Sinister Countdown: Ghost in the Pane

I stand here before the looking glass still,

Feet upon the window sill.

Fingers so cold run down my spine,

Drawing through veil from places divine.

Alone I’m not, looking at the streets below,

My room behind filled with an unearthly glow.

Voices echo and fill me head,

As I push against glass with riding dread.

Clasps unlock and wood frame splinters,

A flood of sound draw in with winds of winter.

I cry, I scream as the dead wrap me round,

My body separates from soul as I hit the ground.

Now I stand here, upon the window sill bare,

Waiting to chill all with my unending stare.

Sinister Countdown: The Witch’s Thumb

Dance around these stones quite gray,

Call upon the end of day.

Bury deep the light sublime,

To grow back our tenacious vine.

Black on black our souls do wear,

Tangled about with lively hair.

Laughter bursts to draw saints in,

Down wicked steps and paths of sin.

Now it’s time for our mischievous fun,

You’ve found yourself ‘neath the Witch’s Thumb!

-M.E. InkOwl

Sinister Countdown: The Hissing Weave

Ever hear of the hissing weave?

Tightly bound to make a chest heave?

Thought of doom and life’s blood spent,

Chase away all things even spent.

Stitching here and suture there,

Scream out loud at flesh tears.

Weeping softly beneath the fabric,

You minds a writhing best of havoc.

Best laid plans of men and gods,

Know nothing now beneath the bog.

Slip into silence as we miss,

The hissing weave down the abyss.

-M.E. InkOwl

Sinister Countdown: The Grave Door

“Don’t you go by the Grave Door ya hear?” Grandma Flo yelled from the porch swing. I waved back, pretending I hadn’t heard and marched on down the street.

“The Grave Door?” asked Sally, her blond curls cupping up under chin. She looked angelic in the evening light, her green eyes glowing with fear and excitement.

I smiled my most mature ten-year-old smile and said, “Yeah you’ll see!”

Together we raced toward Oak Hills community cemetery, only two blocks from my own home. The raged stone and chain fence that surrounded the space witnessed our secret entry. Beneath a low hedge of faded wisteria, we paused looking to make sure the coast was clear.

“Tom, should we even be here?” Sally asked again, grabbing hold of my hand as she spoke.

“Of course we are, we’re not gonna hurt nothin’ right?” I said with a smile and a wink.

Sally’s smile was wand as the light in the sky grew dim, and it was then I realized how much I had fallen for her.

“We’re almost there, just a bit further down this path and then you’ll see it-”

“The Grave Door?” she said, apprehension flashing within her eyes.

I felt myself smile even wider with a wicked glee and nodded in assent. Sally gulped and we quietly began to weave between headstones and markers alike.

And in the last rays of the even sun, we found it, nestled at the bottom of the lane.

“There it is!” I hissed pulling Sally close, I could feel her body grow tense.

She looked up at the sky and drew in a tight breath and said, “it’s time Tommy, let’s do it now.”

“Okay,” I said feeling a cresting wave of hysteria, “I’ve got the stone.”

Around us, trees shifted in the cool October air casting a greenish-blue shade over everything. There before me was the Grave Door, inlaid with concrete and stone. Old slats of yew wood held fast with iron nails secured the entrance below.

“Be careful, Tom!” Sally hissed from behind a cold faced angel as I stepped away from her warm embrace.

In full view of anyone watching I stood right on the black paved lane clutching tight to my rock. Taking three steps I stopped in a patch of shimmering sunlight and said the words the old Hag had told us never to say.

“Break bone, bruise root, bring forth, bear fruit.”

And with that my rock was tossed high into the air a bull’s eye directly on the Grave Door.

With a plunk it wedge in fast between two slats and held fast to the wood.

Utterly astonished I stared in wonder as the rock twisted round like a knob. Wind shifted about my head, rustling leaves as I turn to face Sally. Her face was horror-stricken as she looked past my feet to the door now vibrating in its cement lining.

A low hiss escaped from between the slats of yew as I felt myself stumble back. It was then that I saw my sneaker smoking upon the ground, their soles melting into the asphalt.

I gasped and cried out as heat seared my toes. I felt to the ground and rolled to the curb, skin, shirt, and pants hissing loudly. Sally was screaming as the hiss became a roar. Wood splintered beyond my spinning head.

Something grabbed at my shoulder, turning me over and I screamed out again, thinking the worst. It was Sally with her golden white hair brushing against my face.

“Come on Tom! Let’s go!”

