Carry On

I never wanted you to feel
such pain within your heart;
please trust my love for you is real
even while we’re apart.
I had to leave, but you must know
I hated that I had to go,
and pray that you can start
to find the strength to help you heal.

In all our lives, you’ve never known,
the loneliness and fear
that comes from thinking you’re alone
and no one else is near
We started out the best of friends,
I truly thought we’d see the end
while hand in hand, my dear;
Alas, sweetheart, that dream’s undone.

Still children when we came to be,
and not yet out of school;
you were the princess of my dreams,
and I your comic fool.
Our friends and families told us how
we were too young for life-long vows—
exceptions to the rules,
after we grew, you married me.

In time, we made our dreams come true
and watched our family grow.
Our children, and grandchildren too,
through them our love still flows.
Now even though my time has come,
your earthly work is not yet done;
so live, my love, and know
from heaven, I’ll be watching you.

© 2020 Dusty Grein

Note: This is a neoclassic form, known as a gemstone. It is very strict on its 32 line usage of rhyme and meter, and though it can be challenging to craft, it is also quite satisfying when it comes together.

#poetry #neoclassic #gemstone
#dustygrein

The Scratching in the Walls
-----------------------------------
“There! Surely you heard it THAT time?”

(Don’t you dare look at me like that! I know condescension when I see it. After all, I used to be the Chief Psychologist on duty here.)

“I am NOT deluded!”

(The asshole thinks she knows everything.)

“Yes, I remember those days. Back when I thought, like you, that all of the residents here were ‘poor deluded souls’ but don’t you see? I was wrong! How could I have been so wrong?”

(All your degrees and papers and labels . . . they don't mean ANYTHING, you fool!)

“What do I think? I think maybe it was finding that cursed diary hidden in Bailey’s room that led to everything, and brought me to HIS attention.”

(HE will find you too, Doctor Smartypants.)

“What do you mean, ‘Who is HE?’ You know. I know you do! You work for HIM now, don’t you?!”

(Okay, fine. Keep pretending that it is all in my head. We both know that delusions can’t actually scratch on the walls. I am worried though—)

“THERE! See? It IS real!”

(Did HE say my name?)
"Shhh! HE’s talking now. Can't you hear HIM?"

(It’s so clear.)

“Liar! I know you can hear that!”

(What?)

“Shut up, damn you! HE wants to tell me something!”

(I can?)

“It is NOT my imagination!”

(Why, yes, I see it! The doctor DOES have a gold ink pen . . . with such a lovely sharp tip.)

Uh . . . Doctor, I think you might be right.

(Look at that smile. She is VERY predictable, always ready to humor the lunatic.)

Wait! Come look through this small hole in the wall . . . I can prove to you that HE exists!

(Ahhh!)

You have made me feel so much better, Doctor.

(Thank YOU, as well . . . I never knew blood was so dark, tasted so sweet, or that there was so much of it inside one person.)

[©2020 - Dusty Grein]


#horror #shortfiction #dustygrein

A Number of Weeks Later...

We used to joke about the living dead,
how we might survive a zombie apocalypse,
or learn to love brains, ha ha ha...

No one’s laughing any more;
humor is rare when survival is uncertain
and the food is almost gone.

I hide when I can, and run when I must.
I’ve managed to avoid them so far,
but the smells—they follow me wherever I go.

Rotting meat, mixed with decaying blood,
plus all the guts, puke, piss and shit—
no one realized it would smell this bad.

I hear them out there, and I’m sure
somehow, they know I’m in here.
I wonder if it still hurts, afterward...

© 2020 - dustygrein

#poetry #freestyle
#pomesbydusty

The Puppeteer - Chapter 2 (Part 1/5)

The old man shuffles to the front door, and turns the yellowing sign from OPEN to CLOSED. He throws the dead bolt, and with the slow care of the arthritic, he pulls the iron gate across the window. Turning, he flips the light switch down, and the interior of the small clock shop becomes shadows. As he walks back past the sales counter his steps are precise and his right foot scuffs a bit with each small forward motion.

