I awoke face down on a dusty stone floor,
The air was foul with the smell of old death,
In a windowless room with just one door,
It was so cold; I could see my own breath.
From across the room I could clearly see,
A table, with candle flickering bright,
Atop that table was a note for me,
I wondered from whom, and what did they write?
On the table with the letter I found
An ornate knife amongst painted rune stones,
When I touched it, from beyond I heard sound
Like many anxious irritated moans.
I then examined the curious knife,
With haunting visions running through my head,
And the letter read, “Best run for your life
For outside rising, are the hungry dead.”
And such as it is in a dream, I ran!
From out of that room through graveyard pitch-black!
Through thorn and bramble confused with no plan,
I was like a ship sail taken aback!
I screamed with torment, thorns ripped at my clothes!
Behind me a throng of undead gave chase!
The rot of flesh hung pungent in my nose,
Why was I here in this horrible place!
From a hissing mist, tentacles did rise!
Bile rose from my gut causing me to choke!
In the gnarled trees I saw glowing red eyes!
My alarm clock screamed; from nightmare I woke.
Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016