Book Three Coming Soon
inversion and the reckoning
"Lord, I fell through darkness, naked and alone
I have forgotten myself and, so, forgotten you
Leave me not to burn in the furnace of black fire, ignited by the serpent's breath
I will be what I will be in your words, and my spirit will bow in humility before you
Dominus Meus et Salvator Meus"
nema's prayer
"Darkness only reveals half-truths; your fear fills the rest" E.Croe
OPENER
Darkness at the End of the Tunnel
Your passing is a sacred baptism, a ritual etched in shadow. nemA chants her own departure.
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Flash awake to the numbing tremor of steel rattling my caged bones. The musty stench chokes my absence of breath. I hear a distant whistle strain an echoing scream far out in the endless black.
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It's clear now that I'm standing on railroad tracks deep in a chilled, rocky tunnel. I look behind and see a small dot of sunlight, piercing through the far darkness beyond reach. I turn back to see a small, travelling white light advancing, cutting through the frigid mist, swelling larger with every absent heartbeat. It helms a thundering locomotive, hauling the freight of all my fears. The horrific shrieking grows louder, plaguing my anxiety towards locking into an asylum of deafening screams.
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It is inescapable that this raging train is my execution of judgment. I have only two choices: Stand resolute to await the inevitable or…
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My sweat burns like acid.
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I RUN!
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I race head-on to meet the raging train!
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Tripping on wooden crossties, catching my balance, I persistently push onward. The oily fumes erupt into boiling winds, piercing my flesh like a thousand daggers.
I race head-on to meet the raging train!
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Eyes widen to the shrill of a thousand hyenas roaring, echoing louder towards deafening insanity.
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With total momentum, I race head-on to meet the raging train!
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I am the sole passenger condemned by my own mind’s unwaiving verdict. Still, I charge headlong into the raging train!
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Iron over flesh violently strikes in a moment's blinding flash. Scorching blisters devour my consciousness, a burning force so furious our raging fates are eternally fused upon the sharp periphery of scorched time. Molten rage dissolves any faint memories, condemning me to the forgotten blackness of corpse hollow.
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I met the raging train.
Nobody here to be
Stripped past my bones
There's nothing left of me
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There are no queries why
No love’s goodbye cry
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This madness of my death is not quite what I suspected
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All that I see, nothing I feel
Weathered wounds shall never heal
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The cold abyss lies beyond empty thought
One now with darkness, one left here to rot
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I'm a shadow behind every locked door, a silent echo, drifting
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I am no more
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"Ticket"
The Shadow that follows me is not of my own
CORPSE HOLLOW
short story premises
nemA
An eccentric elder, Nema Amore, dies having Alzheimer's, taking with her a dark secret to the grave. She finds herself defending her life in purgatory, a life she cannot remember.
GOST PORTRAIT
A painted candle keeps a murderous spirit bound within its frame—until a draft in the real room snuffs out the flame inside the painting. Each guest who dies becomes part of the portrait’s shifting background. But when a werewolf spends the night, the ghost discovers a soul it cannot claim.
The grave robber's handmaiden
Haunts from the grave should stay buried. A lesson a mysterious grave robber learned too late after freeing an undead handmaiden who has her own ideas for advancing science.
KNOCK KNOCK, NEVER TREAT
Ghost children play tricks in the graveyard night after night. Knocking on hollow graves for a treat. Never dying by a clock, never to be taken by a flock. The crows watch above their lanterns dim, and the trick is on them, caught in the echo of their mortal sin.
BASCULE WICKER
Forced steel winds pierce through the neck like razor fire. A House divided, parting body from mind’s desire. Blood filters the tormented sight. Crows are heard salivating at the bloody fright.
Often, I thought a splitting headache would end much quicker being a royal crown alone in a soil basket of wicker.
HOUSE OF THE ALL SEEING EYE
There are monsters in my house
But there is a rot of depravity in yours
From the propaganda mind behind the lie
Corruption bleeds from the all-seeing eye
We in the underworld stay deep below the dark, under the graves of bone and rock
A shadowy underworld outlaws the human race Far from the hypocrisy and corruption you plant in the living space
I've heard stories of your cruel, selfish ways. Out to cheat and devour one's beliefs based on the things they pray
Is this how virtue is defined amongst the living, you say?
Death hangs but by a thread, with the living now intruding their sins onto the dead