Dare to walk where none can find,
places untouched by form or mind.
Where all is still, a silent kind.
And time, will leave no trace…
Beyond a world of dusk and night,
where shadows fade and day turns light,
the soul, unbound, takes fearless flight.
All that was… now erased.
By Sarah ©2024
Ronovan Writes:
Ovi Poetry Challenge – dare
Darkness settles on dust,
lost in echoes of footsteps.
The air, thick with longing
as the forgotten room holds its breath…
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles:
Weekend Writing Prompt, #388 – dark (21 words)
This year, I again participated in Sammi’s “13 Days of Samhain.”
It was spooky-licious fun and I have collated all my responses below…
Day 1 – Tick Tock
Day 2 – Sunday Stills 21.10,24
Day 3 – Fear No Moor
Day 4 – Pound of Flesh
Day 5 – Once Bitten
Day 6 – Bad Spelling
Day 7 – Bag of Bones
Day 8 – Ghosted
Day 9 – To Die For
Day 10 – tanka 29.10a and b
Day 11 – Three’s the Magic Number
Day 12 – haiku 31.10
Day 13 – Remembrance
Sammi Scribbles: 13 Days of Samhain
In shadows deep where memories sleep.
And nightly whispered dreams steep,
Dearly departed, secrets keep.
But hearts do remember…
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles: 13 Days of Samhain – Day 13
and also;
Ronovan Writes: Ovi Challenge – dreams
In time, memory fades.
A haunting epitaph indeed.
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles: 13 Days of Samhain – Day 12
In the isolated village of Hollow Creek, an unsettling legend surrounded the old, twisted tree in the centre of town.
It was said that three souls had vanished there one fateful night, their screams echoing through the surrounding bushland. The villagers warned their children to stay away, whispering that in a sinister sense, three is a magic number.
One All Hallows’ eve, three friends decided to test their courage. Dismissing the warnings as mere superstition, they ventured towards the tree with flashlights. As they approached, a chill enveloped them, and the air crackled with electricity.
“Let’s make a pact,” one suggested. “If we can last an hour here, we’ll have proven it’s just a story.”
The others hesitated but agreed, driven by his bravado.
As they sat in a circle, they began to share their darkest fears. The wind howled around them, and shadows danced in the flickering light.
One by one, strange occurrences began. They heard whispers calling their names, felt icy hands glancing their shoulders, and worse, in their peripheral vision, a ghostly black mist lurking, just beyond them.
Suddenly, the ground trembled. A low, droning chant rose from the depths of the earth. The friends realised they had indeed, awakened something. In a panic, they tried to flee, but the tree wouldn’t let them; its gnarled branches twisting and reaching for them, holding them in its grip.
“Three is the magic number!” they screamed. But it was too late. The shadows coalesced, surrounding them and one by one, they vanished into the darkness, their terrified screams swallowed by the night.
The next day, the villagers searched for the missing teens. They found nothing, but the tree standing silently, watching them with reproach.
From then on, they told the tale of the three friends who ventured too close, forever reminding each other that some magic is best left undisturbed.
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles:
13 Days of Samhain – Day 11
in dusk they meet
witches’ hats and black bats
swirling on the breeze
together weaving forth their spells
not enchantment… but calling hell
under the waning moon,
black bats and witches’ hats
dance a haunting tune
shadows twirling through the night
be-witching hour, taking flight
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles: 13 Days of Samhain – Day 10
On ghoulish night,
where shadows blend,
the wind weaves tricks,
and dark descends.
Wrapped in tales
of whispered dread.
Spinning spells,
the wicked tread.
In crypts of secrets,
memories lie.
A love once buried
begins to thrive.
From depths below,
it rises new.
A bond so fierce,
pulling through.
With every breath,
night calls our name,
A dance of restless,
wilding flame.
‘Though world may crumble,
and fear begins,
This haunting death
…comes from within.
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles: 13 Days of Samhain – Day 8
and also;
The Sunday Whirl: Wordle 678
In forgotten home
a ghost hunter roams.
Lantern aglow.
Unexpected echo.
Tales, told long ago.
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles:
Weekend Writing Prompt, #387 – unexpected (15 words)
and also;
13 Days of Samhain – Day 7
Sarah walked on; deep into the heart of the desolate bushland.
Here, the sun only filtered through the canopy in patches and she noted the air was eerily silent; absent of birdsong.
Sarah suddenly caught her foot. Stumbling; she tripped and fell upon an old, tattered duffle bag. The leather straps cracked and faded, as though it had been there a long time.
Interested hands reached out, unfastened the drawstring.
As soon as she did, the air turned cold, and a whisper brushed against her ear.
‘Release me…‘
Sarah froze.
Her heart pounding, she glanced around.
Warily, she realised she was all alone. Utterly alone.
But curiosity soon overtook her fear, and she continued opening the bag.
Sarah gasped.
Before her, lay a collection of bones; rattling softly as though come to life.
Gingerly, she began to piece the bones together, like a grim puzzle.
She felt them shift beneath her fingers, as if the dead were rising to reclaim their secrets.
The whispers grew louder, echoing her name; pulling her deeper into their spell.
Against her better judgement, she grabbed one of the bones and held it up to the light.
The moment she did, the shadows twisted around her, taking on form. Faces emerged; with mouths moving in silent screams.
Squealing, she dropped the bone, but it was too late. The bush was alive with tormented spirits.
Another whisper curled around her, chilling her to the core.
‘You really shouldn’t have looked.’
The world went dark and Sarah
realised she had become part of the cursed bag.
—
The next day, a group of hikers found the bag lying there.
Empty… but, for a single bone.
By Sarah ©2024
Sammi Scribbles:
13 Days of Samhain – Day 7
By Sarah 