It’s a ghastly night, a night that’s fills with much fright. Nothing seems quit right. In a neighborhood that is lit only by moon light. The clouds, ominous in shape, fill with blackness so dark it sends a chill, even through those who live by candlelight.
Covering the streets that lay frozen to frostbite.
Each block feels of ghosts and ghouls gushing from frosty misted air, dancing, between clouded lights. And on this street stands a lonesome mansion, crooked, tangled in vines, a sight far from polite. It sits alone forced against a long twisted road.
Crowded by crooked trees, bare of any leaves, choked by arid nights. And prying eyes from swamps filled with the smells of rotted troglodyte. Wolves howl at the narrowing sky. Not a single soul dare come by, for they fear, their soul will die.
Stories are told of this mysterious home, stories long and old. Stories that leave you awake a night. Stories that leave the soul ghastly and white. Stories of a family that lives to create fear conjured in twilight. Even stories of a lonely angry troll who sold an old mans soul to inherit this hellhole home. But this angry lonely troll, no single eye has ever seen its soul.
Some stories more frightful than others, all far from being delightful. Its said that a young girl, whom never grew old, once walked the streets deciding to leap inside this spine tingling home. They say she searched for excitement in exploring such a frightful frontier. But its told she slipped, fell, and blood came from pouring from her ear.
Only to be found by the troll and kept as a sentimental souvenir. But still, no creatures ever seem to appear.
And to this day, in the neighbor of frightful fear and the unclear. It’s said, the girl can be heard, crying, along side the old man and the angry lonely troll, whom once sold a soul to inherit this crooked old home.
So beware stories told, of the empty unknown
What is your favorite scary story? Comment below and let me know!
Enjoy my work?! Grab a copy of A Man's Traveled Heart 💔
Popular posts from this blog
A Wanderers Inn I have been traveling for thirty days. My horses are weak and I thirst dearly for water. My belly aches as hunger constricts my gut. I am fearful of death in such an unsuitable way. I have always seen myself dying in daring act of life. Be it in war or the saving of a child. Or maybe, even in the defeat of a dragon as I get one last blow with my blade before it strikes me down and it falls to its death beside me. Feeling its last breath of heat roll over my body as our eyes see only our fading souls. I have always thought my death would be glorious. Yet here I am, traveling alone with no more rations, nor water. My horses no longer walk with fervor but lackadaisical steps. And so I pray to find shelter before the cold takes us. Before the empty plains of barren trees and darkness finds us. I wish not to be detritus before my days. Decaying slowly to the maggots as my body lays helpless upon the earth. Becoming a gruesome vision of what lies inside. B
The Blameful Two The world broke as their hearts bled the shadows of their misery. Seeping upon the world, flooding with the scars of agony. Their eyes trembling beneath the moonlight as their blood stained hands shimmer. Their lips sewn as each is caught in a lie. Both bare, exposed to their duality. Their curtains drawn thus unmasks the bodies they have slain. The skeletons of truth dragged through the spoils of deceit. Each, unwilling to speak. Their cheeks flush in rose petals. Their skin taut to the anxiety of their arrest. They are now the victims of themselves and each the other. Two hell's preached in the underbelly of their weakness. The fraudulent thought in avoidance of pain. And now they stand as nude as the beginning of life, Adam and Eve. Shaking, they are without words. Silent, bearing only tears that fall to the blood soaked floors. The dark whirlpools of hypocrisy. Neither is without sin and neither is without murder. Their souls weep dearly a
The Moles Never Learn I found myself walking in the snow, my head aching with a sharp pain. I feel the back of my head, there is something crusted upon the rear of my skull. I dig my nail carefully into it. I can feel the crust collect beneath my nail like dirt. As my feet trudge through the sixteen inches of snow I look to my nail and there in my nail is blood. Dried cells of my body. Upon seeing this I become confused with worry. I place my hand once again upon my bloodied skull and began to examine it. I slide my index finger like the bristle of a broom, back and forth trying to see what wound had allowed such blood upon me. But after several seconds of feeling about, I find nothing. No scratches, no lacerations, nothing. My worried confusion musters down to mere confusion. I rub my eyes as I am strangely held with a slight daze. As if I have been interrupted from a deep sleep. And the evening air is not helping my situation. I am comfortably wrapped for a day tr