The Call of the Ghost Tides Eve

 

Friday the 13th: 2.21 am...

 

Somewhere in Los Angeles.

 

A street...
choked by mist,

you stand there...

in the dark,

with the shadows coiling about you...

then ahead,

a monstrous shriek...

from within the dusk and smog,

a briefly swift shifting of darkness...

amongst the grey,

pale eyes glinting out...

then,

a howl like bones...

and a creature emerges from the mist,

a wolf...

tall and great,

born with a coat of  bone white...

and teeth that drip daark,

It calls to you...

in a voice like the ancient wind,

 

 

'We have heard...

that they are coming,

they are coming...

and we strip our bones to black,

to dinge the essences of our souls...

for they come swift,

and they sneak ageless...

through the corridors we so long,

protected...

within our maze,

and we speak...

of things that should not be spoken,

Ware!

We saw once a face,

 which did not change...

instead it changed the faces of those,

around it...

we glimpsed the ocean,

claw its' way up onto the land...

grow legs and arms and claws and teeth,

and the shape of a man...

and now,

it nibbles away at our darkest corners...

and slowly ticks away,

the spare seconds of our life...

it feeds upon our fear,

We heard a truth...

that to survive we must,

find another way...

laugh at the darkness,

spin with the blade...

wear the jesters hat,

The upside down moon...

We must canter away now,

into the daark...

into the mist,

for we must...

evade the oncoming haywire storm,

and the leviathan that screams...

within its' folds,

run with us now...

dear traveller,

upon this Full moon...

Friday the 13th.'

 

You begin to sprint...

beside the great wolf,

born along...

as though you tread on air,

your lungs are filled to bursting...

and a haunting tune rocks the street,

as you dive with the wolf...

into a world,

of flickering dark and white...

You pass across landscapes,

swifter and swifter...

a million different images,

and happenstances flooding you...

Briefly you are within a bedroom,

where a pale girl lies asleep in her bed...

her heart is has left her chest,

and a the golden bird that was her heart...

perches and stares upon her windowsill.

 

You scamper with the wolf...

over cliffs,

skimming across the surface of reefs...

through the centre,

of the darkest caves...

where creatures grow without eyes,

and something breathes within the darkness...

and smells,

smells...

Through mirrors you and your guide dance,

their strange pale otherscape...

twisting your mind in circles,

endless circles...

yet still you fly on,

across and beneath oceans...

you see the creatures bound,

in their watery cages...

and the lost souls,

that were taken by the sea...

those who were alive,

and those who still are.

Philip Wardlow 

 

Through forests of dark wood...

and silver air,

quietly distilling thoughts...

you roam with the wolf,

and sometimes you feel the forest...

nudging against your mind,

unwinding your sanity...
and turning gears beneath the ground,

then you are out both...

and wooden planks,

pounded by a thousand years...

of wind and rain,

appear instead.

 

You tread them at a light trot...

and ocean laps on all sides,

you are within a village...

built above the tides,

where people speak little...

and kindness is shown,

by a warm fire...

a fish blistering in its' gold,

tea sipped from broken mugs...
 

 

Then you are within,

a pale and cold place...

and you feel an ending,

and the wolf has stopped running...

instead it turns to gaze at you,

endless and haunted as the song...

that still plays,

 

'You must now make a choice...

dear friend,

for a choice must always be made...

especially here.

So choose...

two ways remain to you,

though there is a third...

which we do not yet speak of,

The first!

See the table...

over to your right,

see the small flower?

Take it into thy hand!

To escape this reality,

devour the flower...

 

Your second option is not so simple,

to pass through the grey...

to make it to the homeland,

to inch into a bit way past nowhere...

for a while,

to see what lies where the streets stop...
stab the flower in the heart,

see its' ink bleed its' petals gold...

and the pale twirls that rise from between,

breathe in the wisps...

and feel yourself drift.

I must leave you now traveller...

for this choice is yours to make,

and for once...

it is yours to make in the quiet,

so choose what you will...

perform your deed,

for it is told...

that a deed performed,

full moon on Friday the 13th...

is capable of power.

Fare well...

and choose wisely.'

 

 

 

 

Here are a few other Superstitious Nonsenses in Honour,

of the last Full Moon Friday the 13th until 2049:

 

• Don't step on cracks in the ground (especially footpaths), it leads to bad luck; most likely something minor, most likely something that day.
• DO NOT break mirrors or glass, as it gives you a thousand years of bad luck indirectly.
• If a crow shits on you despair...for you will have terrible bad luck for the entire day.
• Black cats are un-luck. For those they favour, there is a certain degree of luck to be had. If they do not favour your however, your bad luck is likely to increase.
• Always face doors and dark roads, don't have your back to them.
• Be careful what you say aloud, because Fate's likely to hear and do the opposite thing to what you want.
• Don't look behind you...
• NOW.

 

AROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAR!!

 

 

 

   Well well well...happy Friday the 13th Darling Misfits of the Night....

Just can't get my head around sleeping...especially with how deliciously wired I feel. All I know is that there is nothing like heartily scaring people or heartily being scared. The good kind, the devil-may-care kind.

 

 

   Much Love and Scares....

 

Miss CLScarlett xx