The End of Ghost Story III

To be continued...

The audio for this years work can be heard here

Health permitting, Ghost Story IV shall follow next year.

Not even began to think about next year's yet so can't really reveal anything
but it will be all out war I can say now

The blog shall be here

Part XXX (Part A and B)

(The End..)

(A)

Ribbed in a broken

Red sunset

The man in black

Stood there

Lost in thought

For a good ten minutes
arriving after only
Brooks was left 

Before Brooks spoke

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that;

He snorted

Reaching for a cig

‘Neither was I,

I thought he would

Have killed him for sure’

‘Instead he bought us more time’

The Man in Black

Pulled up his collar

‘And you believe that?’

'Mandrake arrived 15 minutes ago' ’

Brooks swore.

(B)

Carried across the wind

His coat blew up in the air

For five minutes

After he left the train

Covering the slight fog

Dangling on the platform

Like a blanket

Choking the life of somebody,

Before placing his sunglasses

Back on slowly

Leaving the two young inspectors

Shaking for a good ten minutes after,

Carrying on all the way to the gardens

Past people pushing their way

All the way up to the station

Like they were in a rush to leave

Where his friend eventually

Spotted him stood outside a coffee shop

Flicking through his mobile

With a strained frustration

‘Mandrake’ He said

to which Mandrake smiled wordlessly

his feeth flashing whitely in the sun

like they were fangs.

'When are those bastards due to arrive?'

'Tuesday night'

'Gives us time to prepare then'
looking at the poster on the side of the bus.



To be continued.. 

Part XXIX A and B

(Nearly there - two more pieces leading to the end with the last I am expecting of my guest poems this year, the lovely Siofra Martin from Ireland. Enjoy)

(A)

Lucas stood there motionless

For a few seconds

Afterwards

Catching his breath

In a bass led heartbeating panic

Coma white in a chain led frenzy

Without a clue

Where he was

And dust dragging off his paws,

Sniffing his air in a vain attempt

To get his baring

Away from the light

Burning on his back

And fur half torn

All over his ears

Not to mention talons

All over the way back

‘What the hell did you do?’

he heard the words

following him all the way

back to the tunnel

and into the arms

of his people

barely aware of

what had just happened

and even less

of the deaths

he had caused

through no fault of his own.

(B)

‘What the hell did you just do?’

Michelle said stunned

Her fingers shaking

In murmured echoes.

‘I gave him peace’

Andy said in a tone

He didn’t regnoise

Cast out with a purpose,

‘He had been poisoned,

I cast it out’

Michelle looked at him

White-faced

‘How the hell did you do that?’

‘I don’t know’

He collapsed.

***

I know you aren’t in front of me.

I know you aren’t in front of me.

No,

 Don’t protest,

 I can see you sitting there

Head slightly tilted,

Glazed-eyed stare

Occasional grunts telling me to go on,

But body language screaming,

Are you nearly done?!?

Am I just boring..?

No..

 Is there something wrong?

I’m starting to worry

There’s so much of you gone.

Where is your sparkle?

Your fire’s gone out

I miss your laughter

I hate your self-doubt

Your colours have faded

To all over grey,

You blend into back grounds

And have little to say

I’m not the only one who’s noticed a difference in you

How your smile’s now rarer than the rarest of jewels

How you’re slowly confirming what we all feared we knew

How you’re slowly retreating from those you love most

How little by little you’re becoming a ghost.

@ Siofra Martin

Part XXVIII A & B & Andrew Smith - Movement in the Dark III

(On the day of my birthday actually - here are two of my favouite pieces so far following directly on from the last piece with a third piece from my Brighton friend Andrew Paul Smith - Movement in the Dark III)

A

Coughing in the sunset
the sudden burst of light
fused the lights
for almost two minutes

throwing everybody
in the area
to the ground 
like they had been Rugby tackled

breaking windows

shortening engines of
passing buses and cars

freezing the village
for a good few seconds 

before vanishing 
like a magician's trick

and leaving two
what could be men
stood there in shock

while the world 
shivered around them. 

B

Standing nearly in the light

They were thrown backwards

Some of them sliced

Almost in half

By the exploision

Like molten ice melting,

Forging their hatred

Into steel

Before splitting

Some into dust,

Some into the river

Never to be seen again

And the one

That escaped

Into a taunt line

Disappearing into

The nearby tunnel

Crying in broken agony. 

****

Movement in the Dark III

I tried to move with slight and ease

Not wanting to disturb a thing

Every muscle wanted nothing more than to seize,

Grazes covered in slime starting to sting

I had no sense of time or direction in here

Just my heart beating its impending sound of doom

And as the scraping sounds emerged once more something was suddenly clear,

This nightmare was sure to conclude very, very soon.

