A goat’s head effigy hangs in the shadows

impaled on fencepost of all my sins,

a puppet on strings swaying on wasted life,

gaps within filled with hollow evidence

of blurred lines between sanity and insanity.

Raw emotion words dismayed by splintering

and stirring within my bubbling cauldron –

a bloodiness of fragmented images fighting

emblazoned demons inside ancient marrow,

death knoll to torturous bones waning

beneath skeletal remains in the next dimension,

shrunken death chants of venomous censure.

Breath of crackled air shrivels tainted trees

from which it hangs, scorched and shriveled,

churning high pitched screams in bleached debris

with putrid substances leaking from orifices,

brevity of stark messages tethered to skull,

disguised life whispers haze of unfilled promises

and death ensues on a nameless grave.

A goats head effigy hangs in the shadows

The all seeing eye rolls back into white

A dead man twitches in the gallows

In stop frame motion the moon enters night

Candles burn while blood begins to flow

Each drip a story of something you shouldn’t know

The crystals sway and you’re urged to drink

From a goblet of history your mind begins to kink

Candles and seduction, sex and destruction

As the world gives way to a darker instruction

Books and bells, hex’s and spells

Puppets on fingers to do as I tell

To control

To Possess

A darker life to confess

Black cat bone

Your thoughts are not your own

A darker road to roam

As incantations stain your skin

You are now ready. To. Do. My. Bidding...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

A goat’s head effigy hangs in the shadows

Lit by a single red candle that glows

Behind the heavy wooden door

Dried matted blood and hair on the floor

Evil dwells in this malevolent place

Hiding its perverted ugly face

Here but a few hours ago stood the cloaked

Tall and bloody standing soaked

With an innocent at their feet

Naked with only her heart beat

A gasp of breath and all life was gone

Sacrificed to The Whore of Babylon

The end of the world is near

Soon he the master will appear

All those who do not worship his name

Will only have themselves to blame

----------------------------------------------

© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.

Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent

and any written material is owned solely by the above named.

Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.

Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.

and he entreats a kiss.

I will scale the hollows of his mouth and linger at his lips.

I will whisper gentle offerings I bring before the veil.

I will wash my tongue in devilʼs blood and dance my devilʼs trail.

I will rise before the weeping moon and sing my ardent wish.

And when he speaks the master's tell

I'll grace him with his kiss.

      A goat's head effigy hung in the shadows. As representations go, it had to be a poor placeholder. The remnants of the hairy he-goat were going to rot in the black of my porch’s corner. It hung there amongst the pealing white wood paneling and dyeing plants. My lack of a green thumb prophesied the ferns’ death, the decomposing carcass ensured it.

      Even in the crisp night air the flies swarmed, the eyes were long gone, the hair seemed to wriggle. Whether that be from the flies or their offspring was unknown to me, though both possibilities were disgusting.

      Someone, more than likely my new decorator, had broken the porch light. The shattered glass of the bulb and housing lay about the planks, swimming in, well for lack of a better term, drippings. The only light to hit this dark little bit of my world was the streetlamp. Casting everything its light touched sickly yellow with its sodium bulb and subtle buzz. The illumination was poor, making shadows lurk and scuttle.

      The rancid reek rolling off the thing crashed in to me and crawled up my nostrils. It was painful, that stink, like the putrid smell was using my nose hairs to pull itself in. Whilst a part of it stabbed me in the throat with a moldering taste that made me gag.

      Burning the rotting thing would have been a blessing, the only form of truly destroying such revolting mass of decaying flesh. The corpse was corrupting in my shadow, my dark distorted twin cast upon the dead thing.

      I reeled from it; the reaction was out of my control. I nearly puked as well. A painful hack escaped my throat, my gag doing its best to take over and assert itself. I heard something drip, thickly. That sorted it, I puked.

      My shadow had followed me, the light from the street casting it now shining on the effigy.

      From where I kneeled the smell was near enough to background country stink that most of my neighbors would have ignored it. And with Halloween closing in the he-goat could be mistaken for an overeager seasonal decoration. Since I had been away for a few days I had to assume it had been placed shortly after I had left, and therefore rotting away under my neighbors’ eyes.

      I tucked my nose into my elbow, relying on the thick coat to ward off most of the reek. It worked, barely. With slow sideways steps I approached the goat at an angle, thus allowing the streetlamp’s yellow glow to shine upon the thing.

      The steps of my porch creaked under my lumbering pace, the noise sounding like cries to my stressed self. This whole episode was doing nothing good for my heart.

      Upon further inspection I noticed that the he-goat was just the skin. But troubling enough it had mass. It was draped over something, or as I realized as I got closer, someone.

      As I ease myself nearer to the weirdly clothed rotting body, my cell phone rang. The tone was near a whisper, but is vibrated with an intensity that my revved up body exaggerated. I stumbled back again, startled by it, and tripped over my own feet. The porch was not kind to me and I fell off it. The cement on my walkway slowed my fall, bringing me to gentle stop. Or I wished it had, sadly the sudden end to my struggle with gravity knocked the air from my lungs and slammed a headache into my brain.

      I lay there, breathing in a chest full of pain with each gasp, head throbbing with each heartbeat. My heart its self was racing, flooding my body with blood.

