October Frights Day 3: Dark Poetry Corner

Today I bring you my Dark Poetry Corner, with three poems dripping blood...

Rhythm

Can you hear the drumbeats pound?

Thump, di di dum, thump, di, di dum

Calling, calling, against the midnight moon

Can you hear the drumbeats quiver?

Thump, di di dum, thump, di, di dum

Singing, singing, to raise the dead

Can you hear the drumbeats quicken?

Thump, di di dum, thump, di, di dum

Screaming, screaming with the darkened moon 

Now the drums fall silent

and the midnight air is still

The dead emerged from the dark

in blood have claimed their due

Ghost

A reflection 

dancing in a silver mirror

A whisper 

floating past the staircase

An echo 

of footsteps in the hallway

You ignore what you can

tremble at the rest

You never thought...

You are afraid

Alone

Surrounded by 

the consequence

of what lingers

Surrounded by

your death

Shadow of the Grave

I can feel Death creeping ever closer. It lingers in the shadows, its footsteps outside my door. Soon I will hear the knock of its bony fingers and I will let it in. Then we will sit, Death and I, and talk as friends before I save good-bye to this mortal world.

In the night, knocking

A shallow breath, a cold shade

Hello, my old friend

And today I come bearing gifts as well. Until October 15 you can download one of my Horror Haiku books from Prolific Works for free!

Horror Haiku and Other Poems

Download for Free

So that ends today's post. Be sure to hop on over and check out the offerings of the other participants as well. Here's the list.

October Frights Blog Hop

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

The Word Whisperer

Hawk's Happenings

Carmilla Voiez Blog

M'habla's!

CURIOSITIES

Frighten Me

Winnie Jean Howard

Always Another Chapter

Balancing Act

James P. McDonald

greydogtales

Looking for some new books? Check out our October Frights Spooktacular

October Frights Day 2: Scarecrow

A little creepy story for you today...

Original Image by Screamenteagle from Pixabay

Scarecrow

The air smelled of damp earth and moonlight glistened off the dying corn stalks. I shivered when the cold wind hit my face. The field seemed to stretch for miles, dozens of decaying plants and a grassy meadow beyond. I didn't recognize any of it, but it felt familiar. Something else felt familiar too.
I was scared.
Fear cramping my gut, I crouched behind the withering stalks to hide from… I wasn’t sure. I slowed my breathing, peering between the vegetation, staring into the shadows and the shifting moonlight. I listened, but heard nothing. Slowly I rose and glanced towards the distance, wondering if I could run.
Where? Where would I run?
A dark shape caught my attention. Something stood at the edge of the corn rows. As light drifted into the gloom, I saw outstretched arms, a figure wearing a straw hat, stuck on a pole. I sighed in relief. Just a scarecrow. Then I frowned.
Funny, I didn’t notice it before.
I tried to look away, to search for an escape, somewhere to run, but I kept staring. It drew me in, this black silhouette of a raggedy man stuffed with straw.
Wait, did it move? Must have been the wind.
Except there was no wind.
I shuddered, unable to break my gaze from the scene. Its spindly arms grasped the pole and thrust itself off, the scarecrow landing on the ground with a rustle of grass and a faint thump. I whimpered as it turned and I saw its contorted face and black eyes. I shivered at the sight of its lopsided grin.
I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming.
Straw crackled loudly, too loudly, and the creature lumbered towards me, arms outstretched, fingers curled like claws. Bile and terror surged in my throat but I couldn’t move. It lumbered closer and closer, my brain screaming, but my feet refused to budge.
Run, damn you, run!
But I stood, as immobile as a statue, until I felt the thing’s breath on my face. It stopped,  somehow staring with black button eyes. A hand lifted, touching my shoulder. My body went cold and rigid and I screamed. When the sound of my fear faded, I heard its raspy voice speak, even though it’s painted smiling mouth didn’t open.
“Come with me.”
Only then did I bolt, wrenching away from its grasp, stumbling over my feet, racing through the dusky field and across the moonlit meadow. Running, running, always the dim edge of the field in sight, yet…
I glanced back. The scarecrow stood in front of the corn rows watching me. I tripped, falling to my knees. For a moment I closed my eyes. When I opened them I was back among the corn, the scarecrow a foot away.
What is happening?
The plants rustled and the scarecrow moved, kneeling down beside me.
“Stop running. Accept what is to come. What you lost.”
“Accept what?”
“You know.”
I shook my head, terror consuming me. The thing reached out a hand, but I shrank back. If it touched me again, I was done. I knew that.
“Stay away! Stay away!”
I crawled on all fours before scrambling to my feet and racing away from…
I don’t know. I don’t know. 
Whatever the thing was it would be the end of me if I let it near. It’s words triggered something in my head, a voice, almost like a hazy memory.
Time of death, 1:59 PM.


