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the stuff of nightmares

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it is dark
and silent.
the silence before a storm
branches whipping, wind howling
slamming doors, open maws
calling forth things buried deep in childhood’s troubled sleep
tales of terror, horror incarnate
fear that does not abate
tentacles of cold that wrap round and squeeze the bold out
echoes of screams, twisted dreams
and a soft scrabbling at the door…

visions
of monsters
frankenstein, and the dreaded count
of transylvania -
nosferatu’s revenge
bestial roars, gaping tombs
bristling fur and mangled limbs
crimson pools of life’s elixir
the darkness thickens
heart quickens
clawed hands reaching out
to seize their quarry
muscles tensed
heavy breathing
close - so close!
a smile of triumph, flashing
bone-white fangs through inky black
and I -

I awake
and it is dark, and silent.
and there is a soft scrabbling at the door…





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