I stood up, feeling cold, wet grass seeping into my socks and looked back at the now glowing Grave Door. The sneakers were gone, replaced with smoking tread marks. The cemetery seemed to spin all around us as we ran, willing the perimeter fence to appear.

Behind us, wood splintered and cement shattered as whatever was underneath lurched free.

A scream deep and harsh sounded from beyond the twisting wisteria bush, piercing our ears to the bone. I felt wetness flood from my nose and each ear as we sobbed our way back to the road.

Sally looked back once, her face stained with flowing blood, but after that, she just ran faster. We jumped out onto the deserted main road, wet, bloody, and shaken.

“What . . . was that?” Sally whimpered between breaths.

I shook my head, unable to answer, whatever it was hadn’t followed. Silence gathered in close around us as we peered into the brush, but only the wind whispered it’s greeting.

“I don’t know what we did, I thought it was a joke,” I said, guilt flooding my voice.

“We’d better get back home-” Sally began, but that was when the screaming started, on the street perpendicular to ours. A screeching of tires could be heard as a series of pops and crashes sang out. And then with an ear-splitting roar, a car careened onto the street. It’s doors hanging askew and the windows erupting in flames.

We looked at each other as more screams sounded from the street.

“What did we do?”

-M.E. InkOwl

Sinister Countdown: The Darkest Night- Fanni Suto

This is the darkest night of the year for us; the night of dead souls, screams and dancing will o’ wisps: All Hallow’s Eve. The unpronounceable fear descends on us and in the cold night we mourn our lost ones. We murmur the ancient prayer of our kind as the darkness draws closer:

“Save us from the grinning death

Keep us from the flashing knives

Let our soul not turn to light.

Hold us through this fateful night.”

And we shudder in our warm beds, cuddling together as much as we can. We can hear their footsteps, they’re coming to reap us. They don’t need our flesh – they rip us apart because an ancient tradition demands so. Also for the fun of it. We can’t escape. If you’re picked, you’re damned. The rest of us can do nothing to save you. We are taught to think of the taken as a sacrifice, they give their souls to save the rest of us. The monsters tear their souls out and throw it away. Why? Because they want to replace it with a feeble flame, a candle shining its treacherous light through the mutilated faces of our brothers. Their horrible grimaces cast a shadow over our huddling forms and we tremble, fearing the next Halloween.

img_8946

Bio: Fanni Sütő writer, poet, translator and the proud owner of a growing number of novels-in-progress. She publishes in English and Hungarian and finds inspiration in reading, paintings and music. She writes about everything which comes in her way or goes bump in the night. She tries to find the magical in the everyday and likes to spy on the secret life of cities and their inhabitants.
Previous publications include: The Casket of Fictional Delights, Tincture Journal, Enchanted Conversation. Paris Lit Up 5.
Website: www.inkmapsandmacarons.com
Twitter: @Fanni_Pumpkin

Sinister Countdown: Tiptoe

Tiptoe between the weeds,

Circle round the foundation green.

Hear the chirp and paper whisper,

Of a secret-keeping sister.

Hiss of cat and creak of stair,

Close your eyes and wish Them here.

Now you’ve lifted forbidden vale,

Seeing the very depths of hell.

Lay your body upon crypt floor,

And wait your doom forever more.

Circle round the foundation green,

Tip toe, tip toe, forever unseen.

-M.E. InkOwl

Sinister Countdown: The Beast

Quick step, tip toe,

Secret breath, let go.

Lie still, stay calm,

Hear this, somethings wrong.

Creaking stair, silence falls,

Don’t move, watch the walls.

Burst of sound, throaty call.

Fetted breath, raking claws.

Bitting deep, breaking bone.

Gasping shrieks, snapping jaws.

Moaning pain, rattling air.

Endings begin in a darkening lair.

-M.E. InkOwl

Sinister Countdown: Hush, Murder Sweet

Hush, murder sweet is calling.

Dost thou hear the music rankle?

Cackle gleefully to ones self?

Shush, now hear it speaking.

Pleading close, secret keeping?

From whence did you fall?

Whisper, come close and feel the blister.

Plead did you for mercy dear?

Whining now for mother near?

Silence, a shadow moves.

Flee, run, dare look back?

Never knowing what’s in the black?

Quiet now, safety found.

Surrounded by four walls, they’ll hold me strong?

Squeeze eyes shut, sing a song, I was dreaming all along?

Hush now, I never left.

Feel my chill, break a sweat.

Hush, murder sweet, I never left.

Silence . . . wails!

-M.E. InkOwl