That's it until tomorrow, remember to hop on over to check out the other participant's offerings as well. And come back tomorrow for my dark poetry corner.

October Frights Blog Hop

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

The Word Whisperer

Hawk's Happenings

Carmilla Voiez Blog

M'habla's!

CURIOSITIES

Frighten Me

Winnie Jean Howard

Always Another Chapter

Balancing Act

James P. McDonald

greydogtales

Looking for some new books? Check out our October Frights Spooktacular

Halloween Week: Dark Poetry Corner

Another installment of my Dark Poetry Corner for Halloween Week with the Banshee and Death.

Enjoy.

Banshee

Past the misty shores

from the midnight darkness

the wail of death shall sound

On the chilling wind

across the threshold stone

her piercing scream shall echo

The father will rage

The mother will weep

And the brightest son shall fall

~*~

The Final Day

Death walks the world in blackened silence

to watch life fall, the last of it to shrivel, to end

snuffed by her passing breath and lingering icy touch.

The wings of closing shadows trail her hushed steps.

She gives no mercy, no heed to screams or cries.

The sentence has been decreed. Life here is over.

 ~*~

#OctoberFrights: After Death

Welcome to Day Three of the October Frights Blog Hop.

Today I have two flash fiction stories about death, and the consequences about lingering beyond your allotted time. Enjoy...

Leftover

I died yesterday.

A heart attack, I think. I remember a pain in my chest, down my arm, and not much else. I saw a flash of a hospital, maybe an operating room, and a voice saying, “time of death, 11:04 AM”.

That’s when I woke up here.

In my own bed.

Yet… it’s not the same place.

It is so silent here, a vast empty nothing of stillness. And I have no voice. I can’t talk, I can’t cry, I can’t even scream. The world around me is painted in shades of grey, a shrouded space of perpetual twilight. The air is cold and heavy, and it feels like it’s pressing on me.

I can see the other world, the world of the living I suppose, like watching through dirty glass. I can see my husband crying when he’s alone. I think I can reach out and touch him. I know I can, I can feel it. I want to reach out… I need to reach out…

He’s right there.

Waiting.

I need to feed.

I’m so, so hungry.

~*~

  

Eternal

Death hates me.

Why else would I still be here? Waiting.

When I’m finally ready.

Perhaps it’s my own fault, a taste of my own feckless behavior. So many times I smiled at him, made him wait for me, promised I would come to him. Then I slipped by him with a smile, another deal for more years, another life stolen to prolong mine.

How many millennia did I cheat him of what I owed?

I lost count. I’d wager he knows.

I thought forever would never get stale.

I had such hubris.

Youth and beauty for eternity, laughing at Death as he chased me.

Always winning.

Always laughing.

Until it stopped being amusing.

I thought the game would last.

I thought he loved me.

Until he refused to play anymore.

Now I am alone.

Waiting for Death.

Why won’t he come for me?

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved 

Don't forget to enter the giveaway!

October Frights Book Giveaway!

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And for more October Frights fun check out the other sites on the hop.

Drabble Wednesday: Ashen

Today on Drabble Wednesday, come explore the world of the pale, the cold, the stark and white...

The Pale Tree

It stood apart from the rest of the grove, growing tall from a small hummock. The rough bark of the tree glinted snow white with streaks of silver, its branches bare save for one month a year when it sprouted greyish buds. The only colour it showed came from a green vine twining around its trunk, and even it bloomed flowers of white in season.

Underneath the tree, entangled in its roots rested another layer of white. Slowly seeping into soil, nurturing it, those rotted corpses and bones of the poor victims buried alive.

Sacrifices.

To the Tree of Death.

~*~

Under the Frozen Earth

The sun sets on silence, and a vast frozen wasteland. No wind blows, no birds fly, not a sound breaks the settling of dusk on the world. Only the cold, the snow, and the deep frozen expanse that ever tightens its grip exist.

