How long has it been since I’ve come
To this town that was once my home?
Have six years really passed away?
It feels just like it were a day.
The lightning illuminated
This settlement so sedated.
I wonder if it’s me that’s changed,
Or this town from which I’m estranged.
I presume we are both guilty,
Surely that’s why it’s so ghostly.
The Sawyer’s roof has fallen in.
Most homes don’t seem to be lived in.
No steam is rising from the mill
That several city blocks does fill.
Broken glass marks where windows were.
I thought I saw a darting blur.
But no one seems to move about,
And all the power has gone out.
But that’s nothing more than this storm.
It’s time to find that ever warm
Greeting I know I will receive
From mom and dad, for I believe
That they’ll be shocked by my surprise
Visit. My how time quickly flies.
Have the pears ripened in the grove?
What feast’s mom cooking on the stove?
Will dad be sitting in his chair?
Is there less color in their hair?
Have their glasses grown much thicker?
Do they still playfully bicker?
Has mom done more embroidery?
Does dad still play the lottery?
A million questions, maybe more,
Followed me till I reached their door.
The lights were out, and no one came
To the door. I called them by name
As I entered. This door’d never
Been locked in my whole life. Howe’er,
No one responded to my calls.
I wandered through the dusty halls,
Groping and fumbling in the dark.
No one was home; the air was stark
And musty. Where would they have gone?
I wandered to the telephone
Where I’d called them the week before.
As I reached it, I heard a door
Bang shut, though it could have been a
Shutter. I asked, “Who’s there?” Dismay
Was my only reply. I picked
Up the receiver. Something clicked
In the hall, and I turned my head,
Realizing that the line was dead.
The storm must have knocked out the lines.
There was the sound of a fork’s tines
Screeching down a metal surface.
I rushed to see what was the fuss.
But there was nothing I could see,
Since the light was obscurity.
I sought the kerosene lantern,
And as the wick began to burn
I was grateful to have the light,
Since darkness can produce a fright
Of harmless shadows and nonsense,
Despite your age or competence.
Great solace comes from believing
In naught because you see nothing.
My valor came by lantern fire
And convinced my mind to inquire
Into the noises heard of late,
Though my heart would fain liquidate
Its assets while it’s still ahead.
I scoffed at my ungainly dread,
And walked about my old dwelling
To spite Phobos for its swelling.
Though the light played tricks with my eyes,
I unmasked the dark’s each disguise.
There was nothing lurking about.
I decided to wait them out.
They’d return perhaps tomorrow.
Tired, I went upstairs to borrow
The room which I had occupied
When as a lad I did reside
Here. A lightning bolt told me the
Room was empty, the bed neatly
Made, like an oyster dredged from the
Sea to rip apart messily.
I set the light on the dresser
Old as Edward the Confessor.
Lying down in lilac perfume,
Nature called me from the bathroom.
Intent that I would not betray
Its confidence, I made my way
Down the corridor to its door.
The darkness hid the changed decor
That mom had mentioned months ago.
A sudden gust of wind did blow,
Turning the flame into a glow
That died, making the pitch pall grow.
Did it suffer from some malaise?
Then, chillbumps on my flesh did raise,
And my hair stood on its end
As terror began to descend
On me. I didn’t understand,
Till I saw a dark figure stand
Directly in front of my face.
My feet seemed bolted fast in place.
I knew that this must be a ghost.
To my soul it gave quick riposte,
“My son, we’ve waited long for you.”
“Dad?” I thought, ‘Is this really you?’
The door slammed behind me and locked;
My escape route had now been blocked.
He lifted me from off my feet;
Forcefully he began to beat
Me ‘gainst the walls. The mirror broke.
Ethereal fingers did choke
Me. I’m sure that my neck was bruised,
I blacked out as the pain suffused
Through my body. When I came to,
All that I could smell was mildew.
Rising carefully to my feet,
I wondered what ghost would then greet
Me. Why had dad been so violent?
It must be a malevolent
Spirit and not him, because he
Always acted pacifically.
What had happened to my parents?
They’d never been so aberrant.
Had this home and whole town been cursed?
I couldn’t help but fear the worst.
Has he really locked me in my
Closet? This would be no Versailles
Where I’d wait for impending doom.
I made too much noise in the gloom
As I burst through the slatted door.
The ghost returned with many more.
They advanced from the window’s side,
Calling for my blood and hide.
As the door closed, I bolted through.
Downstairs I could smell mom’s beef stew,
But I had no appetite now.
I would be in it anyhow.
Leaping down the stairs franticly,
Mom’s fine China crashed into me.
Papers flew in a tempest’s gust,
Scorching me when they would combust
On contact. My singed hair reeked. Dim
Pain gave way to adrenaline.
I could hear the chairs as they slid
Intensely. Running like I did
When I was a kid, I reached
The hall. It seems a banshee screeched,
But I held quickly to my soul.
Where I’d just stood there was a hole.
The wall was riddled with mom’s knives.
I was a cat with fewer lives.
The grandfather clock doubled me
Over, but I arose to flee.
The front door was getting close, and
Then I was pinned by a book stand.
“Why are you running from us, son?”
He asked, like Attila the Hun
Gazing on the Roman Empire
Or Gaul as he set them afire,
Confused at why they squirmed about
With their hideous screams and shouts.
“Aren’t you happy to see your dad?
We gave you everything you had.
Now, there’s one thing that you can give
To us so that we too may live.”
I was too horrified to speak,
And I heard the wall begin to creak.
