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Frightening
Frightening...
The night is heavy, thick with dread,
whispers slither through the air,
calling voices long since dead.
Frightening...
A knock—too soft, too slow, too light,
no one should be at your door,
not at this ungodly night.
Frightening...
The mirror shifts, yet you stay still,
a shadow moves that is not yours,
a shape that bends against your will.
Frightening...
The floorboards creak—too close this time,
your breath is caught, your pulse runs wild,
yet silence lingers, stretched and vile.
Frightening...
A whisper brushes past your ear,
a voice you’ve never known before,
softly breathing, I am here.
Copyright ©
Alesia Leach
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