The cold and frost run deep. Down, down to the Old World, the world that once existed. A place of faraway dreams and summer. A realm that died in its own hubris, swallowed by the endless winter. A domain that yet whispers, locked in its prison of ice. Where the dead stare upward, frozen in their screams.

~*~

White Petals and Lace

Remains of the past.

One white rose and a scrap of ivory-coloured lace.

Resting next to a small silver box.

The pale kitchen curtains flutter in the breeze, and the sweet smell of summer grasses wafts through the window. If you listen, you can almost hear the laughter drifting across time. When the family gathered for picnics in the yard, when the aroma of potato salad and mayonnaise filled the room.

But those days are long gone.

Only the dead are left, with the last body now crumpled on the kitchen tile.

The poison from the silver box works quickly.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Dark Feathers

Today on Drabble Wednesday we fly with our dark winged friends, and death...

The Termination Onyx

Across the sky shadows grew.

Mottled streaks of soft gray into coal black patches covered blue and spread through the white clouds. From the tip of the world to the farthest horizon the shadows crept, and when they reached around the planet, the feathers fell as rain.

Stygian dark and sharp as razors, they sliced through air and trees and flesh, and when they struck the ground the earth shook and cracked. Cities became ruin, mountains fractured, and seas boiled.

Apocalypse, the inhabitants called it.

Annihilation Day.

The Universe knew it better by another name.

The Day the Angels Died.

~*~

The Ravens

On darkling wings the ravens flew.

A black spot across the midday sun, the trio of birds soared over the meadows and the forests, past the farms and towns. Every door closed against them, every shutter barred to their presence. The people of Arajyn knew what the ravens heralded.

Every soul waited in fear for its coming.

Children sobbed, parents prayed. And gave thanks when the ravens passed them by.

Until the birds descended, roosting in a tree outside the village of Syarien. Every voice in that village wailed, knowing they had been chosen.

Sacrifices to the God of Death.

~*~

Black Wings and a Story

Tell me a story you said.

So I did.

But you didn’t like the ending, did you?

I can’t say that I blame you. I tricked you, just a bit. You didn’t know what would happen.

Now did you?

If you did, if you knew who I was, then you wouldn’t have listened.

Would you?

No one wants the Raven King to tell them a story.

For, you know, my stories are never free.

Their ending always come with a price.

Poor you. You paid, didn’t you?

You paid when I plucked out your eyes, and sliced out your tongue.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Bitter Endings

Today on Drabble Wednesday all things must come to a end... sometimes permanently.

Turnabout and All is Fair

“Sorry my dear, we had fun, but a job is a job.” I raised my gun with a smile, an odd twitch in my hand.

She answered my smile. “I understand, and agree. So I hope you won’t mind what I slipped into your wine. It’s hard to pull a trigger with shaky fingers.”

A cold seizure gripped my gut. A whisper of panic fled my throat. “No.” The gun felt heavy... I couldn’t... “Why?”

“To clear my debt. I kill you, my last employer forgives my botching the previous job. It seems he didn’t like you killing his son.”

~*~

Last Piece

I feel the pain dig into my palm from the broken edges, and the sticky flow of my blood. I don’t let go. I can’t let go. It’s all I have left. A damaged picture frame and torn photo under half-shattered glass.

Unless you count their bodies. Buried in the rubble of our house.

I don’t know why I survived. One person in the carnage. Left in the wreckage of our life, our street, maybe the city. Hell, maybe the world.

I don’t know how far the war extends.

But I’m staying here, where my life ended.

Waiting to die.

~*~

Finite

When the clock winds down, the space between ticks seems infinite. Yet, it’s simply a wish, a hope for more time. We want a cheat, a reprieve, a stay on our execution. One more breath, one more kiss, one more chance at life. We want a another shot at all those regrets, things left undone.

In those last moments, it all seems so precious. We cling to it in desperation, knowing our fate is beyond our control. No one wants to die. No one wants the end of everything.

Now it too late. 

The death of the universe has begun.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: The Realm of Gods

Today on Drabble Wednesday I take you to see deities most fierce and terrible...

The Temple

It stands tall on its island, amid the eternal snow, casting its reflection in the surrounding lake.

The Temple of the Dark Gods.

So why is it quiet? Why do its halls stay silent?

Scarlet stains coat its marble floors and foul air seeps from its walls, a rancid stench of decay. Its gods breathe no more, its rooms house corpses, not deities. Murder came to the Dark Gods and left carnage in its wake.

