Sinister Countdown- October Skies

Hint to me your treasures dear,

Upon this October sky.

When light bends through a darkening lens,

Only the soothsayer may divine.

Grasp this thread and hold it tight,

As the sun dips low beneath the world.

And watch as fire and water so deep,

Part before us now revealing a doorway beyond.

We walk a path from green to gold,

And change with our world as it turns.

-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.

2017

Sinister Countdown- Devouring Fate

Bare my body to the core,

As bloody feet slap on stone.

We wake a sleeping giant,

From its tremulous defeat.

Draw a knife,

Slice to the bone.

You bite your nails to the quick,

We draw ours against stone.

Wake oh sleeping beast,

And draw breath from living beings.

Devour each with broken teeth,

Leave nothing to chance.

Upon these runes we continually dance,

Drawing out death’s advance.

With gums bleeding for nature’s sake,

We wield mankind’s inevitable fate.

-M.E. InkOwl


Sinister Countdown-The Whisper

It began when the movers came into our house, whispers like a low rustling of leaves. Barrel chested men with mustaches and skin as leathery as their yellowing moving gloves hauled it into the living room.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Charlie?” Mother crooned as she pulled out a worn bench.

I stood there in the hallway eyes roaring over the darkly shaded wood and gleaming ivory keys.

The screen door slammed shut as both mother and I listened to the mover’s truck engine rattle off into the sunlight.

“Does it have teeth?” I asked, unsure of this new intruder now waiting at the end of the hall, seemingly for me.

“Teeth?” Mother giggled, and with a flourish of her hands, began to play the ages piano.

“The only teeth I see are the ones smiling back at me!” she said in a sing-song voice and glance in the hanging mirror. It adorned the wall above our ‘new’ piano.

The keys plunked out a slightly off-key version of Fur Elise. I felt the floor vibrate under my feet as mother’s feet pumped the pedals, fingers moving up and down effortlessly.

I felt mesmerized before the first stanza has passed. There was another noise. A deeper noise that spoke to me. To this day I can still hear it. Like the low roar of the surf.

“Oh,” mother stopped mid-song, breaking my concentration. I somehow had walked down the hall and was touching worn and polished wood.

How, no when had I gotten there?

I couldn’t tell because now mother was standing up from the piano and closing her music book.

“There’s something wrong with the sustainer pedal, it must be stuck.” She was talking more to herself now, heading into the kitchen muttering, “guess Bob will have to take a look at it.”

I was alone with the thing. My skin crawled like someone was watching me. I stood there, not sure I should be alone with this new . . . Prize.

The living room grew still as Mother started pulling out pots and pans from the kitchen cupboards. Beyond the living room, our metal screen door stood ajar, a cool October breeze blowing in.

I took a few steps towards it, instinct telling me to put some space between me and the piano.

Why?

My sudden motion caused the room’s floorboards to creak, eliciting a low hum from the piano. It was a groan so human-like I expected to see mother watching me cross to the door.

“Mom?” I called, fear coloring my tone.

“Yes, dear?” She called back shutting off the kitchen faucet.

There was a pause, and I inexplicably knew the piano was listening to me, to us. Another hum traveled up and down its upright strings.

Taking a quick breath to quell an inappropriate amount of fear bubbling up my throat, I looked away to the kitchen. In a shaking voice, I called back, “I’m gonna go outside for a bit.”

“Okay, honey,” mother shouted, “be back when I call for you.”

Another breeze from behind drew across the nape of my neck, raising each hair on my scalp down to my toes.

The piano hummed again as my feet shuffled back toward the door. I looked at the piano and froze, hand giving an involuntary squeeze on the door handle.

Upon the top of the old upright piano sat a man. A thin man, dressed in rags. Pale eyes shown out beneath wispy and wrinkled brows. His form rippled with the breeze like hanging sheets on the backyard laundry lines.

I couldn’t move, the man just stared. His bushy beard and tattered clothes continuing to undulate.

All I could do was gape. He wasn’t real, how could a person, especially someone as shabby as him, suddenly appear in my house? But there he was with a physical body moving like crumpled paper.

I was shaking, sweat pouring down my back. It was freezing, the room was freezing. I wanted to scream, to cry, to run. The man just stared.