He presses the NO SALE key on the antique cash register, and when the drawer pops open, he gently lifts the tray and places the few twenties that have been stored under it into the divider on the left. He leaves the drawer open slightly.

Making his methodical way to a small curtained alcove in the rear, he opens a door leading downward, toward a brightly lit basement.

The clocks begin their hourly progression of chimes and more than a few cuckoos. Along the walls and display shelves, numerous small hand-carved birds spring forward from their homes above clock faces, and then retreat safely back into the dark. Six times their small feat is repeated, and then the last of the chiming fades, casting the shop into a quiet that is matched by darkness, as the old man closes the alcove curtain. The distinctive sound of a deadbolt being thrown echoes through the deserted storefront.

In the stairwell beyond the locked door, the shadow cast by the man on the stairs stretches, changing shape. It’s outline becomes taller, and more well defined. As it progresses down the stairs, it transforms from the shadow of an old man to one of a strong, and very crafty, young man.

It is time for the Clock-Maker to sleep... the Puppeteer has awakened.

<end Chapter 2 (Part 1/5) >

#thepuppeteerbydustygrein

The Puppeteer - Chapter 1 (Part 7/7)

“Plack! Did you see where this package came from?”

The other detective didn’t even look up. “I have no idea. It was here when I came in.”

“When was that!?”

“About 3. Why?”

Stegner had been called to the crime scene at 2:30, so it had to have been delivered right after he left.

<Christ! This is bad.>

Ignoring Plack’s question, he grabbed his phone. Jenkins answered on the third ring.

“Paul, I know you are busy with the family, but I think you might want to come to the pit.” The origin of the nickname used by detectives for the 2nd floor was lost in the history of the department.

“Jesus, Howie, I just got dinner. What’s going on?”

“Our boy left me a present while I was gone, and a calling card.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am sitting here staring at a shadow box, or a diorama, maybe. Paul, it’s the Paradise. The entire staged crime scene, in miniature. Very detailed miniature. Right down to the roses on the floorboards. Our boy just took this to a whole new level.”

“Oh shit! Okay, I’m on my way.”

Stegner reached into his desk and grabbed a fresh pair of latex gloves. Once he had them on, he gently picked up the wrapping paper from the floor where it had fallen, and set it on the desk, next to the miniature scene.

The diorama was in a sealed box, about 14 inches wide, 12 inches deep and about 18 inches high. The base appeared to be made of some kind of hardwood - it was stained deep mahogany and covered in a gloss finish. The top and sides were clear. Stegner was willing to bet that it wasn’t glass. Glass would have been much heavier. His bet was on Lucite or Plexglass, but the boys in the lab would figure it out.

Inside, the stage of the Paradise had been recreated in miniature, complete with red velvet curtains and small spotlights with colored lens covers, mounted on a little catwalk. On the stage were four posable wooden marionettes. These were about four inches in height and were dressed in costumes that were identical to those the victims had been dressed in. They had strings that ran up to small cross-bars, exactly like those at the crime scene.

He carefully picked up the box, and noticed that everything was frozen in place. The stage curtains didn’t move at all, even though they appeared to be made from crushed velvet. This was an amazingly beautiful miniature, or it would be if it not for the fact that there was a duplicate crime scene, with actual human girls. This perp was meticulous, and he had obviously spent a lot of time planning and creating this.

Stegner considered calling the captain tonight. M.J. Fisher was a good cop and a great boss, but it was just after dinnertime, and Stegner knew that the captain had his daughter and grandkids living with him. On the other hand, Stegner would probably get his ass chewed if he didn’t at least give M.J. a heads-up.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number. As he waited for an answer, he reached into his top desk drawer for a fresh roll of antacids.

<end Chapter 1 (Part 7/7) >

#thepuppeteerbydustygrein