Spooktacular Contest Entry No. Six

It’s always after midnight –
He wears a big grin when he does it,
always smiling:

Kneels at the front of the graveyard,
puts on his golden vestments,
lights his candles,
breathes in deeply through the nose,
and starts a long string of latin phrases,
cuts his wrist just enough for a
few drops to hit the ground –

And again with latin, his voice
growing deeper and more resonant with
each passage –
and finally,
his eye lids sag,
and the smile gets wider as he asks:

Now, who will come with me? –

And then it starts –
barely audible at first,
from beneath the earth,
the moaning, the waling,
pounding, scratching –
the waling reaches a level
that makes the ground shake,
then emerges
the first ghastly hand,
then another
and soon –

An army of unearthed corpses standing crooked
before the practitioner –

He pierces the air with laughter –
Come my Disciples!

He turns and leads them off to do his unspeakable bidding…

Spooktacular Contest Entry No. Six

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