Sinister Countdown- Watcher

Sometimes I feel you watching over my shoulder.

I hear your breath in my ear, as near as if you were next to me.

I cannot close my eyes for fear of opening them and seeing your reaching arms.

You’re dead, you’ve been this way for too long.

And I can’t stop thinking you’re right here how you’ve always been.

Alive.

Warm.

Living.

But now I must live with you just out of reach.

Beyond my periphery, waiting for me.

Why are you waiting? With skin as gray as twilight.

Your papery voice an echo in each room, reminding me of what you were.

Now I lie here, waiting for sleep to take me away.

Body separates from mind as my body lays dead as stone.

I am alone, a waking fretting mind. Yet not alone.

But I know full well you wait, laying upon my very body.

Pushing me into my mattress with hands of broken fingers,

Legs of twisted bone,

And eyes, eyes so white your tears fall as of milk spilled from a spoiled container.

I am powerless to stop you, pressing me into the ground.

You’ve come to drag me to the burning rings of hell, or into the twisting sheets of fate.

I smell your breath, stale as a tomb and rotten as your spoiling flesh.

I cannot open my eyes, even when I feel your greasy matted hair brushing my for3head and eyes.

“Wake up!” I scream, willing myself to rise, “wake up!”

Something drizzles onto my neck as your press gaping wounds upon me.

“Wake up!”

An eyelid twitches.

“Wake up!”

A fingertip bends.

“Wake up!”

Lips move soundlessly.

“Wake up!”

And with a lurch I find myself sitting up, alone, on my bed, twisted in the sheets.

Alone.

“Wake up,” I say trembling all over.

Alone.

“Wake up,” it’s a mantra now reassuring as the solid mattress beneath me.

“You’re awake,” I say pushing back sheets and stepping quickly to the washroom sink.

“You’re here,” I say, splashing water on my face while I close my eyes.

“It’s alright,” I say speaking into the dry towel, rubbing away each horrible feeling.

A finger runs down my bent back, bumping down my spine, cold as death and I feel the towel drop from my fingers.

“You’re alone,” you say hissing between broken teeth, “you’re awake, you’re alive.”

I look into the mirror and match your milk-white stare. Hands already reach round my twisting waste as your face draws close to mine.

“You’re awake,” you breath with lips beginning to shred apart, “you’re alive.”

I fall towards you, unable to stop as you laugh and open a mouth impossibly wide.

“And you’re mine,” you snarl and hiss as jaws close around my waiting neck.

-M.E. InkOwl

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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 rescesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

2017

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