make crude remarks,

Can expect to be treated with the same disregard.

"You were leering, and that reflects little respect..."

Now you're dead, with a puppet string tied round your neck.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

© Lizzie Ayres, 2013

I am dead

I am dead, that is that, right now my only friend, is this scary rat, I'm in a sewer, it smells real bad, a man shoved my body here, it was real sad, he killed me with a gun, a blow in my chest, then he put me in this sewer, and laid me to rest, the funny thing is, I wasn't completely dead, he put me down here, and thought in his head, " she must be dead, I shot her heart", no actually, you missed that part, so for a few hours I laid, in agony and pain, trying to keep, myself sane, now I am dead, I'm sad to be, and I haunt the man who murdered me.

Abdul Alhazred

Folder: 
Poetry

Alhazred was born in Yemen,

Traveling in the known world;

Amassing lore and legend,

And the tales of the fiends.


 

A writer and a poet,

He was educated much.

Geometry, algebra, Alchemy

And magickal incantations' need.


 

From the cup of occult knowledge

He drank deep...

Driving a normal person

To madness or beyond.


 

Alhazred was once a normal man,

With desires like we all can.

He was Arab by birth,

With a pale skin in rebirth.


Being labeled the mad,

As he was once a dad.

But had to eat his child,

By the King of the Palace's might.


 

He wrote down the Necronomicon,

In more than one song...

The obscure, the forgotten,

The suppressed, the rotten.


Never meant to be read;

It causes insanity with speed.

Not interpreted rationally,

The thoughts cause a rally.


 

Alhazred was insane,

By the lore he learned within.

But he wrote clear,

With many a tear.


 

The state of the Universe,

In reality suspense;

Plaything of mad gods at best,

Sewer of evil in the north, south, east, west.


 

Humans dare not dream of this,

For their peaceful lives they cannot miss.

A warning and guide this book is,

And by the Djinns you do wish.


 

Alhazred died, not a mystery,

It is written in history.

In the marketplace,

He was erased.


By the Demon from beyond,

Who wanted him gone.

Blood upon the sand,

There he was banned.


In broad daylight,

With many a sight.

 

He meddled with evil things,

With beings with wings.

He is now dead,

After he bled...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the Mad Poet Abdul Alhazred who wrote the Necronomicon.

who am i?

 

when all confidence has left you,

and you feel bereft of love,

forsaken by those who claimed they cared,

that's when i'll fit you like a glove.

 

i'll wait behind your neediness,

and use arrogance, he's my friend,

i'll have you projecting all of me 

onto children, women, and men.

 

that's when i do my finest work,

and all of me i'll bring,

when others up and leave you,

i'll infect you, and do my thing.

 

my presence will be cunning,

my manipulation sly,

i'll have you wrapped around me,

you won't even ask yourself why.

 

the more of you i can consume,

the larger we become,

to contaminate all is what i want,

'cause YOUR pain, to me, is FUN!

 

a fiendish scowling wimp, you see,

a psychopath, my dear,

enjoying all your suffering,

your kidnapper...i'm fear.

 

 

 

 

10:07 AM 6/22/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

the only thing to ever fear, is fear itself. ~franklin d. roosevelt~

 

and that's the truth.

 

.

Fear's House Of Mirrors

fear is the king 

 

of a coward's delight,

 

fear rules illusions

 

that cloud all fools' sight,

 

fear wants compliance

 

adoration and praise,

 

fear becomes arrogance

 

when you challenge his gaze,

 

turning the tables around 

 

can be bliss,

 

when I make friends with fear

 

his intentions I twist,

 

fear uses everyone

 

and makes them his slaves,

 

fear turns the souls 

 

of some dead in their graves,

 

fear teases weaknesses 

 

of youth and of old,

 

fear changes hearts of warmth

 

into stone cold,

 

fear is the god 

 

that brings glory to killing,

 

fear is the god 

 

that makes the spineless willing,

 

motivation of many is controlled by fear,

 

due to principles twisted,

 

and virtues unclear,

 

many will use fear,

 

unwilling to see,

 

their fears are controlling them

 

clear as can be,

 

if ever you see one who 

 

worries too much,

 

believe it is fear that is

 

gaining their trust,

 

 

fear is a mirror


when we've lost our way,

 

that tells us "forget love, honey...