Their own fault, truly.

Never raise a shadow you can’t control.

They will have to give their shrine a new name.

The Temple of Death.

~*~

When Things Go Awry

I thought I had all the time in the universe.

Literally.

I’m the God of Time after all.

But my existence was not quite that simple.

I found out too late.

The sands of the God of Time are running out, felled by such a spiteful thing as jealousy. I knew of my brother’s resentment, but not how the God of History wanted my place in the pantheon. He tried to steal my hourglass totem, but destroyed it instead.

Now I will soon be gone.

But I will have the last laugh. For when I die, the universe will follow.

~*~

Snows of Change

Winter followed in her footsteps.

A goddess of surreal beauty, silver hair and blue satin, swirled in snowflakes and frost, born on northern wind. Barefoot she walked, leaving a trail of prints in the falling snow that surrounded her.

She saw a man on the road, his mouth agape; the package he carried fallen unnoticed. She stopped before him, reached out, touched his cheek.

“Your world is mine now.”

His skin chilled, his blood froze, his heart turned to hoarfrost; he transformed from flesh to ice sculpture. She smiled and walked on.

The Winter Queen lived to conquer and destroy.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

WiHM Blog Talks: Roh Morgan And Her Weapons of Choice

Today, I am pleased to be playing host for Women in Horror Month Blog Talks, organized by author W. J. Howard, where female writers discuss different aspects of horror. My guest today is author Roh Morgan and her topic is...

 Weapons of Choice

Roh Morgon writes fantasy and horror for middle grade, young adult, and adult readers. She’s best known for her vampire series that begins with Watcher: Book I of The Chosen.


When I first read the topic for today’s post – Choice of Weapons – my initial thoughts were of the fangs and claws wielded by the creatures in Watcher: Book I of The Chosen and my other stories in the series.

I mean, what could be more primal than tearing the throat from an enemy — or a victim — using the deadly tips of one’s own fingers? The sweeping slash, the parting skin, the spray of blood arcing in a crimson fountain to paint the air itself. Or perhaps a rapier-like thrust to bury five daggers deep, then the squeeze to crush the airway as its gore pulses down.

Even more intimate would be the fatal kiss of one’s own lips as they part, allowing lethal fangs to sink into hot flesh coursing with life itself. The taking of that life swallow by swallow while twisting love’s caress into a battle with death and the eternal dance of predator and prey.

How could the wielder of a chainsaw or a bullet or even a blade experience anything remotely like killing something with the weapons nature bestowed upon you? They won’t feel the life pumping across their skin or down their throats or into their souls. Their satisfaction is like that of a one-hit bong compared to mainline heroin, weak, without substance, without that all-encompassing ‘ahh’ of being sated down to your very core.

But then I thought about an even deadlier weapon than those above – the weapon of words.

Words can rip the heart apart, can wound beyond repair, can crush the very soul of their target when they are employed with skill and precision. They can cripple a lover and condemn them to a life of living hell, or worse, drive that lover into death’s welcoming embrace.

Make no mistake. Words are the deadliest weapon in any arsenal. Be sure to use them wisely.

Giveaway: Anyone who adds a comment of at least three words to my post will receive a free digital copy of my latest book, The Games Monsters Play in the format of their choice (.mobi, .epub, or .pdf).

I'd like to thank Roh Morgan for joining us today.

You can find more about her writing and books at these sites:

Website  Facebook  Amazon  Goodreads

Drabble Wednesday: Under the Cherry Tree

Today on Drabble Wednesday we sit under the shade of a tree and wait. Death is coming...

Tryst

The rustle of a silk kimono and the flutter of a painted fan chased the whisper of the wind. She moved with the night to linger under the perfumed beauty of the cherry tree. She closed her eyes, and breathed in the subtle fragrance of the blossoms.

He will be here soon.

Soft footsteps echoed her thoughts. She smiled and opened her eyes, but saw only darkness. Then a hand touched her shoulder.

He’s here. My love is here.

“I’m sorry.”

Pain sliced into her back as his knife stabbed. She fell to the ground, petals falling across her corpse.

~*~

The Walk

“Come for a stroll with me, Eliza.”

The beautiful woman smiled at her would-be beau and nodded. She twirled her parasol and they walked the woodland path arm in arm. Their laughter could be heard as they disappeared from view.