It came with a speed far beyond that of man

My throat squeezed between elongated fingers and curved nails.

But my found resolve, I knew, would force me to fight back as best I can

My heavier weight lifting it up despite protesting squeaks and wails.

Desperation and anger found strength now unbound

As I flung this man-rodent against the tunnel wall

The crunch of bone and split of sinew a resonating sound

And then nothing, for what seemed an eternity, nothing at all.

I waited a long moment, resigned to swift resolution from the nest

But it seemed as if I was singled out by only one

And so I didn’t wait around to theorise this test

I had to act now, gather evidence and so for this to be done

The body was dead and broken, but easy enough to drag

so I pulled with all my reserve and might

As the bodies of my colleagues dimly came into view my legs starts to sag

And I thought ‘what would everyone make of this grisly sight?!’

At least I had the proof of slaughter

The beast with my friends' flesh between its maw

At least the police should most definitely give me quarter

Along with the statement of events I saw

As I started up the ladder, the light seemed so bright, almost painful like a burn

The sounds from above so loud against strangely pointed ears

And my teeth! Growing sharp and long, and the thirst...for what was this I seemed to yearn?

The thought of the public suddenly greater than all of my past fears

I found myself sniffing the air, tasting a scent, my now stretched nails curving around

Now I understood, from a clawing graze, this undiscovered race, one for one, in this sewer

My fate now forever bound.

Part XXVII (Part A and B)

(Two pieces today - Part A focuses on Andy moving slowly towards Lucas and a very short Part B talking about Hope)

Part A

stood there in shock
underneath a street light
Andy stepped a few inches forward
with the breeze roaring
in his ears,

spilling over Michelle's words
almost unhearable

inverted in a different dimmeson 

'It's okay, I'm not here
to hurt you'

redifing emotions 
rather than words

airy silence 

rather than loudness

light merging 
with the darkness

cleansing each other
almost by magic. 




(B)

Surrounderd in chaos
Ghana looked at Brooks

'What's he doing?'
Brooks said
his words sounding almost
like a sky burial

'Hope;
she answered simply

'Hope'

Part XXVI

(Part 26 focuses again on Andy coming to a relisation)


'Can't you see' Andy carried on

his own fear caked

stretching across the distance
until Lucas froze

'Somebody's poisoned him
tainted him'

replacing terror
with pearls

exploding in imaginary
bombs

'He's murdered literally
dozens of your people'
Ghana said
rolling backwards
into the distance

swolled in crevics

staying separate in the distance.

'But it's not him'
Andy stepped towards him
'It's not him'

with Michelle's screams
following him further.

Chapter XXV

(Following straight on, it is all a question of breeding, Ghana explains)

XXV

‘He’s not bred for that’

Ghana said

Cracking the tension

Up to ten

Spitting words

Through inrrevisble

Laced sadness

‘His kind are not murders’

Subsumed in knowledge

‘then what the fuck has happened’

Andy answered.

‘he’s been poisoned’

Part XIV

(With the Monster trapped, Brooks, Ghana, Michelle and Andy remain at loggerheads)

Mewling in fear

‘What the fuck is it?’

Brooks said eventually

‘It’s crippled or killed

Nearly a dozen men

Alone tonight

And we suspect

Maybe dozens more

Over the past two weeks’

Mapping her words

Ghana paused

‘It’s a long story,

Albert’

‘They’ve called in the Army

And the press are asking questions,

Ghana’

‘It’s mankind’s last great protecter’

She said.

‘And now mankind’s great killer’

Andy cut in.

Part XXIII (A and B)

(Two more pieces today - i nearly didn't blog the first but the tenderness counterbalances off the madness of Part B)

A

Coughing slightly
once she had finished hugging him
Ghana spoke
'Albert'
she brimmed
bleached in the sunset.

'Ghana, it's been a while'
He smiled.

It had been a while.

Too long for both of them.

B

Flitering through the estary

Chisteled in clay

The last kill

Was reckless

Even he knew that

Diving out of the shadows

Towards a group of men

At the edge of the river

Trying to tell them to run

Only creating laughter,

Laughter until he nearly

Killed one of them

And fists began hitting

His side,

And the rat in him

Became a wolf

And madness covered

The moon.

