Inhuman Haunt

We were entering Bate’s Haunted
House when real fear was born;
four of us, as teenage lads,
fragile for the occasion.
And all it wanted was
the right to be, to
exist (to haunt),
this otherworldly
entity, “born” from
alien demise.  We 
could not have known
the thing was not human,
nor was human at one time.
We four lads expected howls,
thumps and those stereotypical
sounds associated with the ghostly
indoctrination.  Instead, the walls
melted, and black orbs swirled
overhead with myriad maws
grinning gold teeth; robust   
red webs sagged at eye
level, allowing clicking
spiders time to gnaw
acne-laden faces.
This, as dimensions
of space-time unfolded—
scare was black hole depth;
our bones became as glass.
We ran out, breathless, pale.
The memories haunt me.


30 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
5-6-20