Midnight Poppy Land Novels & Stories

That thought was quickly tossed aside because if that was the case, the noises I made by kicking in a window aloud with my own cries and outburst from dressing my wounds would undoubtedly have been heard. Curled up between the two chairs with my face barely sticking out of my sleeping bag, my eyelids feel weighted with exhaustion and the comfort of finally being warm. The small LED lantern is in the dimmest mode, sitting on the table beside me casting a soft warm light. I usually sleep best in pitch black darkness, but am not brave or crazy enough to sleep without a light turned on while I'm inside this abandoned building at night. The last thing I remember doing before passing out for the n

A lullaby hums in a voice not your own Sung from the mouths of the buried and dead A faceless thing grins in the wide doorway Stretching its arms, your escort inside Your name is etched on a tomb with no grave A jagged whisperer, an icy brace Your heart beats loud, but not for long Run, run, but your feet won't move The darkness wraps its chains around you I said grin forms in the blackest shade Time runs out, and so will your veins The bells don't toll; the clocks don't chime Only the sound of the end of time Your Shadow melts your hands turn cold The nightmare sings as it takes hold I'm sorry to say, but this is the end Your breath is stolen; no need to pretend A door creaks open; the void