Halloween – Page 3 – A.R. Clayton

I have a statue of a witch that I keep in a corner of my writing room. She was the last statue in a display of marked down Halloween items I found earlier this year. I thought she was well designed in her black and glittering robes and her tall, pointy sloped hat. Her features were gnarled and realistic. Love at first sight.

Over time, however, she actually began to scare me. It was usually when I had just finished reading a good ghost story or I began hearing the creaks of our house that sound like footsteps. Overactive writer’s imagination, you know.

I started to picture her appearing next to me while I was on my bike with my back turned to her, or creeping up to me while I was working at my desk and she was in my periphery. I began considering putting her in storage until Halloween, or until the year 2080. But then I realized something. I write horror, don’t I? Perhaps I need something that scares me a little in my writing room…

Continue reading “Blogmas 2019: Days 13 – 15 (My Writing Room) 🧟‍♀️” →

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The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest: Halloween 🎃

October 26, 2019October 26, 2019 Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

Come all, come one. The more terrible your poetry, the better! 🦴🎃💀

Contest Entries

Author: Halloween Poetry Contest Entry

October 16, 2019October 16, 2019 Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

Here’s my entry. Join in on the fun here. The instructions and rules can be found via the link. Good writing and good luck! 🎃

🕯️🕯️🕯️

Halloween Halls

There is a being, you see, upon this evening’s brow;
two stories up, where the night’s extinguished candle was used to enshroud.
Over the flame she turned, over their breath she heard, their pensive dishes of gruel and meat,
their spoons clashing, bread ripping, as they spoke of things without understanding;
without understanding at all.

Notes of music spilt onto the wooden floors; clanging mouths and spit soon sealed every door.
A rush away, chains soon met.
Truth was heard whispering nevermore;
it was beckoned back through the Hall’s front doors.

Now with violence ripped and pages fell,
Darkened calendars and lighted gold,
the lady of the manor haunts her lonely, ever darkened but discreet,
Halloween Halls.