Tag Archives: creepy

Missed Call

“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”
~Stephen King

~*~

Every night after his funeral, I always called him on the mobile phone that was buried with him to hear him speaking on the voicemail. Call me rather morbid, but it was simply a little ritual that somehow kept me sane after the loss of my dearest beloved. Though after the events that transpired tonight, I do begin to wonder if I really have managed to retain my sanity after all. Just like any other night, I dialed his number and tapped on the call button; but as I did so, I suddenly heard his ringtone play loudly under my bed. And just as if things couldn’t get any worse, the phone on the other end of the line picked up.

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I Put the “Fun” in Funeral

Get down, get low, turn the radio on
You’re invited to a graveyard party tonight
Punk is heavy and the moon is full
Dead never looked to beautiful…

~*~

Don’t expect me back next morning

I’ll be busy shopping for body bags

And tagging my own fresh cadaver

The grave won’t dig itself, you’ll see

.

Don’t expect my visit this afternoon

I’ll be sniffing aroma formaldehyde

And letting my tailor sew me a suit

I’m composing my eulogy, obituary

.

Don’t expect me to sit on for supper

I’ll have a chat with the undertaker

Updated my last will and testament

For the church pastor’s wake litany

.

Don’t expect me to stay for tonight

I’m picking the colour of my coffin

And planning funeral arrangements

But you’re welcome to come with me

.

Don’t expect me to be here for forever

And stick around for this deadbeat life

Baby, don’t you see? You’re the reason

Why I’m throwing this party, honestly.

~*~

What happened to the life of the party?
I’m not kidding, we’re all dead
Now everybody’s passed out, face down
The sun is rising and the fire has faded away
And even if we have to move it to the next town

We’re gonna rock it, this week anyway.
D-I-E…we won’t be dead forever!

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grave mistake

“My fancy grew charnel. I talked ‘of worms, of tombs, of epitaphs.’ I was lost in reveries of death, and the idea of premature burial held continual possession of my brain.” ~The Premature Burial; Edgar Allan Poe

~*~

buried alive;

screaming my

strained lungs

out, i’m desperately

banging on

the casket door

blood is beginning

to seep from my

nails onto the glass

and onto the

plush coffin floor

buried alive;

i’m twisting and

writhing until

every part of my

postmortem

feels deathly sore

i don’t why i

even bothered

to try when i know

that help won’t come

and i’m secretly

enjoying all this horror.

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Vita Dell’aldilà: An Tragedy Opera in Four Parts

A makeshift smile, a polished look
Some rehearsed lines was all it took
He had it down, man, he was good
A woman screams, her mother weeps
A life so changed irrevocably
What he stole from her is gone for good…

~*~

ACT I: TERRO

Shadows under a spotlight, curtains calling and faces falling

Misfortune malady and maidens in masks, tickets outselling

The man of the show, the leading actor dies of a heart attack

They applaud his craft, the prima donna screams come back…

~*~

ACT II: INFERNO

Pantomimes place props, as paramedics arrive for scene two

The act has turned, audiences gasp, orchestra goes crescendo

A stagehand slips and farers faint, dim lighting and all is dire

Cigar tossed, a painted background of inferno catches on fire…

~*~

ACT III: PURGATORIO

The doctor announces the demise of a thespian, tears are shed

Performers pause for unfortunate condolence, in a quiet stead

Breaths hushed and whispers silenced in devastated memorial

As the stage director pays his respects, and indicates the burial…

~*~

ACT IV: PARADISO

But the artists recover, as the crowd settles down to a murmur

Limelight brightens, musical tempo, inquiries made no further

The poor cadaver carried away to the morgue to be cared upon

Death might watch from the audience, but the show shall go on.

~*~

When the purest soul is stained by sin
To the public eye where can she begin?
She lost it all and it’s gone for good
And she may never beat the system
But she won’t rest until she’s turned
The villain to the victim…

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Beware The Rattlebones

“It was perfectly dark, now, but the opening door disturbed the air, and I heard things rattle gently, like dry bones in thin bags, in the slight wind. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.” ~Trigger Warning; Neil Gaiman

~*~

Beware the rattlebones, my child

Who runs every hallow’s eve in the wild

Beware its sharp teeth and sharper smile

That charms like a flower and bites like a file

Beware the thin fingers and nails of green

The chants of red and whispers of mean

And trifle bones that rattle and shake

As if your own heart, it quivers and breaks

.

