~Here's a ghost story with a twist for your consideration~ Ghostly Visitations As you come to your feet, Blurred consciousness returns. Your head is doing flips And stomach twists and turns. What happened? Don't you know? It's all a mystery, Just who you are...from where. Light's dim here, hard to see. The room is indistinct, A dusty, gloomy blur Where eeriness prevails. Who knows what may occur! About you surreal light Reveals disjointed scenes Of phantoms young and old... You don't know what it means! In ghosts you don't believe, You're too modern for that. Ghost stories are just tricks Like rabbits from a hat. Then what is it you see And what is it you hear Which fills your frightened eyes And falls upon you ear? In panic you strike out With objects near at hand Which crash against the walls And harmlessly they land. The screams that pierce the air Are yours! You seek to flee From this dark haunted room. Your fear won't llet you be. Paralysing terror Controls your very being. You've never felt such fear, Caused by what you're seeing. "Mama, I saw a ghost!" A phantom child cries out, Which brings back memories That you could do without. The horror they inspire Of your most recent death Makes you to realize You have no life or breath. As madness now descends Upon your fevered mind, You see that YOU'RE the ghost, Not them! You've been so blind! The house stands tall and dark, Deserted, haunted pile. Inhabitants are gone, No one within a mile. Within the dusty halls Dark madness walks about Which once had been a man, It's trapped, cannot get out! Eternity, for it, Spent in a palsied fear Of living, breathing ghosts Which come no longer near.
The Elevator The office building, standing tall, Seems safe as it can be. But lurking here within this place Is danger none can see. The secretaries come and go, Executives as well, Unaware of an appetite That's evil, dark and fell. Chameleon of sorts, it is, Seems innocent and plain. The elevator waits to serve. Inside there's not a stain. By all appearances it is Simply means of transport, But there are times when hunger moves It to a deadly sport. Look now, here comes a messenger Who needs to reach Fifth Floor. He presses 'UP' and steps right through The quickly opened door. Deliberately the door slides shut, The car begins to lift. The evil thing wherein he rides Begins its shape to shift. Unseen by him the walls expose Thousands of tiny teeth. The lighting dims to eerie red, All movement has just ceased. "What the heck? Aw, this is just great! Stuck in between the floors!" He vainly presses the alarm. "Jeez, I could use a Coors." In the dim light, he cannot see The walls begin to close Until he utters screams of pain... But no one can hear those. The elevator reaches Fifth, It's empty, clean and bright. Ready to serve, its hunger gone. Well, leastwise for tonight.
Incident At Carson Beneath the morning sun Awaits a grisly sight. A murder's taken place At some time in the night. The trailer stands alone Outside of Carson town With only sagebrush near. Police have gathered round. The body that's inside Is battered, bloody, torn. But yet, no clues remain This bright and fatal morn. No fingerprints are found Or tracks out in the dirt Left by the murderer
Who caused this deadly hurt. This is the fifth killing In just as many days, But the sheriff's helpless To stop the killing craze. Never are there clues left At any of the scenes To help him understand What all the carnage means. A deputy steps up Next to the sheriff's car. Frustration fills his eyes Which search both near and far. "I know this place," he says, "And something's not quite right." "That so?" The sheriff asks, His facial muscles tight. "Yessir," He says at once, "I drive by here a lot. Something's just out of place. I'll give it some more thought." "Do that," Is the answer, "And call me if you find What it is we're missing, When it all comes to mind." The killers wait and watch, In silence, seeing all That transpires at the scene. They slowly start to crawl. The stirring sagebrush moves Unnoticed by police, Coming in for the kill, Seeking a dire release. "Oh my God...the sagebrush!" A voice calls out too late. The many hate-filled plants Seal all the law-men's fate. Guns are fired, voices cry In anguished sounds of pain, While the sheriff calls for help. The earth's a crimson stain. The cruiser comes to life As he quickly turns the key, But the car just won't move! These plants won't let him be. The car lifts up and tips Over upon it's top. A window shatters in By this quite deadly crop. The backup teams arrive In shock at what they see. The wreckage and strewn dead, Well, this just cannot be! Of killers, there's no sight, Just sagebrush all about In patience biding time 'Till the next deadly bout.