The Holloween Night: Whispers of the Unseen

Where terrors creep in yonder trees,

Where the moon presses through sleepless seas,

A murmur whirls among the old,

A tone that winds the cold night fold.

--

The earth it quakes, the air doth grow thin,

For something dark stirs deep within.

The graves crack open, roots uncoil,

And dead things rise from starving soil.

--

Upon the hill, the house does stand,

Its windows black, its air a chill.

No light inside, no warmth, no sound,

Just whispers crawling all around.

--

The white walls did stain red,

From hands now long gone, from souls now long dead.

They tap the glass, they scratch the door,

But once inside, they leave no more.

--

The air is thick with long-gone breath.

The night so dark, it swallows the dawn.

A mirror stares down the hall.

It knows you're there—it knows your fears.

--

A shadow moves—but not with light,

Slithery and silent through the night.

It grins, its teeth too keen to speak,

And finds you when you're weakest.

You try running, but legs refuse to move.

It's the floor that holds you, tugging slow.

The air's gone, and the dark's too tight—

The Night Hollow, it takes your sight.

--

Your voice is lost, your hands grow cold,

The fear you feel is ancient, old.

And in the black, its eyes you see,

A look that seizes, petrifies.

--

It pulls you down and drags you deep,

Inside a place where shadows weep.

And there you'll be, all unnamed,

A hollow shell, forever the same.

--

So hearken unto this warning clear,

If thine ear doth hear that thing draw near—

Keep thee far, for Hollow Night is never done.

It taketh them all, one by one.