At 4:45, in ’95,as rain drummed hard on factory tin,old Eric Tollett stayed inside,with Leslie near, the storm shut in. The workers home, the rooms were still,just thunder stalking overhead.His brother Donald, age of sixty,played with Leslie’s boy instead. But suddenly the office doorswung wide with terror in the child.“He’s fallen down! He’s on the […]
Upon the calm New Zealand sea,bold Diana Stewart raised her lens.A trip for birds, for whales, for light—with fellow nature-loving friends. The boat was steady, morning bright,the waves were soft, the pictures grand…until she saw an immense shaperise from the deep and near the sand. A whale beneath, its shadow long,it surged toward the vessel’s
In Russia’s cold and distant town,Yevgeny stepped outside one day.No luggage packed, no plan declared—just walked, then drove, then rode away. A thousand miles to St. Petersburg,he traveled silent, blank, and pale.Two days he sat without a thought,as though his mind had slipped its trail. He reached the city late at night,then wandered to the
In eighteen eighty-nine, one morn so clear,At Johns Hopkins Hospital, surgeons drew near.Dr. William Halsted, skilled and wise,With nurse Caroline by his side — his prize. She stood by the sinks, her hands in pain,Scrubbing and scalding again and again.Hot water, soap, then acid’s burn,Mercury chloride for the final turn. Her fingers blistered, her arms
In spring of nineteen forty-five,A fragile girl was half alive.In Velp she lay, too weak to stand,A shadowed world, a starving land. Her name was Edda — pale and frail,Her cheeks were sunken, ghostly pale.At fifteen years, so close to death,Each sigh escaped like fleeting breath. The bombs above in thunder roared,The Nazis’ boots her
In springtime’s bloom of ’86,A dream was born through fate’s small tricks.A boy named Will walked campus ground,At Missouri U, where hope was found. A journalist he meant to be,But felt no fire, no energy.For Hollywood — his heart would race,Those films, that magic, that shining place. He’d never left his hometown gate,But dreamt of
For tonight we’ve a tale where the daylight dies.From Where Nightmares Live, our book newly born,Comes a ghostly old legend, of sorrow and scorn. Now Thomas Milwood, a bricklayer proud,Sat in a pub midst a rowdy crowd.But this cold night of January’s chill,His patience was gone, he’d had his fill. He slammed his mug, the
A salesman tired, his eyes half-dead,Checked in one night, then went to bed.A budget inn, room number nine,Flickering bulbs, a faulty sign. He tossed his bags, the floorboards creaked,The air was still, the hallway leaked.He brushed his teeth, looked up to see,His mirror smile — a second too early. He froze in place, his breath
A gentle home, so calm, so neat,A nursery soft with pastel sheet.A baby sleeping, calm and deep,While parents watched through screens and sleep. They’d set a monitor by his bed,To hear his breaths, each coo, each thread.At midnight’s peak, when all seemed right,A whisper stirred the still of night. The mother woke — she heard
It happened once on a stormy eve,When thunder rolled and winds would weave.A man drove slow through pounding rain,The radio hissed a ghostly refrain. His headlights sliced through mist and gray,A lonely road, no sign, no way.Till by the shoulder, soaked and still,A girl stood waiting — pale and chill. Her dress was white, her
