Sinister Countdown- Necromancer’s Rite

What was that, another whisper round the bend?

I know I must be dreaming, walking down this empty walk in the twilight.

Dark trees twist into an even more rich shade of night. A breeze warns me to turn back, but the crunching of leaves moves me on.

I need to turn back.

How many days has it been since I’ve gone?

Out into this place far from the sun’s bright face.

Crunching leaves, twisting up one side of this silent waiting walk.

The worlds collide in this first forged hour, waiting to come out into the shades indigo.

My feet move me forward unwilling to listen to my mind.

All these dead leaves crack beneath my toes.

And I must go.

Go on between the trees where specters flicker like candle-light.

Tears are coursing down my face, sweat is trickling along my spine.

But there it is, that crisp crunch that just sounds like it’s right round the bend.

A foot has slid across something slick, upon a dark and greasy strip.

The light is now past beyond an indigo hue,

And all my eyes see is black beyond the blue.

Too late now I’ve rounded the bend and see it hanging limb from lib.

A tattered form strung across these end trees,

Entrails steaming, white bones half bear and gleaming.

Between the trees upon my path, a beast before me smiles back.

Snapping bones between its jaws, it separates itself from the gleaming maw.

Hooved feet paw the waiting ground as fur lined knees bend back like yew. Limbered arms with scythes for claws reach gently for me without pause.

Ragged hair matted red with blood hang down around an upturned face.

It hisses, cackles, bubbles deep and pulls me forward past heaping meat.

I’m weeping now a silent wail, walking into this waiting hell.

As I rise to meet my nature’s doom, it’s looming face glows with the rising moon.

Upon its chin it wears two bulbous eyes, that blink profound truths and terrible lies.

There is no mercy in that gaze as above it’s nose lips part, fangs raise.

I’m pulled apart upon its crown,

With entrails adorning it like a crown.

Above me rides the full moon bright,

To call upon a Necromancer’s rite.

-M.E. InkOwl


This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

Past Sinister Countdowns


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