Golden brown are the tangled old vines
crunching underfoot as I walk through
the creepy disheveled Westminster Cemetery
bathed by the silvery malevolent light of
the full unsmiling moon this frightening night.
Discarded,weathered milky white ancient
bones and sightless skulls stare up in
disbelief as they lie scattered upon the
crispy frost covered dull brown grass
amongst the unkempt uneven rows of the
crumbling,shattered gravestones.
In the misty distance the eerie howling
of dogs shatter the uneasy silence of this
once sacred and holy place as the great
grey horned owls hoot their warning from
the tall leafless mossy old oak trees.
Suddenly a voice begins to screech loudly
from the crumbling ancient mausoleums.
I begin to hear the words clearly as I am
lead toward the dusty old crypts.
A soft,haunting voice begins to quietly recite
the story of "The Tale Tale Heart" as the restless
ghost of Edgar Allen Poe materializes before my
disbelieving startled eyes giving me a terrible fright.
My heart grows cold and I scream for my life as icy
hands grasp my shaking leg and begin to drag me under
the frosty ground to the crazed haunting laugh
of horror's greatest master.
Donavon Scott Vinson