Dust Bunny

There’s something under my bad,
A shadowy ghoul,
I hear it,
As I bang my head against the wall of sleep,
My duvet a cushy restraint,
Complicit in this uneasy atmosphere,
The thing slinks from one end of the bed to the other,
With the mad grace of a fish out of water,

I’ve never seen it,
But it smells of dust and sulphur,
I hear it every night,
It clicks unknowable limbs in revolting movements,
Scuffling about and giggling to itself,
Speaking in ornery tongues,
Alien fangs gnawing on fingernails,
Rustling against the bedframe with oily hair or scales,

I do wonder if it ever peeks out,
I dare not look,
But when I close my eyes finally,
I feel palpable vision upon me.

Creepypasta

Do you crave horror?
Does your heart desire a quickened pace?
To bring the otherworldly to your world?
Then turn the lights down low,
And let me tell you a virtual story my friend,

Did you hear that?

Out there in the cold of the web,
There are urban legends copied and shared ad infinitum,
Tales of woe and suicide and hellish monsters,
Things that should not exist,
Maybe they do and maybe the don’t,

Is that a bit of a chill?

Haunted websites and schools of dead souls,
Freaks with grins just that bit too wide,
Men in masks travelling in tinted window vans,
Forms of spindly limbs stalking you in the woods,
Things that climb in your window and caress your sleeping cheek,

Was that something taking a peek?

These may seem too real for some dispositions,
But don’t fear my dear friend,
These are simply fictions,
They aren’t real,
Right?

There is nothing behind you.

The Rake

Are you sure you locked the door?
Did you check it twice?
Cold iron padlocks and all,
There are things in the night,
Macabre forces,
Hairless dogs and wide-eyed freaks,
Teeth and limbs and nails,
Things that make monsters look like babes,

Do you hear it?
It sounded like the attic creaking,
Scraping on the stairwell,
Or perhaps the wardrobe?
Did you glimpse that?
Fingers on the windowpane,
Movement in the black,
A shape in the doorway,

An emaciated form,
Starving by any account,
Half-crouching in the corner,
Staring,
Just staring,
Psychological needles scraping your psyche,
Terror takes the wheel,
Overwhelming gravity upon your breath,

Have you closed your eyes?
Do you feel my hot breath?

Lives of masks

What is a mask but a denial of oneself?
Who can say the eyes peering through are truly yours?
Who can declare the voice eking through is yours?
Masks prevent us being ourselves.
They make us become something far more fantastical.

They can turn us into monsters,
kings,
princesses,
clowns,
machines,
even gods.
But a mask can never show our true selves.
They shield our true selves,
they shield our true emotions,
our true pains.

We take on somebody else’s soul.
A strangers?
Or maybe even a friends?
Masks are a costume for the soul.