I'm your hero...please stay?"

 

misguided people fall into fear's rut,

 

they slip and fall in,


losing touch with their gut,

 

banish your worries


and live in the now,

 

To strongarm your fears,


honeybun, this is how!!

 

 

6:57 PM 6/19/2013 ©

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

Part of a Collaberation

The Plague's Maid

She split the world in twenty ways,

The day she stirred a deadly plague,

To rid the world of our sins.

 

Her mission plan was Out To Kill,

She claimed the lives of scum until

her illness broke from its chains.

 

Then her disease killed hoards for miles,

And she rejoiced Death for a while,

But then her mission backfired.

 

Her beauty died with countless young,

Her savage bloodlust reeked among

both the Hopeful and Damned.

 

Now the townsfolk live again,

Too scared to let that woman in,

So she waits until dark. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Based on the Scandinavian legend "Pesta" 

View nelgenielark's Full Portfolio

Beware The Lady Mare

Beware the 'mare spectator,

who hurts you as you sleep.

She'll mould your dreams to nightmares

and cackle when you weep.

 

Beware the fear creator,

She'll crush your wracking chest.

She'll torture you 'til morning says

that Death is for the best.

 

Beware the dream invader,

When you yawn, retire with care.

With every nightmare, she creates

a knot within your hair. 

View nelgenielark's Full Portfolio

Monster of a Man

My Mum was a barmaid and my brother was a clown

In a miserable dump of a mining town.

 

The harbour smelt like mould

and the houses looked like brothels

and the cats killed your dogs and the drunkards pissed in bottles.

 

My school was a dump

and the children picked on me

and the ceiling had a leak

and the teacher had no teeth.

 

But I didn't attend for long,

and I wasn't exactly sad

but my mother needed help

 because my brother had gone mad.

You see, my brother was a clown

In a shitty little circus

Which was paradise for prostitutes,

for drunkards and for perverts.

 

Plus, my brother a good clown,

but others were pretty crap

so the Circus lost their customers

and that was the end of that.

 

So my dearest older brother

lost his job and joined my mum,

serving ale to vulgar lowlifes,

taking money from the Scum.

 

Despite all this, there was no money

nor was there food upon our plates

So Mum told me "Nell, you're twelve now,

so you should start pulling your weight."

 

I didn't want to do this,

But I really had no choice,

And the Lord Mayor offered me a job

In a most remarkable place.

 

My job was very dangerous and I'm sure it was a crime,

to send a little girl into The Lilac Mine.

 

The Mine was cold and slippery,

not to mention rather dark,

But I had to hold the lanterns,

for the Miners' while they worked.

 

And you might call me crazy,

But I know what I heard,

A gypsy band was singing

Which I know sounds quite absurd,

 

So I tried not to dwell on it,

Because I had to work,

But I was sure that I'd heard songs

Similar to those before...

 

One night, I hid behind a pile

of coal and waited 'til

all the Miners had gone home

and I was sat in the darkness still.

 

I ventured down the darkest parts

of the Lilac Mine,

I could hear the songs and smell the scents

of meat and scotch and wine.

 

This is where my life began to disintegrate to dust,

I don't wish to continue, but really I must.

 

At the bottom of the mine, I found

A cold, colossal cave

Inhabited by people who looked like

A mauve parade.

 

Dozens upon dozens of them jumping around and whooping,

purple clothes and purple hair

They saw me and started smiling.

 

"Join us, little blonde girl,

come and eat some human scraps,

Boiled leg or skewered neck?

