It Is Coming

It Is Coming

Turn up your tweed collar if it makes you feel safe.  

Draw tight the tapestry curtains and deny the moonlight passage into your sheltered room. 
 Kiss the golden amulet wound securely round your neck and pull up the warm quilt as far as you can, far up over your head if you wish.

 But remember, just remember, it shall make not a difference on the last day of the month.

 For you shall be found, oh yes.

Step out in the darkness and gaze up at the clouds. 

You can feel it already, in the depth of your bones - in the way your hands tremble, in the way your thumbs prick. 

Even now the pumpkins are smiling, even now the black cats are listening to voices unheard.

You know it is coming, yes.  

It is coming.

Riding in on the winds blowing sharp from the west, this most ancient of revenants is out traveling once more. 

 And it cannot be barred from your rooms with a bolt - it shall laugh at the sight of a latch. 

You shall never outrun it no matter your speed, it is useless to wish that you could. 

It will hide in your corners and peer through your glass, run a cold finger down the length of your spine. 

You shall hear its faint cackle upon the chilled breezes, circling round your dark window at midnight.

  Brave laughter will catch in your throat when you notice its green eyes are following you home.

The bats are now gathering in the glow of the streetlight, the rooks now are calling from high up in the trees.

Even now, it is coming.

It is coming.

Halloween.

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“Who’s in the next room ? - who?

I seemed to see

Somebody in the dawning passing through,

 Unknown to me.”

“Nay; you saw nought.  He passed invisibly.”

Thomas Hardy