Where one knife was lodged deep in the
Wall, it struggled to become free.
Trapped by the shelf and mesmerized
By its movements, I realized
That I would never leave this home,
Despite the fact that I was grown.
The spirits advanced, and the knife
Flew at me. I fainted. My life
Would have surely come to an end.
The pain woke me, since I’d been skinned
On my legs, arms, and abdomen.
Nothing within my blurry ken
Could I see besides mom’s stew pot.
It was boiling, but I could not
Discern what was cooking inside.
I feared that it would be my hide.
There were no ghosts that I could see,
So I ran away to be free
From the place that had enslaved me
With bonds so violent and ghostly.
The front door’s handle wouldn’t turn.
It was never locked! Fear did burn
Within me, thus I jumped right through
The window, glass and all, into
The sick birth of a twisted dawn.
I had no time to hurt or fawn
About, for shapes did appear
On the porch of the house once dear
To me for childhood’s sake. They chased
Me slowly until dawn erased
Their figures, and I had returned
To a world where spirits sojourn
As spectators without power.
The old ghost town seemed to glower
At me as I hobbled away.
Though atheist, I felt to pray.
The phenomenon that I’d seen
Had changed my view of everything.
As I approached the bus stop, there
Was a faint rustling in the air.
I could almost hear my name called,
As the words touched me, they did scald
My body’s many open wounds.
My ankle was just then harpooned
By a fist clutching from the ground.
Their grave sites I seemed to have found.
I tried to kick the dead hand off,
But I just heard a sandy scoff.
Many are rising from the soil,
Hoping that they might later boil
My flesh that they might feed on me.
Like a voracious wolf pack prowls,
They circle me. I hear their growls.
A slimy fiend steps from the pack
Whose recognition makes me back
Away in fear. This perfidy
Must be the greatest tragedy,
For my decaying mom stood there.
“Son, you shall not go anywhere.”
“But mom, I thought that you loved me.”
She replied, “‘Memento mori.’
What did old Zachariah say
About families in our day?”
My heart sank like a boat anchor
Since families were to canker
By rancor, and love would perish
Since parents no longer’d cherish
Their inheritance of the Lord,
Which they would run through with the sword.
Years ago mom was perplexed how
This could be. She seemed not so now.
“Why do you seek to eat my flesh?”
“Because your meat is pure and fresh.”
I looked at her bewilderedly,
As cold flesh grabs me hungrily.
I’m trapped by the inhumanly
Who dismember me eagerly.
My ghost looks on curiously,
For I can no longer feel pain.
Am I dreaming? Am I insane?
The undead carry my remains
Hastily back across the plains
Into the city where I grew
Back to a special house I knew.
I watched as they tossed my flesh in
The pot. Someone gnawed on my shin,
But I won’t need that anymore.
Still, some part of me did abhor
My cadaver’s mutilation.
“What has brought this desolation?”
I asked aloud, and the answer
A spirit gave was that, “Cancer
More hideous than ever known
Had ravished us like a cyclone.
Poison reached the water supply,
And everyone began to die.
At least, we thought we’d died at first,
Until we discovered our thirst
For the living’s juices and meat.
The first to die came back to eat
Their spouses, kids, friends, and neighbors,
Making us all join their labors.
We hunt around the country side
Like the jaws of hell gaping wide.
This happened several years ago.”
I was surprised I did not know.
But mom and dad had never told
Me this, nor that their hearts were cold.
That night they ladled out my soup
And devoured it as their goop
Dripped like pus from sores in their bowls.
They fought for the dregs like crazed trolls.
Then, when they had consumed it all
They all went outside and did fall
To the ground. Their bodies melted
Like summer hail that has pelted
Hot southern climes furiously.
I studied this curiously.
Have my assailants passed away?
A sudden breeze seemed to convey
Electricity back to the
House. My parents stood before me
Now in their fleshless, spectral forms.
“It’s good to be rid of those worms,”
My mom smiled as she winked at dad.
“Where are the bodies you just had?”
“They are good to hunt and eat with,
But the spirit’s truly the pith
Of being in the Afterdeath.
Though silent as a statue’s breath,
This cold, spirit form can channel
More power than you can handle.
Our zombie forms are slow and reek,
They are Creole when you know Greek.
They’re not refined and cannot pass
Through walls like spirits to harass
The weaklings that we mortify
To the extent we chondrify
Their bones, and they are easy kills,
Petrified, and covered with chills.
We slay them without sympathy.
The spirit has telepathy,
As well as telekinesis.
It is without agenesis,
With the exception so fleeting
That bodies do all the eating.
They’re necessary to savor
Human flesh in every flavor.
Perhaps these things seem unreal now,
But these truths you can’t disavow.
You’ll learn. It’s like riding a bike,
Albeit that is no thrill like
Seeing terror bathe someone’s eyes
And listening to their wild cries
Curdle like old milk in their throats
As you eat them like tender shoats.
The living are but bred to die.
They know it—look them in the eye,
And their panic makes evident
That to earth they’ve only been sent
As a premonition of what
Will be when living they are not,
To be hunted as coturnix.
A human is but a phoenix,
What greatness comes from its ashes
After our teeth on it gnashes
You’ll have the chance to discover.
May fiendishness be your lover.”
I didn’t know how to reply,
So I let the moments slide by.
Well, it seems that I’m here to stay.
Time together’s good, anyway.
I wanted to surprise them; they
Surprised me instead yesterday.