      Slowly I pulled out my phone and brought it to my eyes. I had received a text, from an unknown number.

In case you were wondering

It’s your brother

By the way

Say hello to your mom for me ;)

A goats head effigy hangs in the shadows

Upon a post of rotting wood

Abruptly embers form atop the figure

Bursting into cackling flames

The darkness retreats in fear of the light

With the blankets of darkness taken off

It can be seen

At the base of the now turning pole

Is a pentagram

Glowing a bloodcurdling crimson

Beyond the circle lies mounds

Of decaying corpses

And atop the highest mountain of death

He stands

Baphomet

A goat's head effigy hangs in the shadows. The room is dimly lit, illuminated only by a circle of candles. At the edge of the circle stands a masked silhouette, chanting in ancient Greek. I am nearly overwhelmed by vertigo as the pages turn. 

Sometimes I really hate October. You might think I would like it; after all, I can move around relatively freely without attracting attention. On the other hand, it really brings out the crazies, and for some reason they always, always, find me. Like this warlock and his attempts at a summoning ritual.

I focus my attention on the ground below me. Etched into the floor are intricate patterns that flow into a cohesive circle. It appears to be made of salt, charcoal, and some kind of blood. The limits of the circle are further defined by candelight; though the room is dark, not a single shadow breaks the seal. The effort is impressive, but ultimately futile. I dodge straight upwards and move along the rafters.

The warlock switches to Latin and sends a sphere of light toward the ceiling. By now, though, I am already traveling down the wall on his side of the room. As I get closer, he stutters and empties a saltshaker in a circle around him. Clearly he's an amateur if he thinks that would work on me, but I stop at the edges. If I mess with him a bit, maybe he'll leave me alone.

The warlock finally switches to English. "Shade!" he shouts. (I guess he sort of knows what I am at least.) "I have summoned you, and so by my dark power I command you: do my bidding and serve me!" (Like that ever works?) "Retreat from me and await my orders on the far wall!"

I slowly move toward the wall. May as well find out why he summoned me.

The warlock throws back his head and laughs. "At last! Now, demon (I am NOT a demon, thank you very much) you shall serve as my unseen wrath. No one will dare oppose me! I will be unstoppable! (Could he get any more cheesy?) Come, see the form of your first victim." He pulls a photograph from his robe.

I've had just about enough. I approach slowly and hover, pretending to look at the photo. Humans all look the same to me, I'd never figure out who it was even if I wanted to. Then, while he's still gloating and yammering about his would-be victim, I throw his book into the closest candle. It bursts into flames. The warlock screams and lunges toward it. I knock him to the side. Sure he screwed up the summoning, but I don't particularly want him to try again. 

"Get out of my way," snarls the warlock. He starts shooting those orbs of light again. I dodge them long enough to make sure the spellbook is ash. Once it's gone, I leave through the door. I take a quick look around the rest of the building, but it looks like all the summoning implements were in that room, and no one else is around. I head back into the night, stopping only to turn the horseshoe on his front door upside-down. Sometimes it's the little things that make you feel better.

A goats head effigy hangs in the shadows. It watches me from above, mounted into the barn wall. Crack. I wish I couldn't still hear it. The hammer striking down on my skull. The sickly squish as it's pulled back from the blood caking above my ear. A ribbon of scarlet before everything goes black. The blood is waterfalling down my face, pooling around me. The straw soaks it up, thirsty. 

I can no longer see where it went. He? It? I'm questioning everything I knew. Cold, I lay crumpled like an old sack across the concrete floor. Everything is silent, but I don't dare try to crawl away. I've learned my lesson, ankle screaming. I had snapped like a twig. Fragile as a swallow.

Without warning, I felt a breath against my gasping lips. Something, someone is right above my soaked ear. Pausing to inhale after every two words it whispers, "Ladybug ladybug fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children are gone. All except one and that's..."

A goat's head effigy hangs in the shadows;

Hell has been purged, and the released have bred.

I hope that there is room in the Underworld for the Devils born on Earth.

They hate and rape and kill, 

And they do it for fun.

They are ravenous, relentless creatures, and not a soul is left unstained.

If this is all in God's plan,

I ask for Reason.

The month of monsters begins today, 

I know,

But I already want it to end,

And, these monsters,

I wish I weren't one of them.

#nightdwellers #beginningline

#horror #halloween

A goat’s head effigy hangs in the shadows.

Who put it there in the tree at the bottom of my garden?

Have I been marked for death, by them?

I'm so young, it's not fair! So much to see and do.

I take a moment.

That's it! I'll confront this head on. 

They won't take me whimpering and cowering in the darkness.

I stride out through the patio doors.

Down the garden in just my socks and underpants.

Pitch black darkness; moon obscured by clouds.

The only light coming from the static on the TV in the room behind me.

I approach the tree, looking at the effigy out the corner of my eye.

The only sound comes from it gently knocking against the tree.

I take a deep breath, then reach up and snatch it.

I look down at what's in my hands:

my pair of Converse high-top boots tied together by the laces.

Bastard big brother!

I should stop falling asleep in front of the TV.

#nightdwellers #beginningline