Ghosts in this house make no sound
They are only around to watch
Flashing images of my mind
And extract memories from times
I dwell in forsaken chambers
They belabor the process of death
Let’s get it over with, we say,
Let’s kill these emotions during
The bright light of the day –
Instead of waiting for fire-soaked
Nights under harvest moons
And pastures of bitter gloom
He destroys something beautiful
Like us, he commits a grave sin
Like us, he has a demon within
His ugliness is indisputable
Who is this grave sinner?
This phantom of the night?
We see him, then take flight
Wherever we go, he lingers
Here’s a piece of horror flash fiction about grief and the scariest night of the year. It’s about 820 words and has an estimated reading time of 3 and a half minutes. Let me know what you think!
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Look what you’ve done to me
Glittery blood under my eyes
You ignored my desperate pleas
You hastened my demise
Why have you done this to me?
I’m now dead to the world
You tossed me in black seas
I drift in the netherworld
The ghost in our house
Tortured spirit roams here
In a long white dress
Yearning to be free and out
Of her purgatory life
Drift in the ghost realm
Wash in shades of pink and blue
Rest in soothing sound
The old man speaks of phantoms. He lay on his death-bed, and his face is ashen and sickly.
“Our home,” he says, “it’s haunted. Haunted by my sins. Haunted by my father’s sins, and his father’s sins.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
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