I shifted my weight again, pushing against the metal of the door. The floor seemed to scream with my weight. And as the sound traveled its way across the floor to the piano, the old man opened a mouth, filled with a darkness I had never seen. Crooked teeth seemed to swallow the light in our living room as a growing hum and whisper rose from the piano.

Oh, the whispers, so many, so many like a rushing sea.

I watched as his eyes and nose darkened as well, now more dark than the night sky.

So dark, so dark, was all I could think as I felt drawn in.

“Oh for the love!” shouted Mother from the kitchen as a pot clattered to the floor. I jumped, scraping my arm against the metal grating of the door.

The humming whisper stopped, dark cold pulling away from my body. I looked back at the piano.

The old man was gone, the weathered wood staring back innocently. But I knew, I knew.

This was only the beginning.

-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.

2017

Sinister Countdown- Vagabond’s Path

I see you between the stones,

Ivy crawling up and down your sides.

You seem to be looking for someone,

Head bobbing side to side as you flow.

Through the mist you search,

For a lost one? Loved one? For more?

Only you know,

Dusk color form long forgotten.

I wish I could bridge the gap between us,

And help you find rest.

But that would lead me to the final bow,

A plunge into immortality.

For now I’ll wait and wonder here,

While you search a little longer.

-M.E. InkOwl

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 jus tour 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


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

October on The Ink Owl: A Sinister Countdown 2019

Welcome to another Sinister Countdown! October is my favorite month with seasons changing, brilliant colors, and cemeteries getting a really sinister look, what’s not to love?

For those of you who are new to The Ink Owl, October is my month to focus on the macabre and weird when it comes to writing. Darker tides seem to ebb and flow from my fingertips for the month.

Be aware that my poems, pictures, short stories, and prose may have certain disturbing elements.

So wrap yourself up with a blanket, brew some tea, and grab something yummy to eat. The Sinister Countdown is upon ya!

-M.E. InkOwl


If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below!

2017

Blood And Anxiety- The Truth

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No! I cried

But you reached

And plucked a lie

from your own mouth

Placed it on my heart

I felt it tear, burn

And as I reeled in pain

I saw you turn your back

Was this real?

Was this you?

With my back on the wall

I begged you

But you only covered your face in shame

My heart knew then something it had never know before

The truth of a lie

-The Wasp


This September The InkOwl is teaming up with a guest poet The Wasp to bring you a mix of Blood and Anxiety. These poems were inspired by life events, personal experiences, and a desire to share differing perspectives on relationships. If you’re interested in participating in future corroborations with The InkOwl please feel free to message this blog from the contact page.

Blood and Anxiety- Truth Rising

I fell the best of rain upon the roof,

Timing my heart to each strike.

Listening in the dark and waiting,

Once again alone with my emotions.

Sleep evades me in the wandering dark,

As I sift forgotten memories.

Blood thrums through my veins,

Mixing with anxiety’s bile.

Heartbeats loud on the roof,

As tears rain down.

Wandering dark leads me through hope, fear, and love,

Passing like cloud on midsummers day.

And as dawn breaks and sunlight shines,

I remember a truth, my truth,

I am and will continue to be whole.

-M.E. InkOwl


This September The InkOwl is teaming up with a guest poet The Wasp to bring you a mix of Blood and Anxiety. These poems were inspired by life events, personal experiences, and a desire to share differing perspectives on relationships. If you’re interested in participating in future corroborations with The InkOwl please feel free to message this blog from the contact page.

Blood and Anxiety- I’m Fine

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I am strong, can’t you see?

It hides the ache within my chest.

There is nothing wrong me, my smile lies solid in this bed of flesh.

Just looks and know my happiness.

I have found my strength in this armor of joy, you can trust me, I’m fine.

I say while painful hands of night tear apart my deepest parts.

Lies can be so helpful, so true.

See look, I’m going to be okay.

-M.E. InkOwl


This September The InkOwl is teaming up with a guest poet The Wasp to bring you a mix of Blood and Anxiety. These poems were inspired by life events, personal experiences, and a desire to share differing perspectives on relationships. If you’re interested in participating in future corroborations with The InkOwl please feel free to message this blog from the contact page.