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The Witch In My Closet



Short Story 2



Self Immolation



Short Story 3



Seven Days



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Moon and Tide



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Kitcheny, It Has Come, Jacob's Revenge



Short Story 6



The Eyes Have It



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The Pull



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Oh Madeline



Dark Poetry



Poetry #1



Dark Poetry



Poetry #2



Dark Poetry



Poetry #3



Dark Poetry



Night of the Bat

By Sandro D. Fossemò



Translated by Luca Palantrani



A chiropter flutters round a lamppost...

which has gone out under distant stars

of this mountain village.

Those wings rotate magically,

which seem connected to a macabre ritual.

The night canines suck the poison,

which flows in the alien blood of regular humans.


The universe embraces the beat of my heart,

in these darks where there is no love.

The lamp lightens as the day past

and brightens the antiquity of a path,

that reaches a field isolated and dark.

There fireflies gleam with authencity...

as the divine spark

that burns now inside me with intensity.


Fly away, bat. Fly far away!

Spread your wings in the depth of the night,

where there is no empty daylight.



The Tomb

By Sandro D. Fossemò



Translated by Luca Palantrani



A skeletal hand holds a lantern,

to spread a glimmer into tombstones at night,

in that graveyard blacker than death.

I am tired of walking in the cold night light.


The rain bears a secret rhythm in the tinkle,

that resonates on the street through a pleasant melancholy.

No glow jnside those spectres...

They wander in a darkness never seen before,

where the soul shines no more.

We are locked in the cage by the eternal sleep.

Most saddening is nobody feels any anger.


If I lived with people plenty kind-hearted,

then I could shun so much pain.

If I broke a wall,

then I could let holding on.

If I had a candle to perceive the smile of an angel,

then in this crypt I could escape the frost.


When a candle lights a grave,

in the wind my shadow dissolves.

The flame purifies the funeral air

and inside me burns,

in that magical warmth that time melts.



The Votive Candle

By Sandro D. Fossemò



Translated by Luca Palantrani



When the snow has painted a cemetery,

I see a marvelous mantle,

upon some mysterious sculptures.

The snowy white renders tombs prettier and blacker.


A few ghosts flow on the walls,

as if they were trapped by a gloomy screen.

Like a movie tape a thick darkness wraps me.

The moon seems a lamp hanging in the void.

In the unknown is hidden an evil director.

When I wander through the crosses,

in the dark I seek a speck of light from a votive candle...

but I meet a star by crystalline glow.


The living flame burns by my heart

and fills it with sparks of love,

that never vanish.

My soul flees on the wings of the angel,

to return to the starry vault.

Free I am of a damned illusion.



Bidee-Bodee, Bidee-Beaux

By Thomas Fischer



Last night I took a trip

Way down below

I heard the people sayin’

Bidee Bodee, Bidee Beaux

Everybody dancing

In the pale moons glow

As everybody chanted

Bidee Bodee, Bidee Beaux


Lost my love Belinda

Half a month ago

Nothing else to do

Nowhere else to go

I stopped at the speakeasy

Down on Fifth Row

Came in through the backway

So no one else would know


Got myself a sazerac

Next a Mojito

And the madman on piano

Was bangin’ up a show

That's when this fella came to me

Creeping up real slow

Lighting up a J&R

Dressed in black head to toe


I told that man about my Bel

If he could help me, make it so

So he pulled me in and whispered

Biddee Bodee, Biddee Beaux

My body started shaking

My mind began to go

The man was grinning mad

And his eyes began to glow


Next I know we’re walking

Where the willows grow

Headstones lay at every angle

Scattered to and fro

He makes his way to Bel

Begins to whisper low

All the time the willows sing

Bidee Bodee, Bidee Beaux


I see the dirt a stirrin’

I hear the whispers slow

The man stands up and says

“Its time to start the show”

The graves start to open

The wind starts to blow

Soon enough the dead have risen

People that I know


I see my Uncle Carl

I see my old friend, Joe

My favorite little flatmate

Miss Margaret Anne Moe

And then I see Belinda

And I try to say hello

But the only thing that comes out, is

Bidee Bodee, Bidee Beaux


We have a good laugh

Because we both know

Words aren't needed

When true love is shown

I hold her hand tightly

WIsh to never let go

And we all danced together again

And sung Bidee Bodee, Bidee Beaux



Lake Laramie

By Thomas Fischer



One evening in fall

When the night did call

I went out forth to see

If its waters were still

To hear the nightjars trill

Around the shores of Lake Laramie


Its waters bared mist

Across its abyss

Frost hung high from trees

Had I gone there to die

I couldn't answer why

On the shores of Lake Laramie

I saw the bones

I heard the groans

Of those who'd come before me

But I chose not to listen

As the nights frost did glisten

On the trees of dear Lake Laramie


I sat there

Upon its stairs

Looking out to see

If my summer and prime

Were still to be mine

At the cold shores of Lake Laramie


I spied not one

Not a single day of fun

In its cold, lifeless sea

So I continue to stay

At the end of my days

On the banks of Lake Laramie