All posts tagged: horror

Muse of the Day

In life, night rises from the ground. The day hangs on for as long as it can, bright and eager, absolutely and positively the last guest to leave the party, while the ground darkens, oozing night around your ankles, swallowing for ever that dropped contact lens, making you miss that low catch in the gully on the last ball of the last over. Hugh Laurie, The Gun Seller

Muse of the Day

It was a quietness that left the dammed singing.The dead can’t sing, it’s just a deception.Through a breeze, they murmur their tune.Is the breeze in the cemetery truly dead individuals singing?Chilly, blusterous shouts of shallow woes, it’s indeed them singing. Dead Can Sing Poem by D.L. Lewis

Muse of the Day

But I wasn’t mad or happy. And as I lay in bed trying to read, I realized that upset had been overshadowed by uneasy. I felt as though someone was watching me. I got so spooked I even got up to check out the window and in the closet and under the bed, but the feeling still didn’t go away.  It took me nearly until midnight to understand what it was.  It was me. Watching me. Wendelin Van Draanen, Flipped

Muse of the Day

This the year we are houses, lights on in every window, doors that won’t quite shut. When one of us speaks we both feel the words moving on our tongues. When one of us eats we both feel the food slipping down our gullets. It would have surprised neither of us to have found, slit open, that we shared organs, that one’s lungs breathed for the both, that a single heart beat a doubling, feverish pulse. Daisy Johnson, Sisters

Muse of the Day

Certainly, the terror of a deserted house swells in geometrical rather than arithmetical progression as houses multiply to form a city of stark desolation. The sight of such endless avenues of fishy-eyed vacancy and death, and the thought of such linked infinities of black, brooding compartments given over to cob-webs and memories and the conqueror worm, start up vestigial fears and aversions that not even the stoutest philosophy can disperse. H.P. Lovecraft, The Shadow over Innsmouth