K i l l e r

November 18, 2010
By Shimonu BRONZE, Cape Town, Other
Shimonu BRONZE, Cape Town, Other
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
I always admire those who look good. You know, like model good. Because the hours they spend getting ready are the ones where I’m hunched over a computer like a hermit, desperately trying to hit my count. I never know where they get the time ~ Simone Robinson

It isn’t strange for you, you see,
To take a walk amidst the trees.
The moon is full, they stars are bright-
It really is a perfect night.

Your neighbor-hood is good and clean,
And any city dweller’s dream
And so you take a different way
From one you walked on in the day.

The wind that whistles through the trees
Lets you hear the strangled screams.
You start up and began to run,
Your perfect world could come undone.

And come undone it did when you
Fell across a piece of wood
And trying not to make a sound
You see the body on the ground.

It has no eyes; its mouth is wide,
The gash is long, cut through its side.
You, in horror back away.
You fight the urge to run away.

But then a laugh sounds from the right,
You spin around, eyes wide with fright.
He’s standing there, his mouth stained red;
His eyes are wild upon his head.

Your neighbor grins and waves his hand
And shows the dagger on the land
“She didn’t listen, she was bad.”
He shakes his head and looks quite sad.

“And now you’re gonna tell on me.”
Your neighbor laughs in utter glee
“I wonder if you’ll scream as loud…”
He takes the dagger from the ground.

You turn and run full pelt back home,
Despairing as you live alone.
You know your house stands isolate
Aside from one house next to it.

And that man isn’t gonna help,
He’s in the woods; he’ll slit your throat.
You slam your door and lock it tight.
You flick off each and every light

You grab a vase, the one that’s new,
And run to shut the window too.
And as you reach into the night
A hand grabs yours with all its might.

You scream and swing the vase around,
It makes a sickening breaking sound.
You’re hand is free, you turn and run,
Its hours till the rising sun.

You finally find your mobile phone;
You pick it up, you’re blood runs cold.
It’s dead and now you dare not speak,
He’ll hear you with a single squeak.

A crash down from the dining room
Alerts you and you grab a broom.
It’s not much good against a knife
To stand between him and your life.

Your cupboard’s just beyond the hall,
You’re sprinting but you do not fall.
But as your key is in the lock,
You hear it, just a single knock

The door is opened and you see
The man from which you wish to flee.
He’s grinning through the shards of glass
And blood which form a monstrous mask.

“Come on now, don’t run away.
A hunter hates to chase his prey.”
He’s coming closer and you cower
This could be your final hour.

He leans in, he looks so calm,
You feel the metal on your palm;
He lunges but you’re quick to strike
The shot- it echoes through the night.

His eyes go wide, he stares in shock,
“You got me, love. You’ve stopped the clock”
Your neighbors smiles a chilling smile,
There’s crimson dripping on the tiles.

Before his eyes go dull of life,
His grip is lessoned on the knife,
“And who I was, if you’re not sure-
I’m the killer, just next door.”

The author's comments:
I write a lot of horror narrative poetry, and this was one of my first ones.

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