‘Twas The Night Before Halloween

‘Twas the night before Halloween in an old wooden house
Where a creature was wearing a white bloody blouse
It gnawed and it chewed, splatting blood everywhere
As each of its victims watched horribly in despair

The children were tied with a rope around their heads
As their stomachs cut open and their intestines spread
The mothers in the cellar, each tied with a strap
With some broken bones, they escaped from the trap

Outside they ran, some stumble and clatter
And those who were caught were served on a platter
Some heads were smashed or severed with a lash
And some were kept as reserves in the stash

The house was surrounded by a wary scarecrow
That marked the graves of decomposing bodies below
Bodies that grew in numbers each year
With no explanation as they perished out of nowhere

The creature was human before it got sick
She was known as the wife of the old grumpy Nick
From a small unsuspected bite, a creature she became
And in the midnight hours, she was difficult to tame

“It hunts like a panther
Satisfying the hunger within
In a prison that’s secluded
Served with flesh of virgins and children
A light from the torch
Shaped like a ball
To guide its way, so runaway
Runaway all”

It could hear you breathing, it could hear you cry
Could sense your heartbeat, even as you sigh
The craving for flesh motivated it to pursue
Grief-stricken humans, soon became a stew

It escaped the old house and climbed to the roof
As the dogs in the neighborhood continued to woof
A person on the street, yes! a meal, it had found
And it bounced on its prey who fell helplessly on the ground

The victim screamed as she encountered the brute
A passerby heard and with his rifle, he shoot
The neighbors awoke and used the drops of blood to track
The wounded creature that had been shot in the back

The creature ran to the house of the man she used to marry
While an enraged group of people chased her in a hurry
The pain in her body made her stamina low
As blood from the gunshot wound continued to flow
Old Nick opened the door and hid her inside, in discrete
He treated her wound, sprawled her down on a clean sheet
He then prepared for her, an infant’s rancid belly
And other mutilated, decomposing human deli

She lay on the bed as she rested herself
For days she kept hidden as she restored back her health
Her husband carried out all the killings instead
But her appetite was not enough for her to be fed

In the dark she lured as old Nick does his handiwork
Her hunger was immense as her face gave a smirk
Without second thoughts, she lunged at him and he froze
But he was alert and punched her already-disfigured nose

He ran to the drawer and took out his pistol
Then gave her a shot, a single, double, triple
She dropped to the ground and vanished out of his sight
On that dreadful evening before Halloween night

(Inspired by the poem ‘Twas the Night before Christmas)

© Pancake Bunnykins

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The Orchard

Cameron Moore became an orphan at the age of 6. Both his parents died when their house was accidentally burned down three years ago. A family BBQ dinner gone wrong. The social workers couldn’t locate any close relatives because his family was not registered in the region, The Moores were illegal residents.

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Babaeng Kamatayan (Woman of Death)

I turn off the main light in my room. It’s time to sleep now. I reach for the lamp that stands on the corner of the wooden table near my bed and turn it on.

The room brightens up from the lamp’s dim yellow lightThe light from the lamp makes me feel safe. It clears the room from any monsters that would pop up if I open my eyes.

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The Swing

There is a girl in a lovely pink dress,
Seems too small for her, but she wears it nevertheless.
She sits on the swing and looks at the sky,
A smile on her face as she sings a lullaby.

The girl had her hair tied in a pink ribbon,
But she doesn’t seem to play with any of the children.
She sits on the swing, goes back and forth,
Scraping the ground using her foot.

The girl on the swing, she’s always there once a year,
Swinging up and down, every 10th of September.
Her hair tied in a pink ribbon, wearing the lovely pink dress,
That even if its too small, she wears nevertheless.

I sat on the swing a day before the 10th,
And saw that the ground had seemed to ascend,
Under my feet was a gravestone that paved,
To the girl in a little pink dress’ grave.

© Pancake Bunnykins

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The Coin Flipper

She is there again.
On her laptop, writing.
Window blinds were put down.
She likes it dim when she writes.
I know. I’ve been watching her for quite some time now.
I guess it makes her adrift from the real world.
She is in her own world. Writing her thoughts.
Making her more sensitive to me.
She is aware of that. She just knows how to disregard my presence.
Or she thought.

I need to be noticed.
I’ve done it a few times.
I saw the fear in her heart but still she doesn’t acknowledge my existence.
A few months ago, I passed in front of her curtain, a fine black shadow.
She saw me. She told others that she saw me.
They tried to convince her I was nothing.
She knows what she saw. But she just pretended they were right.
She can’t fool me. I can sense her belief in beings like me.
I am not alone. Others told me about her that’s why I followed her.
To be noticed.

She thought I was gone.
I am still here.
I don’t want to scare her.
I just want her to acknowledge me.
To save me.

She is alone.
It’s dark.
This is my chance.
I need to be noticed.
I need to do it a manner she never experienced before.
I am standing just across her near the corner.
Beside the table where they put a lot of stuff.
Keys. Wallet. Pens. A picture frame. Coins.
A coin.
This is something I never did before.
I flip the coin.
The flipping sound echoes in the whole living room.
It’s the only sound you can hear amidst the silence.
She looks at where I am.
I am here. I wave!
She didn’t see me.
I am weak.
I don’t have enough energy to make her see me.
This is her fault.
The more she ignores me, I become weaker.
She tries to type on her laptop again.
See how she ignores me?
I know she is still thinking about how the coin flipped on its own.
It was me!

Again! Let me try this again.
This time, she will feel that I am here.
I flip the coin. It flips a little slower and longer than the first one.
Ah! I can sense a flush of energy inside me.
She stops what she’s doing.
Yes! I got her attention!
She stands up and walks to where the coin is.
Her eyebrows now in a frown, she holds the same coin and flips it herself.
Haha! She is trying to convince herself it’s some kind of gravity or natural force.
It’s me!
No one can do that. No one is here except you and me.

She walks to the front door.
What is she doing?
I have her attention, but she’s walking away.
She opens the door and the light goes in.
She opens all the windows too.
She knows I am here!
But wait…
I can’t stand the light. It makes me weak…
I can’t…..

© Pancake Bunnykins

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