But Eliza came home alone.

“Walk with me, Eliza. Just down to the old mill pond.”

Another beau with love struck eyes. Another nod. Again, Eliza came home alone.

“Shall we stroll, Eliza?”

She nodded, and they meandered down to the mill pond. And like the others, Eliza shot him under the cherry tree.

That’s why Eliza comes home alone.

~*~

Sunrise, Sunset

The smell of cherry blossoms and the view of a tangerine sunrise.

Who could ask for a better end?

I’m alone in the orchard, where it all began so long ago. Where I met you and fell in love. Despite your deception. It never mattered to me. I accepted who you truly were, accepted the gifts you offered. I’ve no regrets.

But you are gone now. Back to dust and death. Lost forever.

I am alone, here in our orchard.

But only until the sun rises to its full glory. Then I too will be dust.

Just another suicidal vampire.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Dark Roads and Wrong Turns

Today, on Drabble Wednesday, I bring you hungry things, temptation indulged, and the horrors under the stairs...

Angels and Bunnies

I think I’m dead. I’m staring at an angel. Sitting on a swing holding a bunny.

“He’s my pet. And you’re not dead. Not yet.”

Huh? She knew what I was thinking?

“Oh, yes, your thoughts are clear. But I’m no angel.”

Oh. I must be dreaming.

“In a way. You’re hallucinating from my venom.”

Venom?

“Yes. Injected when I bit you. You took a wrong turn last evening, walking in the park.”

Bit me? Walk? Wait. I did take a walk.

“Yes. And crossed my path. Too bad for you. I’m hungry, you see. And so is the bunny.”

~*~

Seduction

Why did I listen?

Why did I leave the village with the wizard?

It wasn’t his handsome face, or his beautiful voice, or those honeyed words he whispered in my ear. I knew he spun me lies, that he meant none of the promises spilling from his silver tongue.

I followed him anyway.

I knew he’d lead me where I wanted to go. Take me to the place I needed to be.

I used him.

Now he’s a bleeding sacrifice on my altar, and I’m in the arms of my god.

Death has finally accepted my offering.

Accepted my love.

~*~

The Bottom of the Stairs

“Don’t go downstairs.”

“Stay away from the lower chamber.”

“No one who wanders down there ever comes back.”

The warnings echoed in my head as I stood at the top of the staircase. The steps spiralled down into darkness. It wasn’t hard to believe the stories of unnatural creatures living beneath the castle proper.

If only I hadn’t dropped the letter.

I didn’t want to go, but I needed to retrieve it. I started downstairs, my tread echoing off the wood. I sighed when my foot touched the bottom.

Find the letter. Climb back up.

Then something grabbed my ankle...

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Silent Stars and Skies

Today on Drabble Wednesday look to the sky...

Instant Nightmare

Help me!

Someone, anyone! I can see you. Down there on the street. Look up! Someone look up!

A downdraft blew across the sidewalk stirring dust. A man clamped a hand on his hat and a child jumped over a gusting newspaper. He was rebuked by his mother.

Help me! Don’t let them take me! Do something!

Another flurry of wind blustered over the gathered crowd.

Please do something! Help me! Save me!

They all stared at the body. One whispered, “He just collapsed. So sudden.”

While above it all, black winged creatures dragged the man’s soul higher and higher...

~*~

Dream a Little Dream

I used to stare into the night sky, and wish upon the stars.

I imagined the day I would fly into space, when I would soar among those pinpricks of heavenly light, exploring. My goal was to glimpse new suns, set my foot upon the dust and dirt of unfamiliar landscapes. I dreamt of discovery, delving into the mysterious beauty and strange alien existence of the universe.

I used to stare into the night sky, and wish upon the stars.

Before I knew what was out there.

Before they came to our planet.

Before we became their new feeding ground.

~*~

Mission Alpha

“Twinkle, twinkle little star

Above our world, so near, so far

Like a time bomb in the sky

Boom, boom, and now we die.”

First Engineer ZYF779 scowled, or as close to the expression as an android could approximate. “Stop being so morbid. The Sunstar Station hasn’t gone critical yet. We can fix the reactor before it detonates.”

Second Engineer THX732 turned away from the transport window. “Yes. This time. But you know the moon colony is living on borrowed time without an upgrade.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. We’ve been abandoned by Earth Command.”

“Twinkle, twinkle little star.” 