Part XXII

(A gag this piece but it reveals more if you think about it)

Shattering impulses
the tension in the air
was as clear as broken ice,

chipping away on roofs
and in the shadows
of the nearby coach station

twisting questions
into answers
as Brooks looked at Andy
'We've met'

to which Andy
looked at Michelle
'Everybody knows me'

'Stick to the cheese burgers'
brooks cripped
'Nobody will care then' 

Part XXI (A and B)

(Two parts today although it could have been one almost
covering the meeting between Andy, Michelle, Ghana and Michelle
and a hint of something in the past)

(A)

‘Ghana’ Brooks said as soon

as the three of them

turned the corner

‘You’ve lost weight’ Ghana smiled

draining the tension

like a rising sun in a field

diminishing the tension

slicing the past into the present

rejoining lovers from different backgrounds

back together

(B)

‘I’ve given up the burgers

and joined the gym

What do you think?’

Brooks said smiling

‘I’ve been busy

dealing with killers

druggers

tossers

drunks

you know’

dealing his words

like a poker dealer

casually throwing his cards

onto the table

without worrying

what the players would get

‘I know you’ Andy said

stepping out of the shadows.

‘Everybody does, boy’ Brooks

answered

‘Even heroes at train station’

Part XX A and B)

(Part 20 sees Brooks  waiting and another piece about the Monster)

XX (A)

Almost carrying through

Some of the buildings

Like a ghost’s footprints

Brooks’s cigarette smoke

Carried across the corner

And across the river

Biding its time

Offering a distinctive

Double meaning

With each puff,

Telling all to hurry

The bloody hell up

Without having to say

Another word

Knowing he was

The middle man

Without wanting to be.

XX (B)

By the end of the

Second week

The hunger was immeasurable

Asymmetric in sweetness

Faces crying out sometimes

Other times not

Fashioned in caculated pain

Touched in sadness

Sometimes remembering

The name Lucas

Other times not

Sometimes endless tunnel;s

Cutting deep into his throat

Blinded in others laughter

Faster

Faster

Before his blindness eroded

Whispering in his ear

Stripping memories

Into poison

Then hunger.

Part XVIV and Andrew Smith II

(Part 19 moving straight along takes Andy (from his point of view this time) and Michelle and Ghana out of the underground or project if you wish back to the streets and the village, explaining everything has changed even if you haven’t realised it)

(Also included is the second guest poem from my friend Andrew Smith)

XIX

Let’s take this street you said

Then the next and 

Walk past the amber light of

The clock of St Anne’s Church,

Next to the dusty smell of

The Royal Exchange 

Leading to Waterstones

Where bodies vanish over-night

Stare up at the caged moonlight

Looking at us 

Like a book of illusions 

Dipping into our skulls, 

Changing the meaning

Of all that I knew existed before

Within minutes of 

Walking out of the tunnel,

****

Movement in the dark, damp space II

The world seemed so dark

As I lay in this pit of misery

The memory of blood and fear was still so stark

A horror scene forever etched so grisly

They seemed so few at first

Feasting on friends I had worked with for years

But the iron warm scent brought more with a thirst

Teeth and claws, red eyes and pointed ears

It was supposed to have been a myth

Rat people of Manchester a joke

A tall tale to drink and toast with

Not the ripping of flesh and blood to soak!

I dare not move, or even breathe

All I could do was listen

As one by one they started to leave

Dragging varying sized lumps that seemed to glisten

When the coast seemed clear

And silence descended

My consciousness shifted a gear

Clarity of thought momentarily mended

I appeared to have been spared

My limbs seemed remarkably intact

On my feet I assessed how now the situation faired

Thoughts of flight mixed with fear totally wracked

No one would believe me

I’m now suspect one to the crime

I needed proof or never be free

Or be the most hated of my time...

Part XVIII

(Part 18 focuses again on our old friend, the killer.

Dropping more hints onto his nature)

Curling in a corner

For a good half a hour

Or so later,

Its next kill proved

That traumatic

It couldn’t bear

To run away

Once it had fed

Let alone have the strength

To run away

Instead dragging itself

Into a shadow on the canal

Until it heard

The usual scream

That usually greeted

His handiwork

Over floating with guilt

With each drop of blood

He ripped out of the lad’s throat

Knowing he should have just

Put them out of their misery

Full well knowing

There was nothing

He could do about it. 

Part XVII and Gray Nicholls 'The Great War II'

(NB. Our faceless silent patient enemies from the end of II hover here again. What is this purpose? All shall be revealed)

(Also included is the second part, hinted before from my good friend Gray Nicholls
with the second part of his poem 'The Great War' simply called 'The Great War II')

XVI (A)

Unreproved, unwound

Back to the beginning

Chewed up in pieces

Of broken tape

Pentrating

Different languages

Signalling contempt

Drowned in love

Erotic in memory

Carrying revenge in breath

Trudging slowly

To the end of the tunnel

Waiting patiently

For the perfect moment to strike

Watching as another body

Is lifted out of the water.

