The monsters did alert you
with clicks and chirps
of dead bones between autumn leaves,
glinting through the fire foliage,
dangling by bits of woven hair,
threaded, plucked, and scalped
from all unlucky trespassers.
This haunted melody on entry
crescendos their territory,
from the forest demons who own these woods.
Even the shadows, bugs, and clouds dare
not linger long between beam and bark.
The eves themselves are always quaking,
with or without the wind.
You can hear it,
the ghoulish warning floating, playing,
a calcium requiem between breezes.
Tickling these old, chewed femurs,
ribs, wrists, finger joints,
fresh with fang marks and saliva stained.
The nightmares did not want to part with them.
This unfinished meal on display
is an abomination beacon
for all who dare to enter.
The woodland demons love their full bellies
of jellied meat, but not
the look of a traveler’s surprise
when they pounce and render.
After all,
they’re loud enough.
Didn’t they hear
the warning?
About the Author
Patrick W. Marsh is a writer from Minneapolis, Minnesota. His work has appeared in Star*Line, Carmina, Horrific Scribblings, Suburban Witchcraft, Skyway Journal, Zoetic Press, and others. He is the author of the Greenland Diaries series, a screenwriter for the 48 Hour Film Project, and co-creator of the Hidden Oaks Podcast. Though he often writes about haunted forests, fleshy warehouses, and possessed hallways, Patrick is a relatively nice guy. He has a dog, a wife, kids, and a particular brand of paper towel he likes to use.