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Halloween Week Begins With The Dark Man

Today, I officially kick off the beginning of my Halloween Week, (October 24th-31st) a spooky extravaganza of fun to celebrate the season. I have stories, poetry, a character interview with Lizzie Borden (from Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter), and some book spotlights, including one for the new release,  Furr by Axel Howerton. And don't forget to enter my Halloween Horror Haiku Giveaway (live until October 31st) by clicking on the Giveaway Tab at the top of the blog or this link: Halloween Horror Haiku Giveaway!  So come join me if you dare.

Now, settle in for my story based on another variation of the headless horsemen, this time a death rider from Ireland called The Dullahan. So don't walk alone at night and beware the Dark Man...

The Dark Man

On the blackest of evenings, when not a star nor moonbeam lit the sky and the clouds seemed made of soot and charcoal, a solitary figure walked the road home. His gait swayed and his liquor-laden breath puffed grey in the cold, while the lantern in his hand swung shadows across his footsteps. A jaunty, but off-tune, whistle played from his lips, and a grin lit his face.

“The best of nights it was!” He shouted raucous joy to the darkened heavens, before returning to his whistling.

His words echoed through the trees, a shiver to disturb the night birds and other things...

A shadow far beyond the road, the trees, or thoughts of drunken evenings, stirred. A scrape and a thump, a rhythmic pounding, and shudder of inky damnation set an ill-wind blowing across the countryside. And spinning on its eddy, came the sound of a name.

“Conall.”

The whistling man stopped at the chime of his name and turned, holding the lantern high and peering down the path he left behind. Hollow emptiness met his eyes and a chill breeze scattering the leaves of autumn.

“Hello. Is anyone there? If it’s you Fergus, you’ve had your laugh. Come on out.”

The only answer was the hoot of an owl.

Conall shrugged. “I’m hearing things, I suppose. Silly imaginings.”

He swung himself and his lantern roundabout, and took three steps forward before his name again travelled down the road to his ears.

“Conall.”

He shivered, but glanced back shining his light. Once more to see an empty road, devoid of any living soul. He shook his head, and turned back...

Another noise echoed, a faint thrash of hoofbeats. Conall spun, and saw nothing but a scatter of dust filling the air in the far distance. But no horse, no rider. Only the sound of a galloping beast and a spray of dirt.

He trembled, a shimmer of panic coursing through blood and bone. Then he ran, lantern waving wildly, racing as if the devil himself chased him. Breath heaving, feet pounding, his heart thumping a thunder boom in his chest, Conall bolted, while ever behind him rose the reverberation of a galloping horse. Closer, closer, louder, louder, until the rhythmic hammer of the sound smashed against his head, driving him faster into his mad flight.

He cried out, “What are you?!” as a immense shadow closed over him, and a great wind blew past him.

No not past, it felt as if the gale went through him. Chilled to the marrow, each breath an agony, Conall pulled short his frantic escape, stumbling over his feet as he stopped. A foul stench made him choke and he shuddered, his body rife with a damp stickiness. He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood. His hands, his clothes his skin, his hair, all soaked in blood. On the tattered ends of his scream, he heard his name.

“Conall.”

Slowly, fearfully, he lifted his gaze. Before him was a massive black steed pawing at the ground. The creature tossed its head, snorting ruddy sparks from its nostrils and small flames from its mouth and staring at Conall with radiant crimson eyes. But as fearsome as the creature was, the rider atop its back seized Conall’s blood and soul in unspeakable dread.

It held all semblance of a man dressed in black, save it had no head, or rather a head tucked in the crook of its right arm. This severed cranium shimmered in a translucent glow and it grinned at him, a hideous grimace stretching from ear to lopsided ear. Blue veins snaked across sallow skin, and its coal-black eyes darted like summer mosquitoes. A low chuckle emanated from its mouth, followed by  another utterance of his name.

“Conall.”

Conall clutched his chest, choking out, “God save me!”

“It is too late for that.” The figure raised its left arm, and Conall spied a great whip made from the bones of a human spine. He fell to his knees, terror ripping through his guts.

“Spare me!”

Without word or mercy the creature brandished its whip, the malleable bones lashing around the flesh of Conall, and permeating to his very core. He screamed, the thousand times despair of the damned piercing him, and then he died, the soul shredded from his mortal form.

“Farewell, Conall.”

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved 

And please, return and join me tomorrow for my dark poetry corner.