A Country Girl's Writing

In the basement of that house  There was a hidden door.  Town legend said,  "It stood behind a wall  Waiting to be fed." The only thing the door enjoyed  Was families tucked in bed.  So, to protect the families,     A battered ol' rat was the keeper Of the dreadful friend.  In 1956 a family killed the rat.  Unbeknownst to them  The door was now free,  And inpatient to be fed.  At night while the family slept  Peacefully in their beds.  The door broke through the wall  And traveled to their beds.  In the morning nothing was left  The entire family was gone.  No one ever heard their screams,  As they were torn to shreds.  The door and the family  Were never ever seen again.  By Evelyn Creon

I saw a shadow on the stairs, While I was minding my own affairs. It was dragging a bulky object, So to the stairs I slowly inched, Full of fascination as I cringed. My footsteps did not reflect. I saw a lifeless corpse  I looked upon it in shock, As my heart began to course,  And a rotting smell rose from its frock. I only then did realize   That the body was of me.   With blood d ripping from my lips, I lied there dead and rotting. The sight was abhorring. My death, from a broken neck. By Evelyn Creon

The head of a child Sunk beneath the waters,  Of Black Death lake. Its hollow eyes  Had stared me in the face. Its pale skin terrified me.  The ghost child disappeared As quietly as it came.  Leaving me with  a sinking feeling  Like a draining drain.  I began to row ashore  When it appeared again  This time with some friends.  They all wore a grin  That was full of devilry.  My throat went dry  When I saw them.  I feared for what they planned. The children came up close As if to say hello,  But rather they took the boat  And flipped upside down.  All I remember while I sunk,  In the dark water Was the warning I'd been given  At twelve O'clock,  "Don't go out today  You will get a fright."    I heeded not the warning,  Now it serves me right. By Evelyn Creon

The ol' tree on the hill Is a freeky place to be. It creeks with no wind And you hear the rustle of its leaves. Yet, it has none you can see. At night around dusk Screeching sounds fill the air. The town below the hill Believe the tree is haunted. So they have forbade all To climb the hill they call, Dread. The people who disobey Are never ever seen. The legend says if you see the ghost It will never let you leave. By Evelyn Creon 

   Good morning to all, and welcome to the month of October. I am super excited to start this new month with my newest dark poem "The Nuckelavee" the first dark poem in a four poem series this month.    For those of you that are not familiar with this mythological creature it is a horrendous sea demon that is categorized under Orcadian mythology which combines human and equine elements together. It is one of the worst demons known in Norse mythology, because of the terrors that it caused in Scotland's Northern Isles. The Nuckelavee One October morning When the sun was beginning to rise.  The smell of burning seaweed  Filled the foggy skies. Out of the fog a creature emerged  Embellished with hideousness.  It was a skinless, hairless,  Horse fused rider beast.   You could see ebony blood  Coursing through its veins,  And sinewy muscles straining  with each movement in pain.  ...