Bastet’s Late Night Train

All is calm in the world, nothing moves, not even a whisper of a shadow.

The moon shivers overhead guided by the clouds and the cat purrs itself to sleep.

Then something stirs.

The feline smells it in the air like ozone before a storm.

A subtle blow and a leaf falls, and the wind chimes play their pre-recorded tune.

A clink in the metal and its fellow neighbours join in.

A buildup to the symphony of terror and basso profundo of savagery.

The cat stares at the wind, into the bleeding eyes of hell,

speaking through it; a warning of the horrors to come.

A turn of the wheel screams in the distance, preceding its fellow soldiers’ of hate.

Now all singing in a melodious hiss, meant to represent an trepidation of terror,

whilst carrying something much more nightmarish on their shoulders.

The carriage of hell traveling from east to west,

for some greater and more malicious purpose than anyone can know.

The screech of the soldiers’ pain now loud and clear as the banshees ride their slaves,

screaming at them to make all haste.

Inside the smoggy glass windows, the opulently dressed oligarchs of the dead sip their human blood, and stare longingly at the occupants of the dwellings in the world of the living.

Car by accursed car, they travel past,

one by one seeing the small sleek black animal standing guard,

with eyes that reflects their own wickedness back toward them.

The last carriage disappears into a thick mist,

which then quickly dissipates into the aether,

removing all evidence of its existence.

The cat lays back down, licks its fur and says;

see you again tomorrow.