A TALE FOR HALLOWE'EN

Whether you believe it's true,
or you believe it isn't,
you're probably right...


I

Late August,
half past midnight.
A dense luminous fog
oozes from beneath
cemetery mausoleum doors
to roll slowly across the road
and into her garden,
gradually engulfing it
in opaque grey-green nothingness
that creeps ominously
up the house wall
and onto her balcony.

She wakes abruptly
from a nightmarish dream
to see him standing motionless,
so close to the locked doors
that his breath forms
a circle of mist on the glass.
His powerful, penetrating stare
paralyses her - she's
unable to move a muscle,
in spite of being acutely aware
of something probing the depths
of her consciousness.
A scream dies in her throat,
and she's compelled
to open the doors...



II

The night time has become
a million voices calling her.
One, far more bewitching
than the rest, sings a strange
hypnotic lullaby
that promises eternity;
drawing her ever closer
to his world.
The fog comes nightly now.
No matter how cold the air outside,
she makes sure her doors
remain ajar; for his
excruciating kisses
are tinged with an ecstasy
she has never known before.
She craves him
with an all-embracing hunger
that blinds her to the darkness
insidiously taking root
in the core of her Soul.



III

It's the debilitating weakness
that finally confines her to bed.
'Pernicious anaemia,' they diagnose.
'Complete bed-rest and iron pills,
combined with plenty of fresh air - so
keep the windows open at all times,
especially at night,' is their remedy.
(Although I'd have suggested
sealing them with fresh garlic
and crucifixes!
But this is century twenty-one
and no one believes
in folklore anymore.)

Why does no one listen
when she tells them
daylight burns?
Still they insist on opening
the curtains every morning,
in spite of these angry red welts
they can clearly see
appearing on the exposed flesh
of her arms and legs.
Their misguided response
is an accusation of  'self-harming'
and a demand for psychiatric assessment.

Her skeletal appearance
and zombie-like state,
combined with vomiting
when they force her to eat
convinces him that she's
'Classic text book case:
Eating disorder, most likely bulimia.'
Surely such a learned man as he
should realise she has no choice?
Solid food is no longer an option.



IV 

She passed away two months ago
and now lies buried
in the cemetery across the road.
Her devoted boyfriend visits daily.
He's here again this evening.
As the Sun sets, he whispers,
'I have to go now, my love,
but I'll come again tomorrow.'
And he lovingly places a bouquet
of white roses on her grave.
Suddenly, he's grabbed from behind
and a split second before long fangs
pierce his jugular
he glimpses two deep puncture wounds
in her lily white neck.

Cause of death:
'Unexplained heart failure - probably
brought on by grief.'
And his neck wounds?
'Accidental contact with rose thorns
as he fell.'

And to think we live
in such an enlightened age...