Perhaps some belly fat?"

 

I stupidly joined them for dinner,

which was absolutely strange,

for we were eating human brains

and the Purples were deranged.

 

The leader was a sprightly man,

They called him Olly Plum.

He sang the songs and played guitar

and was loved by everyone.

 

The others were his brothers

and his multitude of wives,

but his daughter Violet reminded me

of an old friend of mine.

 

One summer, when I was seven,

I knew a girl called Sally.

We were close companions

'til they found her dead in an alley.

 

The thing about Violet was

not that she was kind,

although she was, and funny and crazy,

but she acted like a child.

 

She danced when her father sang,

and her brothers played the drums,

Her family adored her,

but none more than Olly Plum.

 

Although I loved their music,

I was a little scared.

What if they wanted to eat me?

Oh well. No-one would have cared.

 

I sang with them until Midnight,

by which time I was very tired

I'd hoped my Mum would be sleeping,

but she was waiting by the fire.

 

"Where the hell have you been?!

I've been worried sick!"

"I'm sorry Mum, I just got lost,

took a wrong turn into a ditch!"

 

"That'll explain the state of you. Off you go to bed!

Be sure to come home early tomorrow or trust me, you'll be dead!"

 

I knew my Mum was angry,

but I couldn't have cared less,

because I knew the Purples

would have caused me less distress.

 

I decided I would live with them,

and play their music too.

In hindsight, it was stupid and I'm sure

You think it was too.

 

I went to work and returned to the cave

on the day I turned Thirteen.

I asked to join their band

and Violet gave me a tambourine.

 

"We'll be just like sisters," she whispered to me that night.

But as she came close, I saw in her eyes, something which gave me a fright.

 

The Purples' eye were purple too!

And that's what made me scared.

If I stayed here and my eyes turned mauve,

would my vision be impaired?

 

Apparently not. You see, I asked

 Olly Plum, who said,

that the colour of their eyes

was nought to do with their homestead.

 

"Purple" was a curse of hate,

the townsfolk were to blame.

They chased them into The Lilac Mine

to the Purples' utter shame.

 

"Why Purple, though?" I asked him.

And he answered: it's what becomes

of us people, who are pelted with

the stones and pulp of plums!

 

I took his word for gospel,

and lived happily with his crew...

But one day, I saw in my reflection

that my eyes were purple too!

 

"What is this?!" I cried. "What's happened to me?

I've caught the Purple Curse!"

"Relax," said Violet, "Your eyes are purple,

your life could be much worse!"

 

She couldn't have been more right, you see,

For things began to change.

We'd eaten lots of townsfolk,

so the Mayor had a Search arranged!

 

One night at eleven,

Us Purples tried to be quiet,

but one person who could not sit still

was my darling Best Friend, Violet.

 

She stood up and danced and we begged her to stop

But her feet and arms kept going.

Then, the search party found us all

And the next moment: we were screaming.

 

The Townsfolk were ruthless and hit the Purples'

on their heads.

I begged a Gentleman to stop,

but he arrested me instead!

 

My brother Clown, restored to sanity

Bought me from my cell.

I was relieved, but then he told me

that the Purples were condemned to hell.

 

At their execution, The Magistrate roared:

"These cannibals now shall  hang!"

 But I screamed and I cried and I yelled at him:

"YOU MONSTER OF A MAN!"

 

The first to meet the gallows

Was my darling Violet, who smiled.

"Don't worry, dear Nell. We're both going to hell,

so we'll only be apart for a while!"

 

The rope met her neck and the townsfolk rejoiced

that this monster would soon be dead.

A masked man pulled the leaver and the whole world could hear

the "snap" which had broken her neck.

 

I live with my mother, and whenever she hits me

I can hear poor Violet's neck snap.

They have closed Lilac Mine, but whenever I see it,

Part of me wants to go back...

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Reviews are most welcome!