The Locksmith’s Shadow
A Gothic Tale of Secrets, Silence, and the Price of Passage.
Beneath the floor, a dead man sighs,
The locksmith’s shadow never dies.
His fingers forged in iron lore,
Each one a key, each knuckle sore.
He spoke in ticks, in silent code,
His voice a lock, his breath a load.
No door he opened by mistake,
His eyes were latches none could break.
They say he built a box of bone
To hide a truth he’d never own.
Buried deep in dirt and ash,
He sleeps beneath a coffin latch.
But in the dark, when silence stirs,
A lock will hum in secret slurs.
Old hinges twitch like haunted wings,
And whisper long-forgotten things.
The ones with palms but not with keys
Come crawling through the cemetery trees.
They knock with names the world forgot,
And offer echoes for their shot.
They say he waits behind a door,
Not dead, just less than life—and more.
Its frame is frost, its riddle grim,
It opens only limb by limb.
And if you knock, you best be sure,
He opens paths you can't ignore.
No turning back, no second breath—
He deals in silence, locks, and death.
He keeps what time refused to keep,
In rusted drawers and gears that weep.
He does not trade in gold or fame,
He’ll take your face. He’ll steal your name
About the Creator
Kevin Hudson
Hi, I'm Kamrul Hasan, storyteller, poet & sci-fi lover from Bangladesh. I write emotional poetry, war fiction & thrillers with mystery, time & space. On Vocal, I blend emotion with imagination. Let’s explore stories that move hearts
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