(The heavy rasp of slow breathing cuts through the dark, laced with the cold hiss of drifting smoke and distant floorboards creaking)
When the body sleeps, the spirit watches from just beyond the scrying glass.
And sees what waits in the corners of the bedroom.
Out of the suffocating chill of the Great-In-Between, our darkest hauntings take shape.
Wearing a cold, patient grin as they wait for the warmth of the soul to fade.
As it flies into the void.
Where they wait
The Shadow Self
(A lone voice whispers)
It came for me late last night.
Sliding and creeping whilst I was sleeping.
Slowly closing in, stinking of deep corruption, cold, smoky whiskey, and sin.
And as I looked in, from just beyond my astral windows, as I dreamed and checked in on my physical kingdom.
It saw me and smiled, crocodile-wide and mouthed.
“Be seeing you soon, manchild.
In those dark lands of sweet dreams of The Great In-Between.”
Then it slithered away after being pulled back by grey, decomposed arms and elbows.
To the wild smoke-filled meadows and midnight sideshows
Where nothing living goes.
Like a freezing winter's night, which forecloses on red roses.
With a wry devil's smile, as it suddenly appears from the shadows.
To all things warm, envelope and enclose.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
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