Midnight Messenger

A chilling tale, opening and closing with "a lantern much like Poe’s

from “Telltale Heart,” this was originally published online by Spillwords on October 28, 2021.

————

Without a palindrome or plan

I grabbed a nearby spray-paint can

and rustic lantern, much like Poe’s

from “Telltale Heart” of horror’s prose.

I found a rural graveyard site

and settled in to spend the night

to entertain the mournful herds

who’d visit there and read my words:

Who lied above

Now lies below.

At rest in Heaven?

Heavens, no!

She loved him fully,

To the brim.

Her husband shot

And buried him.

The bridge they crossed

Was strong enough—

Too bad it wasn’t

Long enough.

He was hung

As his twin brother

Who lived on

To kill another.

He insisted

He’s not dead.

That’s not what

The doctor said.

For her return

He held his breath.

She chose to wait

Until his death.

To Be or to Not,

That was the Question

Answered by

The Reaper’s Suggestion.

Next in line, a fresh-dug plot

without a stone to mark the spot

but there, arising from the earth,

I witnessed my own tombstone’s birth.

These words etched by an unseen hand,

inscribed as if at death’s command:

The stroke of twelve.

A moonless night.

This lonely prankster

Died of fright.

Chiseled next, a name and date:

the name was mine—it sealed my fate.

I felt a stabbing at my shoulder,

grabbing ever tighter, colder.

Boney fingers; pitch-black cloak;

I saw no face—it never spoke.

I landed hard within the hole

and felt him tear my heart and soul.

By morning’s light, the plot was filled—

on top, a lantern, dark and chilled.

By Ken Gosse

From: United States

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/ken.gosse/