***

XVI (B)

The first two kills

Were senseless

And left him

Unaware what he had done

Blood-red starred

With their screams

Like a hushed theatre,

The third cried

And weeped however

Shipwrecked into

Their own nightmare

Cursing him all

The way to death

Moving his toes

Tickling the pavement

Digging in open air

Asking him

What the fuck

Was he

And looking at himself

In the reflection

He didn’t know. 

***

The Great War II

Drained of blood

The second great war

At the start of the 20^th century

With dozens of them

Found dead

All the way down Oxford Road

And clotted all the way

Down the ship canal

Moored up tight

Against the old workhouses

In a gangland style

Mass killing,

Laid up with the occasional

Snapped fang

Which turned to dust

If left in the sunlight

Too long. 

Part XVI (i) and XVI (ii)

(There are two parts of Part XVI both dealing with our old, mysteries friend The Man in Black and an un-named character both leading to the end of the story slowly but surely) 

Part 16 (A)

Broken inside out

The man in black

Waited outside central library

Hands lined deep

Inside his pockets

Until he nearly gave up

And went home

Smoking cigarettes

Repeatingly in a broken loop

Until another man

Turned up

His face lined

Like a rowboat

Coughing frantically

Knowing that their meeting

Would affect

More than

Just a few lives.

Part 16 (B)

Lateness spilled

Across his broken words

Running down

Oxford Road

Dodging the traffic

Across the roadworks

That blocked his way

Constantly at every corner

And then across

The peace garden

Narrowly missing

Getting run down

By the tram

At least twice

Until his friend

Whose name he didn’t

Even know

Was about to go

And looked at him

Like he was going to kill him

When he said it had started

Earlier than expected

In the middle of the village.

Part XV and Marie Lightman - Unseen

(Part XV is the introduction of another major player who certainly knows a awful lot than he lets on, Inspector Brooks)

(Our latest guest poet is the wonderful Marie Lightman, a amazing poet from the North East England and besides married to Ira Lightman who needs no introduction, also currently is running https://marielightmanpromptresponse.wordpress.com/ where she is currently deliver a prompt a day for a year)

Part XV

Brooks knew something was wrong

About the massacre

At the train station

Before he even arrived,

Monumenting the sunlight

As in a tombstone

Suddenly slammed shut

When he stepped out of his car

Portraiting the chaos in his mind

Only hours before

With a subway wrapper

Dangling out of his pocket

And his inspector’s badge

Almost dragging itself back to his car

When he left to examine the body

As in a panic stricken protest

Summasing the evidence

In a few seconds

Of half ripped ears and fingers

Stitched into jigsaws

Glimmering half in and out

Of the shadows round the back

Of the coach station

And before the start of the village

Hauling tragedy all the way

Towards the canal

Washed in a deep velveteen

Of sorry filled faces

Floating across his eyesight

Full well knowing

Who this was

And there was precious

Precious

Little he could

About it.

***

Unseen

Ivy, crispy with ice

covers everything,

I step off the path into

the empty manor's garden.

Marble grave stones, overgrown.

I shiver. Who buries their dead

so close to where they sleep?

I crouch to read lichen

smothered words. Finger

spell single letters, trace

John and year of death, 1825.

Glance up and see you through cold breath,

you wear a cloth hat, beaten jacket and

face grey, tinged with ash, like a snow sky.

You bend, as if to weed, then stop frame.

I scream, in my head. “Look up! There

is a child who isn't meant to be here.” Look

at me, I breathe, you fail too.

Eventually, but through unseeing eyes you do.

This is too much for me and I run.

@ Marie Lightman

Part XIV and Hazel Connelly

(Almost at the half way point, Part XIV is a piece about death but whose death and who did this and why?)

(Our latest poet is my returning friend, Hazel Connelly who has submitted a poem to each one of the three Ghost Stories and has delivered a lovely tender poem called Ghost Story. Lots more of Hazel's peoms can be read at http://www.poemhunter.com/hazel-connelly/)

XIV

Past midnight

The paper said

The latest body was found

On the bend

Of the coach station

Touching the edge of the canal,  

Eyes ripped out

And left drained on the floor

Like somebody had been

Sucking gobstoppers

And gave up

Halfway through,

Bright white

with their mouth

So wide open

they must have cried

for minutes

and minutes

hoping somebody would come

and rescue them

last minute

before the killer finally

put them out of their misery

gazing into a curtain call of futures. 

***

Ghost Story

At the crossroad I stand

In the stillness of the night

The shadows gather round

You hover beside me

I know you are there

You whisper my name

From your ice cold lips

I caught a glimpse of you

Of your slender form

In the pale moonlight

I saw your raven black hair

Your ruby red lips

I know we will never say goodbye

You will stay with me forever

My child of the moon

Someday we will be as one..

© Hazel