Scare Me Good Poetry Contest

I crept into the pit of hell all alone. Contingent upon my lifestyle I knew this could be my last day alive… She haunted me in my dreams. She terrorized me in the sunlight but through it all she never was able to reach out and grab me physically. I knew she was crazy. I just knew it this whole time. But maybe it was me who was crazy…Not once has she ever mentioned a word, just glared looks that could kill. But maybe I deserved it. I was walking around the bend leading into the woods by my cottage near the west side of Lake Michigan. Cool breeze that night. Soft harvest moon aglow and the temperature almost too chilly for my favorite black hoodie. I love the color black. It’s deep. It’s dark. Just like me. I’ve always craved the ebony skies after dusk settles and the sun hides for about ten hours. With my lantern in hand, I had just stepped into the part of the woods where I usually sit and write at this one picnic table. It had scratches of names written across it. Swear words and devil worshiping symbols. “IF YOU BREATHE ANOTHER DAY, I WILL KILL YOU” was my favorite. I never got scared, I felt at peace in the blackness. Must be because I too held a blackness in my soul for years now. Too many to count, probably. I felt a slight chill and sensed an aura behind me. I quickly turned and saw nothing. It happened again, but this time in the front of me. I jerked forward like someone had just pushed me. I hopped up and twisted around with arms flaring outward ready to pounce like a tiger on his prey. I was actually scared this time… The rustling of the maples and the whispering of the willows gave me a sense of apprehension. Was there a being somewhere near me? An animal ready to attack? I knew there were coyote's in the woods but I’m sure they would be more scared of me, than I would be of them. “BAM!!” I got socked on the back of my head from what felt like a baseball bat! Barely conscious on the ground with dirt in my eyes I turned around and saw a very foggy figure. Squinting I kept staring, my eyes dry and burning. “HOLY CRAP!” It looked like death. Death has many shades of figures. It could look like a ghost. It could look like a vampire or a werewolf. But this thing was more than that. It quickly stepped forward and with its deep sharp razor like claws gashed my forehead! All I could taste was blood dripping down. Blood in my eyes, in my mouth and all over my neck. My eyesight was very dim but I could have sworn I saw what looked like a bloodsucking succubus with wings. But…I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. I thought to myself, “was this her? Was it she who had been haunting me? Surely it can’t be female for how strong this monster is.” I rubbed my scrapped up and blood ridden hands on my jeans and cleared my eyes as best as I could. I saw what I saw and I will never forget it as long as I live. Before I knew it, “ARRRRRGHHHH RROARRRR AHHHHH!!!” A loud roar came out of her mouth and fire flashed at my feet. With my feet on fire I ran around screaming for relief. No relief could be found. I screamed for help. “HELP ME! PLEASE! GOD HELP ME!! I’M BEING ATTACKED!!” I felt nothing except my feet ablaze and I watched my toes shrivel like embers in a fire pit. The pain was atrocious and my screaming got quieter. I had no more energy left. The final blow was what killed me. She had an eight point, ten-feet long black wing with razor sharp edges. One flap from the right one slid across my stomach. I bled out in buckets and there I laid in a pool drowning in my own blood. My intestines were falling out and I was slipping on them as I was crawling. Now I lay in a tomb covered in rotting weeds. I deserved to die that day. I deserved to die that way. I had never admitted to anyone my wrong doings and my poor actions. It was about time I paid for my crime. I wonder if anyone ever even knew if I was dead…or why I was dead. That womanly beast was a figment of my imagination. I had murdered a young woman when I was only twenty years old and that was my ways of punishing myself. She was never real. She was never haunting me. I had been haunting myself out of guilt. I walked into the woods that day with a lighter to set myself on fire. I had hit myself in the head with a baseball bat. I was carrying razor sharp knives to slash across my dirty face. I made an eight pointed black glove using a pocket knife for each finger. I had been the reason she died and now I deserved to die in vain. My psyche created a way for me to vindicate my murderous actions. Was I finally exonerated? Nope. Now I rot in the pit of hell. But still, I feel at home. A life lived wrongly, is a life died justly. Scare Me Good Poetry Contest Date Written: September 21, 2016