Horror Stories

The Empty Man (Written June 4, 2015)

The dark, the shadows, flashing lights,
The doctors’ faces, the touch of knives,
Fear, uncertainty, doubt and pain,
And then the dark descends again.

I wake inside a tiny room,
Four walls surround, yet no ceiling looms,
A single shaded light hangs down-
I listen and I hear no sound.

I climb on the bench I’m laid upon,
Grab hold of the wall and look beyond.
There, out of sight, stretch more rooms like my own,
To the graying distance where light is gone.

And then I turn and nearly fall
As I see the other end of the room, a wall
With a mirror along, over counter bare,
And a nurse who is fixing her makeup there.

Relieved at another person to see
I run and approach her eagerly,
But as I near I see in her back
A gaping hole of perfect pitch black.

The hole is death, is emptiness,
A total vacuum, yet somehow less.
It’s eager, and hungry, and vicious, but small
And, terrifyingly, it is nothing at all.

I trip and stumble and make a small sound
And the nurse glances up and turns around.
She sees where I look and why I froze she knew
For she smirked and said,”Honey, you’ve got one too.”

My blood ran cold, my mouth went dry,
I turned and looked down and what met my eye
But two empty holes, each size of a fist-
The glaring blank pits of emptiness.

What these holes are, or from where, I don’t know,
Were they made by those doctors from a while ago?
What have they done to change what I am?
I spotted an exit and turned and ran.

I ran down a hall past others there-
An old man, a girl with curly blonde hair-
Each with their holes, some small and some big.
I found a closet and inside I hid.

Then the silence is shattered by a blood-chilling scream,
Joined again and again till with shrieks the air teams.
And, then, I hear the nurse’s cut off shout
And with sick dread I crack the door and peek out.

There nightmare, there horror, there terror and fear,
There devils, there demons, there Satan draws near.
There evil is woken for all to see-
There the nightmare is brought to reality.


So, I’ll finish this poem eventually, but I think it is a good start. If you have been reading my blog long enough you might recognize the story. This is a nightmare I’ve been having, on and off, for years. The Cannibal. The Empty Man. I’m currently trying to turn it into a poem. I may or may not be trying to make it scary…and I may or may not be failing at that. 

If that gave anyone any sort of inclination to say they were reading a horror story, I’d appreciate it if you let me know. If you didn’t even catch that it was supposed to be scary…well, I guess I’d like to know that as well.


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