They Seemed To Whisper Death

Fairly long one. Been reading Dracula........

The night was black

And as the leaves

Of the ancient trees stroked

One another

They seemed to whisper of death

Their soft felt lips

Caressing the word

As it passed

Between them

 

A gentle breeze

Swelled the branches

Whistling with decided

Melancholy between the

Chimney pots

Of the tiny houses of the village

 

The moon hung

Above the world

Bright face shining down

Watchfully

As if on the lookout for mischief

 

But as the wind changed direction

A bank of dark cloud

Rolled in

Hiding the moon

From view

And bringing with it

A foul taste

As of dead stagnant air

 

The leaves whispered excitedly

Like an audience

About to witness a performance

 

Candles in the windows

Of the houses

Flickered momentarily

 

And beneath the trees

Appeared a cloaked figure

 

A deep hood hid their face

And as they moved

With a limping gait

Toward the houses

Their long cloak hid them completely

 

The figure approached

The nearest house and stopped

Listening

Then with a quick shake

Of its head it moved on

Towards the next

Again it paused to listen

And again it moved on

 

At the fourth house

The figure stopped

It listened

Then seeming satisfied

Tilted its head upwards

As if sniffing the air

The sudden flash of a smile

Caught the dim light

And then the figure was

Moving once more

 

This time it moved not away

But closer to the house

 

A hand tipped with pointed nails

Emerged to caress

The stone of the house

And then with a sharp movement

At odds with the limping walk

The cloaked creature scaled the building

 

It hung by its nails

Next to the upstairs window

And pressed its hidden face

To the glass

Satisfied with what it saw

The figure swung onto the ledge

And slid its sharp fingers

Under the window

Opening it silently

 

With a single quiet creak

As its feet landed on the floor inside

The creature entered the house

 

 

With a deep sighing

The wind changed direction once more

Cloud rolled back

And the shining white moon

Stared gladly down once more

 

But only momentarily

For below it lay a scene

That warranted horror

Not gladness

 

Screams and cries

Woke the village

As a dark figure leapt from

An upstairs window

Hood thrown back

Frenzied red eyes bright

Against the dead grey face

And a stream of glistening blood

Flowing over lips and chin

 

 

The wind in the trees

Whispered death

And the moon hung

Above the world

Bright face shining down

With anguish

At the scene it

Could not prevent