The Watcher
Into the woods we ventured, where darkness began to encircle us,
Their ancient murmurs mingling with the forest’s ominous chorus.
A chilling breeze, as if the very breath of the woods sighed,
Veiled in tempestuous clouds, the stars took flight to hide.
A heart-stopping howl rends the cool night air,
A guttural wail from the shadows, a harbinger of despair.
An eerie stillness descends upon the canopy,
As if the soul of the woods grieves in silent agony.
Amidst the laughing leaves and whispering secrets of the trees,
The campers huddle close, with an impending sense of unease.
“Hear ye that?” whispers one, eyes wide with fear,
As the haunting howl echoes, sounding dangerously near.
The crackle of the fire fills the air, mingling with smoke and pine,
A comforting veil against this foreboding design.
But beneath it lies something darker, a scent of ancient dread,
A putrid, pungent aroma, the unmistakable presence of the undead.
As darkness deepens, shadows creep in the moon’s somber glow,
Their twisted forms perform a macabre ballet, a haunting show.
A chill descends, seeping into bones, a shiver from head to toe,
As the eerie essence of the forest conspires, a sinister bough.
“Merely the breeze,” another claims, an utterance adorned with feigned valor,
Yet the presence of a living cemetery haunts them, a portentous pallor.
And suddenly, a twig snaps nearby, a sound dreadfully clear,
The campers freeze in terror, their hearts pounding with fear.
The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and decay,
Mixing with the aroma of smoke and fear that held sway.
The fire’s crackle dwindles, its warmth but a fleeting flame,
As darkness envelops them, mere pawns in a ghastly game.
From the shadows emerges a figure, cloaked in midnight’s embrace,
Obscured by darkness, a specter without a face.
Yet its presence is palpable, chills down their spines it sent,
Paralyzed with terror, unable to relent.
“’Tis him,” whispered one camper, voice trembling with dread,
“The Watcher of the woods, from the tales we’ve read.”
Another gasps in horror, eyes wide with fear,
As the sentinel watched, intentions dreadfully unclear.
Its eyes, twin orbs of obsidian, gleamed with an otherworldly light,
Piercing through the darkness, unearthing their plight.
Devoid of mercy, compassion nor care,
Eyes that spoke of dark horrors, an unfathomable evil stare.
“We must flee this cursed place,” someone urges with a quiver,
Yet, paralyzed with fear, unable to deliver.
The figure in shadows remains silent and unmoved,
A supernatural being, its malevolence unproved.
Gripped by fear, their breaths held in their chests,
As the sentinel patiently watches, silent and unimpressed.
Feeding on their terror, reveling in their dread,
A phantom predator amidst prey, haunting in shadows widespread.
Each heartbeat echoed loudly in the stillness of the night,
As the campers prayed for dawn, the safety of first light.
Yet The Watcher lingered, its gaze unbroken and unkind,
A reminder of the darkness lurking in their minds.
“Mayhap it portends no ill,” one dared to hope,
Yet the others shook their heads, weary souls who couldn’t cope.
In yonder woods, where ancient curses convene,
The Watcher’s gaze held secrets, beyond an evil never seen.
As shadows lengthen and the fire burns low,
The campers knew they weren’t alone, beneath the sinister boughs.
For the sentinel remained, a phantom of fright,
A shadow in the darkness, a silent watcher in the night.
Copyright ©
Edward Wraith
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