Neill Bird Poet Prose Poetry

The Black

I  am walking through the dark  tunnel below the old, supposedly haunted house. My God,
is it ever nerve wracking. The pungent smell of must   permeates my nasal cavity. I can't
see anything due to the blackness, the evil, piercing black.  Even my own hand, only an
inch or so from my face, is unseen, shrouded in darkness.
   I begin hearing a strange rustling sound behind me. I shrug it off.  Again I hear it,
this time followed by whispers, sounds of talking, and even laughter.  
   "It's only my imagination,"  I say.    Slowly the sounds become louder, and I turn just
in time to see the blood red eyes staring at me through the black.

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Poet Destroyer A March 28, 2016 at 10:05 PM Neill Bird, you've expressed yourself well, I like the last line. Please keep writing and sharing your poetry when you have time. Love ~LINDA~

Skat A August 11, 2015 at 5:40 PM NEILL, this is a good read, thanks for sharing..... **SKAT**

Vicki Acquah January 13, 2011 at 4:47 PM Nice, keep it up///