Pumpkinhead
Lost on a long, lonely lane
as the last glimmers of sunset
were masked by sudden cold rain;
looking for signs, as I began to sweat.
They said they'd wait, don't be late--
they were already chased by their sin
to an old graveyard with a rusty gate;
a perfect hideout most wouldn't look in.
One faint light began to flare
as fire licked out its eyes,
from the porch it sat on, in night air
Oh! just a jack-o-lantern, "sigh."
I decided to ask for help; I was lost.
Soft knuckles on the door, and I heard chatter.
A little grandmotherly lady beckoned, but at what cost;
an old man tapping his shoes in tune to the wind's batter.
"Come in, come in," the woman implored.
I began to warm to the flicker of the embers;
The old man stood up, but all went black as an owl soared.
A creaky door opened, the man now a pumpkinhead, I remember.
Crying out he said, "You've killed those children,
now I'll kill you!!!"
"No...no, I'm only a lost girl, sorry I used the cauldron,
but, I was just trying it, then I shared, and to only a few."
His clawed hand ripped my flesh as into the quicksand he threw me.
I screamed as the last inch of flesh was immersed, and I smothered.
My last breath was a prayer, but only in eternity would I be free;
friends came later but only found my car, all else was covered.
They talked as they left with a team, and lights beamed.
"Why would she have come to an ancient graveyard?"
That's where the last drug deal call came from, it seemed.
To stop would have been better, and avoided this sentence too hard.
Written by Donna Diann--October 31, 2011
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