Beware the rattlebones, my child

For its soul is black and mind grimmer wild

When the fell night is sparse and serene

It goes click click click through the evergreen

As yonder ravens forebode a shrill cry

Still under ominous mist and past the starless sky

It thus waits, for a wandering victim to walk

Into its precarious winds so the poor one it could stalk

.

Beware the rattlebones, my child

Who treads the forest beyond the wild

As its glowing eyes of blinding white

Shall take you on with such a vicious sight

Beware the inky blood that steadfastly drips

From its mangled dry skin and stretched-out lips

Touch not the roughness of its crackled flesh

Hear not its bloodcurdling cackles, or else

.

Beware the rattlebones, my child

For it lives and breathes not only in the wild

It can sneak up to your bedroom window

And no nightlight nor blanket can make it go

But beware if it visits you as you peacefully repose

For you are chosen to be its supper close

If you do unfortunately meet the rattlebones, child, then

Run like hell, or you’ll become one of them.

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It’s Watching You

This thin man is starting to fade
You won’t be living for long
So, just fly with me, die with me, babe
They all swim while I drown
They just dig up the dirt and bury us into the ground…

~*~

It’s watching you with rotted eyes

The remains of a corpse that holds a lively disguise

He broke out of his coffin and turned it into crutches

When his skin peeled off, so did the soiled bandages

.

It’s watching you with decaying glares

The deceased carcass that’s not quite dead and aware

He brushed the fresh ripe maggots off his tattered suit

And clawed his way out of the dirt and grave in pursuit

.

It’s watching you with hollow sockets yet again

The cadaver with a rancour mind of pure and a desiccated heart of sin

He fashioned his wilted wreaths into a cheap bouquet with your name

For you failed to attend his funeral; and he does not intend to do the same.

~*~

It’s been watching you
Your slips and slurs and play on words
All fall from your mouth
Each mutter, rolling dripping from your tongue
My plagues begun…

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The Waltz of the Mercury Brides and Cyanide Grooms

The mercury brides dance, gliding upon the hardwood ballroom

Their billowing ruffled gowns fluttering soft, like paraffin wings

Attached to surreptitious sensibilities, quite devilish to the touch

And solemn eyes vigil behind an iridescent veil, languidly hiding

.

Lithe spines bending like black dahlias caught in a hurricane’s breeze

Elegant silken regalia classic cascading, colliding with haunting music

Four by four rhythm hypnotising, alluring deep with symphonic spells

Ladies spun around like barefoot ballerina dolls, rendered quite static

.

The instrumental calls for one brief yet somnolent interlude circulating

As bare puppets and painted marionettes adjust their entangled strings

Sips of blood-red wine are taken and bubbly champagne denied politely

As the crestfallen tones reignite into an opera allegro of soprano valkyrie

.

The idling midnight scene is palpably vivacious and ebullient once more

And porcelain hands are pulled to join the remorseless energy of the beat

Lively cheers punctuating each syllable striking of the commanding violin

Shoulders grazing faintly as harmonious bodies serenade moonlight sweet

.

The cyanide grooms cease to a slowing halt, as ritardando replaces cantabile

Waistcoats nearly strewn away; neckties, gloves, partners, barely hanging on

Disguises are scorned and pasquinade masks are removed to reveal the truth

Finally, the last of the party dissipates along with the nascent coda of the song.

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Operating Room #66

A celebrated man amongst the gurneys
They can fix me proper with a bit of luck
The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so
Which is really quite alarming
‘Cause I’m such an awful fuck…

~*~

His ineptitude was not a gaffe to be forgiven easily. The masked surgeons and the bloodied nurses were merciless and beleaguering; they turned on the blinding light of the dysfunctional surgical lamp, its constantly flickering bulbs enough to induce a bad weather migraine and an epilepsy episode, and shone it onto their latest test subject’s (although the hospital employees never say it aloud, it’s simply an unspoken given, and thus they usually refer to them as a very sugarcoated ”patient”) visage, contorted into a subdued emptiness. Without any further ado about nothing, they began, rather unceremoniously, to proceed with the operation (or ”experimental treatment”, if one wished to continue to be politically correct, however pointless it may be at such a situation), lashing at the hollowly-staring patient with rusty scalpels, shoving non-disinfected blunt hypodermic needles that pricked his rubbery pockmarked skin, siphoning various fluids and effluvium off his rapidly shriveling body, lathering liberal amounts of unnamed substances that had varying reactions, more positive than negative, severing veins, limbs, organs, muscle, and epedermis, tapering lines of intravenous antibiotics, saline, venomous liquids, and various medicines and panacea that should never be ingested, and hacking away at his dismembered body, which already looked like a twisted asylum head case’s demented jigsaw puzzle to begin with.

