Fade away to nothing so I can breathe. Fractured pieces that prove we are broken, if not only in the mind. Come and walk a different pathway of exile. Waiting to suffer the consequences of a misdeed. Because we are the echoes that forbade creativity. And I have never wanted to be the man that I am.
I was drinking Jim Beam that night when the thought had crossed my mind. There was a cool looking cemetery just up the road, and I have wanted to check it out at night since I moved here. So, I had almost finished a fifth of liquor when I started walking. I was hearing all the sounds the night makes when you are out alone, especially on a dark backroad. When it’s so dark that you can’t literally see anything, you might as well be blind.
There was a legend of an old man that haunts this place. I’m not honestly sure believe in that kind of stuff, to be honest. I got to the cemetery and slowly opened the squeaky gate and went in. The head stones laid out in formation just like they were about to start marching. An eerie wind was rustling leaves around, blowing the trees. The trees would softly creak, with the wind. I love the feeling when you get so scared you can feel it in your chest, and when your heart goes into your throat. But sometimes it doesn’t end so pleasant.
As I was walking, I heard a deep growl right behind me, and I could feel breath on my neck. I took off running to a crypt close by. I was just barely able to make it to the door with a Doberman right at my heels. I ran inside and the wind must have caught the door just right, because it slammed shut. I was now in a pitch-black room with a bunch of spiders, no light, and no way out because the door is stuck.
2
After the door shut, I was in a panic to get out of there. But the door was jammed and there was no way of opening it. There wasn’t much to help with the door. So, I pounded on the door, yelling and screaming in futility. There wasn’t anyone who could help me. The panic did continue when a spider crawled up my face. But it did seem that we were entombed forever. I just hope someone came looking.
I was scrambling around and found what looked like a bone and a rag, I was hoping to find another way out. I lit the torch, and the only door was the one we came in. I looked for a heavy stone to bang with or something, but to my utter dismay, there was nothing. After about 5 minutes the torch went out and I was in the dark again with all these foul arachnids.
Nothing could have prepared me for what was next that night. I had given up trying to get out when I started hearing a slight scratching noise from the casket. “Maybe a rat”, I said then thought nothing of it. I sat there listening for it again…SCRATH SCRATCH. The noises were getting louder. The pure terror I felt at that moment was indescribable. It didn’t sound like a rat I had ever heard.
A slow creaking sound like a casket opening filled me with absolute terror as I heard a moaning. Screaming did no good because nothing came out. Only a grunting like an old man, in pain in a deep and raspy voice it moaned. I lay down in the floor in a cradle position, but then it all stopped as it sounded like a door being unlocked. It swung open, only for the other man to find only a skeleton in the fetal position and a closed casket.
Schizophrenic Poems, Short Stories, and Thoughts 