A Taste of Terror

Carousel to Hell

By Robin Moyer

Tattered ticket stubs

scattered around

litter the ground--

imagine the clown

on the merry-go-round.

Once a noble steed

strong and true

bedecked in flowers

with shiny hooves

and flowing mane

now a swayed back

rib jutting,

saliva drooling,

backbone piercing

old nag.

Circling round and round

And round and round

and round and round

and round

and round

and

No calliope.

No light, sprightly waltz.

Stuck record repetition--

illusive half recalled fragment

of some forgotten tune.

Brass rings tarnished.

Forever out of reach.

Black, befouled beneath

the bloody headed vulture

perched:

Watching Waiting.

Wanting--

Should the spinning cease.

Spiral spinnings

blurred surroundings

Haunted faces

Or are they reflections?

Refractions?

Refracted reflections

Fragmented.

Sideshow mirrors reflect

wild eyed one

dimensional images

caught in freeze frame.

Face whiter than bone,

eyes bruised with lack of sleep.

I do not know me.

I am a stranger.

Ahead of me

wraiths,

mere shells of themselves

each clutching that brass ring

I could never manage to reach.

I cannot catch up.

I dare not fall behind.

Pursuing me,

nightmare caricatures

on charging beasts

follow on the heels

of my deception.

Won’t stop, long ride

Can’t stop, lose stride

Round and round

Up and down

Sing-song tune

Night ‘till noon.

Can’t get off

I’ll fall.

Can’t stay on

I’ll fall.

I’m falling anyway

Everyway.

Mocking laughter rides

the nearby roller coaster

pitching and careening out over the sea.

At least if you survive

the death spiral

you can get off

at the end of the ride

tho' false bravado

hides pounding blood.

Strobe

Frozen moments

Defining seconds

Replayed ad infinitum. . .

Enflamed images careening

Past.

Sweat slicked pole

Stick fingers hanging on

Can’t let go.

Can’t stop

Spinning off

Out of control

Spinning ever faster

Hunger gnaws deep

for more than

stale popcorn emptiness

kernels of

tooth-breaking truth--

for more than sweet memories

of cotton candy fluff.

Scent of rain mingles

with well trod sawdust

coating my throat:

swallow caught in shadow.

Images ooze together

like smeared paint.

Can’t focus

Up, down

Around around

Forward backward

Doesn’t matter.

Going onward

Going nowhere.

No where to go.

Tethered on the

edge of consciousness

On the

Carousel to Hell

© Copyright 2010 Robin Moyer. All rights reserved.

Robin Moyer has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.

The Hunter

By Adriana Noir

Slinking through the shadows, the wakened beast starts to rage.

Cursed and bound to endless dark, he hates his moonlit cage.

Longing for a taste of light, the hunger swells within.

Lips pulled taut across his fangs, he dons a feral grin.

Corded muscle starts to quiver with the song of night.

Snout turned up to sniff the air, he tracks his victim’s flight.

Yellow parchment wings expand with a muted rustle.

Deadened twigs crack in the woods ‘neath his victim’s hustle.

Her pounding heart provides the song pulsing in his ears.

Flee and chase, a pointless game, performed throughout the years.

Razor talons glint beneath the silver glow of moon.

Eyes slit with enraptured bliss, he knows it will be soon.

Caught up in the thrill of hunt, the demon gives a howl.

Withered leaves fall below; he emits a smell most foul.

Pungent sulfur fills the air; his victim starts to cry.

Blinded by a veil of tears, she knows she’s gonna die.

Sprawled in savage tumble, they go crashing to the ground.

His amber eyes dance with glee; she begs without a sound.

With an ominous rumble, he claims his frightened bride.

Wings pressed flat against his back, he thrusts his fist inside.

Prize in hand and bathed in blood, he holds her stilling heart.

Depraved, he licks it clean and beholds the Devil’s art.

Coiled over crimson form, he eats his fallen foe.

Take heed when in shadow, or this hunter you will know.

© Copyright 2010 Adriana Noir. All rights reserved.

Adriana Noir has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.

SHADOW PEOPLE

By Carla Ralston

When darkness overcomes the light,

And twilight steals across the land,

When sunlight disappears from sight,

The Shadow People all join hands.

Beneath the stars their dance begins.

On silent feet they march as one.

Their music is the moaning wind

And scratching branches beat their drum.

Around my house the Shadows creep.

Outside my door they writhe and glide.

Although I'm tired, I must not sleep.

I dare not let them come inside.

Outside my window they all stand.

Their twisted fingers reach for me.

If I dare let them take my hand,

A Shadow just like them I'll be.

I hear their whispered voices say,

"Open the door. Don't be afraid.

Come with us now. Come out and play.

We'll let you join our dark parade."

I hide beneath my quilt all night,

Just praying for the break of day

When waking birds sing back the light

And Shadow People fade away.

© Copyright 2010 Carla Ralston. All rights reserved.

Carla Ralston has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.

The Monster

By Max Griffin

At rest in bed I dream a dream

of monsters who await

in darkness where they plot and scheme

With hearts that beat with hate.

My mind sees beasts with eyes agleam.

Their furry paws create

A whispered shuffle to make me scream,

And limbs with fear gyrate.

These creatures snarl and sound extreme,

Their yowls and howls so great

And mighty shake my room. They seem

So harsh and won't abate.

Yet monsters tremble when I scream!

They flee and hide and wait.

Perhaps they fear what humans deem

To be a normal state.

Could they be like me, I dream?

Perhaps we can create

Not fear but friendship. So I beam

A smile and risk my fate.

Henceforth in bed I can allow

My friend with me to cower.

The dark still scares us but we now

Bring comfort to each other.

© Copyright 2010 Max Griffin. All rights reserved.

Max Griffin has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Evil

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Along the wall, shadows flicker,

Down the hall, an evil snicker.

Whispered voices in the dark,

Evil choices to be embarked.

Their masters demands, they must comply,

Through muffled hands, a baby’s cry.

Torn from his mothers womb,

Satan’s son, to be raised soon.

For her child, a mother pleads,

Innocence defiled, as evil feeds.

Upon deaf ears, her cries fall,

Released in fear, their masters call.

Answered with a ritual chant,

A risen myth, that won’t recant.

The shadows bow, a mother weeps,

Silent now, the child sleeps.

 

© Copyright 2010 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.

Lisa McCourt Hollar has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.

The Dark Rider 

By Ranee Dillon

 

Bitterer is the darkened night

I watched the horseman take to flight.

Across the western sky he blazed

Through the ashen misty haze.

 

Bitterer now, my last lament

For the horseman was not heaven sent.

Jagged walls, red hands hit

Trapped forever in the blacken pit.

 

Bitterer still, the dawn moved near,

No one’s left to shed a tear.

Bodies bound then thrown in heaps;

Souls in deadly silence reaped. 

© Copyright 2010 Ranee Dillon. All rights reserved.

Ranee Dillon has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.

 A big THANK YOU to all my friends. 

Robin Moyer, Adriana Noir, Karla Ralston, Max Griffin, Lisa McCourt Hollar, and Ranee Dillon

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