All the while, a nameless tall silhouette leered over the discordant operation, supervising and watching taciturn by an elevated lightless corner, obscured rather fitfully by the pure vantablack shadows which seemed to conglomerate around it like clinging needy pets, overlooking everything in smug amusement like some form of a fallen god figure in his throne, not quite palpable, not quite corporeal. The harassed and scurrying employees were his to denounce, condemn, and order around, and though the hospital employees’ actions were that of someone who pretended that the ever-surveillant silhouette did not, in fact, exist, they still kept their distance safe and respectful. Since they were all also terribly frightened of the heavy comeuppance that may be penalised to them if they come off as impertinent and failed to give devotion to their superiors, yet they dared not risk anything else extravagant, their heads merely jerk into a twitchy bow, mayhap a sign of a subconscious nervous tic or that of involuntary worship, whenever they happen to face that specific elevated lightless corner.

Halfway through sewing both their guinea pig’s (the more they worked, the more unkindly they become, the final stage of derogatory term being bag of bones, left to the rubbish bins) lungs and left kidney together with used fishing strings (solely for experimental purposes only, the procedure did absolutely nothing for benefit nor treatment), the patient, who was originally lethargic and apathetic and remained so the entire time, did the strangest thing, out of the blue. It was so abrupt and sudden, a change in the circadian rhythm, a derailment of the train tracks, a break from the usual cycle, so much so that unsureness and hesitation immediately enveloped the room like a milky opalescent fog. The patient’s action was nothing like the professional surgeons nor constrained nurses, and not even the omniscient godlike silhouette, had ever seen before. Sensing that he had caught everyone’s attention, the patient, making motions for the first time since the start of the operation, blinked both swollen eyelids gingerly (one socket was missing an eyeball), and tilted its barely attached head slowly, in a pompously suspenseful manner, to show them a fuller glimpse what his disfigured face was doing.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating. It caused bloodshot eyes to widen momentarily, jostled volatile gasps of shock from the disturbed nurses, and made everyone react in some way or manner. Some could only stare in horror, frozen to the spot and absentmindedly muttering undecipherable incantations, others swayed slightly as if shot with tranquilliser, gripping their knuckles white against nearby solid surfaces to steady themselves, and one even backed up against the wall and slid downwards into a faint, collapsing on the grimy linoleum floor, next to where the patient’s missing eyeball apparently rolled onto. It was so appalling that it even made the usually-unperturbed tall silhouette flinch, as if touched by the most potent muriatic acid (which, as a matter of fact they did have, but in storage), and instantly it recoiled and drew away from the scene of the crime, a tortured sibilant hiss accidentally escaping through its grimy gritted teeth as it did so.

The unknown silhouette’s poisonous reaction was the final breaking point. For a singular moment, the place grew was mollified, growing uncomfortably quiet. Everyone was petrified in an almost tableaux position, nasty accusing looks and roving uneasy glares tossed around with bated breaths, as if taunting each other to act. The silhouette, appeasing of his sagacious error, merely stood guard and watched its subordinates to see how they would react, kicking aside a tendrilled shadow that wrapped itself affectionately around its leg. An eternity and an aeon passed. When no one twitched even a muscle, it seemed as if everyone was finally calmed into a gregarious rationality. But then, as the scene was only just beginning to thaw, the person who fainted also thawed with them. She stirred slightly, opened her eyes groggily to see a severed, mangled one gazing back at her, and opened her mouth to scream.

The fragile glass of silence shattered. The operating room was thrown into pandemonium in a split-second, cacophony of high-pitched shrieks amongst disgusting sounds of ripping fabric, perhaps of the soiled unreplaced bandages or the thin discoloured gurney itself, harried feet stampeding to the nearest emergency exit, sickening crunches of fractured fingers and broken bones as brogues and pennyloafers trampled carelessly on those who got caught in their own feet and tripped, quailing whimpers and quivering murmurs of those who were unlucky enough to be casualties and collateral damage (one of whom stepped on the continuously troublesome eyeball and slipped on it with an unpleasant squelch and a deadened thud), as the susurrus disembodied voice overpoweringly rose above it all, inhuman dissemination getting increasingly stentorian and piercing through eardrums, its sound like coalescing amalgam of tireless radio static, screeching microphone feedback, and unclipped fingernails dragged down a chalkboard, snarling at everyone to return to composure and finish the procedure.

