Category : Stories

Sub Category : Horror

Things moving in the shadows, Syrians in the murky lake singing their song of death. Ghosts floating around the willowy swamp blanketed in a thick fog. Whispers of the dead carried away by the winds from the graveyard to the window of my bedroom. The curtains of my bedroom window wave, the cold breath of the dead moves them. The screams and wails from many men and women, even infant children fill my room in the dead of night. Some murdered, some died naturally. Either way they tell me their story. Some so gruesome it would turn your skin a ghostly white. Every now and then the spirits tell me that death is around the corner. That he holds his scythe waiting in the shadows for the right time. Blood still warm and dripping from his weapon of choice, as the metal glistens in the moonlight, because I am not his first victim tonight. Leaving crimson stains on my creaky, broken, wooden floors. Ghoulish children gather outside my window telling me they cant wait for me to come down and play. I shiver as chills crawl up my spine, in this old raggedy bed of mine. Oh how deathly unstable my life has become. Dear lord dear God I cry out and pray, for no amount of burnt sage will keep me from being deaths new malfunctioning slave. Something positive save me from the grave. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death I know I must be brave. These feet have been with me this long so wherever they go I will be. Even if that be at the foot of my death bed for I am not immortal. However just like every spirit my soul is internal. I know one day I have to face the black cloak around the corner. Its fate, its destiny, the stoney path to the grave yard was layed down for me years ago, for me to walk the path of grey. The path of grey is lighter than black but darker than white. The hell and heavens mix, I've been a good person but not the best that's just what it is. Time for me to open up my heart to the window, and send my breath full of life, to the whispering dead.