Whispers of the night (#horror #fiction #london)

I used to walk these streets,

Feel the solid ground beneath my shoes.

The creaks and groans of Victorian brickwork

Inaudible to those not listening.


Darkened windows a barrier for the faces behind,

Silently screaming to be released.

From torture and mutilation,

While I roamed the alleys for fresh nectar.


Top Hat, stick clicking the wet walkways,

Although I see many of the cobbles are no more,

Covered instead with ugly slabs, the

blackened blood stains hidden now forever.


You see me not as I drift pass you,

My tongue tenses as my plan evolves.

You are sitting alone, and from my shadow,

You cannot know that I will have you.


My black coat has pockets laden

with contraptions you will never have seen.

Eighty two years my soul has searched,

For a mate, a wife, in a pool of death.


Excessive consumption is taking place,

A complacency not afforded in my time alive.

You will learn hardship soon enough my dear.

You are soon to be coming home.