But no one listened. No one obeyed. No one stopped to care. Not even the catatonic patient. He simply laid there, supine, bemused, watching the madness with his remaining glossed-over eye, his remaining members, positioned like a gruesome present, on a wicker basket dripping with glimmering scarlet blood, his mangled body still strapped with chafed leather belts to the bare freezing metal bedframe, not showing any acknowledgement of seeing the fiasco, not attempting to release himself from the constraints, not changing nor moving all the chaos. He just continued to smile.

~*~

I gave you blood, blood
Gallons of the stuff
I gave you all that you can drink
And it will never be enough
I gave you blood, blood, blood..
I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love!

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B-Side: Lament (Deep Cut)

There’s nowhere to run
No one can save me
The damage is done
Shot through the heart
And you’re to blame
You give love a bad name…

~*~

Verse 1:

I’m the kind of human wreckage

That no one would dare to love

My carbon dioxide is reeking of

Rotten memories that I once had

.

Verse 2:

I’m the raging storm in a desert

A tantrum on, the whirling sands

Fighting surrendering to defeat

This uproarious rage never stops

.

Bridge:

I do love it when my makeup runs

My wounds are not meant to stun

Don’t come near, I’m a loaded gun

I’ll only hit you with fool’s lies, hun

.

Chorus:

But, oh why can’t you just leave me?

I don’t believe in a forever valentine

You fill my heart with cyanide lead

Promise me you’ll go away this time

.

Verse 3:

First time our eyes met, I shuddered

Your beady grey eyes told of a nutter

And I grimaced in my severe disgust

But somehow you mistook it for lust

.

Verse 4:

Because of you, my soul, it fears

I crash on the tide of frigid tears

Life is dark, a monochrome leer

You’re the devil, with evil sneers

.

Elision:

Novelettish words so oppressive

You’re so maudlin and defensive

You might reckon me as evasive

But it is not that I am insensitive

.

Hook:

Don’t you understand? I can’t feel

It feels like a choice, less of a will

Go ahead, laugh, at the sociopath

I’m no stranger to prejudiced laugh

.

Refrain:

But why can’t you just leave me?

You’re so blinded, you can’t see

Idiot’s drug love got you too high

I’ll do what it takes, don’t ever try

.

Outro:

It was do or die, but you took it literal

Blood drips, yours or mine, I can’t tell

You ask me one last time, hell, I guess

Let’s just get your shit over with—yes.

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Little Psycho

I get my kicks and I want to start a rager
I want to dance like I’m on the video
I got a fever for the violent behaviour
I’m sweating bullets like a modern Romeo…

~*~

Mummy’s little psycho, fears

Brought up inside a crib cage

Sustained by blood and tears

Fostered by loathing and rage

.

Daddy’s brave good soldier

Pulling quickly the soft trigger

Bang bang! His brain shatters

What a mess! Rusty splatters!

.

Pouring bleach down my throat

Cut the ropes of my own veins

Ha, what is love? What is hope?

Sharp knife to voice my disdain

.

Your dead brother with an axe

Every limbs have been hacked

He tripped, you explain sweetly

And we believe you, my dearie

.

A black hole in my coldest body

Where warm life had once been

Put some band-aid in it, baby

Here’s some whiskey to clean

.

Now dig that old grave deeper

For your dearly departed sister

Pins stick out of her burnt dolls

Needles stick out of her skull

.

Please set me free and let me be

Off this picture suburban family

It’s all too perfect, waste my time

And I’ll generate the perfect crime

.

Ignored, stored, and bored, so

I decided to play my own game

I’ll be this generation’s antihero

I’ll be a martyr feeding on fame

.

I’m mummy’s little psycho, gone

And I’m daddy’s brave good soldier

Though I have murdered everyone

At least now they’ll love me forever.

~*~

Bang Bang! Give me fame
Shoot me up to entertain
I am a semi-automatic lonely boy
You’re dead! I’m well fed
Give me death or give me head
Daddy’s little psycho and Mommy’s little soldier…

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