Collection of Poems and Short Stories

The Witching Hour

The ravens signal the approach of witching hour with their beating wings and shrieks. Doors slam and lock as the townspeople hide within their fortified homes. Lanterns quickly extinguish, the glowing warmth disappearing in an instant. Mothers whisper comforting words as they usher their children into the cellar while the Fathers draw the curtains before they too join their family in cellar.

The darkness is dangerous. Where the terrors of folk tales and ghost stories awaken from their slumber to roam the earth. It's not a time for humans to breathe the night air or gaze at the moon, but a time of fear and dead silence.

Hiding from the creatures that feed off their fear as a raven stand vigil over the town, waiting for the beasts to awaken.

Once the sun is chased from the sky the Church Grim is the first to appear. The unusually large black dog patrols the graveyard where her loved one rests peacefully. In her mouth she carries an old lantern with a dim amber glow, illuminating her path and watchful red eyes.

As she guards the graveyard a raven with similar red eyes lands on a worn tombstone. The name engraved on the stone is no longer legible as time has weathered it away.

The Church Grim dips it's head in greeting, placing her lantern in the grass in front of her. "Good night." The dogs voice is soft compared to the ravens almost shrill response.

"Good night to you too, my friend." The raven pauses, glancing at the moon climbing the hills in the distance for a moment. "Will you be joining us for the new moon, Bella?"

Bella nods, her glowing red eyes brightening at the thought of the new moon. "I will, Muninn."

The raven gives a happy call as he flaps his midnight wings. "I am glad. Now I must be going, I have to remind the others of the special occasion.

Bella barks a goodbye as Muninn takes off toward the forest, the moon now resting on top the hills behind him.

The forest is as ancient as the witching hour itself. Centuries of war, drought and starvation, natural disasters, and yet they still stood strong. Muninn found this to be awe-inspiring.

As he soars over the fields below he spots a familiar carriage. He shrieks their name, diving down to meet them.

The carriage's driver, a Dullahan, gently pulls the reins, slowing to a stop as the raven softly flutters down. A delicate gloved hand extends out, inviting Muninn to perch on her fingers.

"My friend, it has been too long," she says, the black wisps seeping from her head-barren neck quivering in delight. In her lap, her head is smiling; dark green eyes staring up at him with a hint of mischief against her porcelain skin.

Muninn clicks his beak in agreement, "It has, Celty. Are you heading into town?" He asks, tilting his head toward the basin of crimson blood at her feet.

Celty's grin spreads inhumanly wide, stretching to both sides of her head. If he were human the sight of it would be considered terrifying. "Indeed, there are some rather unsavory mortals I have been meaning to visit."

The red eyed raven chortles, "Well I mustn't keep them waiting then. Do remember to bring food for the meeting, Celty. We wouldn't want anyone causing a raid on such a special occasion now would we?"

The Dullahan hums, the mischievous glint in her eyes still present. "I have a few ideas in mind," she says just as Muninn takes off with a few beats of his wings.

As he continues on his way to the forest he hears the sickening crack of the Dullahan's whip as it strikes against the night air.

When he reaches the edge of the ancient woods he swoops down, diving through the dense patches of branches and leaves. His red orbs dart around the passing undergrowth, searching for the next of the night terrors.

He finally finds who he is looking for under a large Hawthorn, the oldest and by far the most powerful in the whole forest. Beneath the elder wood is it's keeper, a Kernun by the name of Lichen.

"Ah, Muninn," he greets as the raven perches on his bony knee, his voice having long grown hoarse with age. "How are you fairing, young messenger?"

"I am doing well, and you?"

"The forest has been the healthiest I've seen it in decades, I couldn't be happier." Lichen shifts, the fungus growing from his decaying-like limbs shaking with the movement. Lifting his long, brittle arm he strokes the Hawthorn tenderly, his claws barely scratching the surface of the bark.

"That is great news," Muninn caws as the Kernun turns back to face him.

"It is," he hums, nodding his sun bleached skull that is that of a deer; the Spanish moss hanging loosely from his antlers swaying. "Now since you're here I assume you have a message for me?"

"Yes, I came to remind you that tonight's the new moon and that we are all to meet at the bog before midnight."

"Is it really new moon already?" Lichen murmurs, tilting his head slightly. "I'll be sure to head out soon then. Thank you for giving my centuries old brain a reminder."

Muninn cries out a goodbye as he flies off in the direction of the bog, the pale sphere of the moon having risen already a quarter of the way.

Muninn is already half way to the bog when he spots a faint blue glow below him. Diving down to investigate the raven is surprised to find a trail of will-o-wisps calling to him.

"Are you here to guide me?" He asks the flickering blue flames.

The flames bounce as if to say 'yes'.

Muninn chuckles. "Well lead on then, little spirits."

The will-o-wisps distorted hums echo through the forest as the raven follows the flickering lights to his destination.

When he reaches the bog the wisps glide over to a crevice among the trees. Muninn isn't surprised when the sound of chains greets them.

"I see you are the first to arrive, Lars."

A grumble resonates from within the crevice as a large, pitch black canine wrapped in rusting chains emerges. "Seeing as though I live here it shouldn't be that much of a surprise."

"I was only joking, my friend," Muninn sighs, watching the Kludde stalk into the dim moonlight.

Lars huffs as he lies down in a patch of swamp grass.

Suddenly there is rustling from behind. Lars raises his head at the sound while Muninn spins around to see Bella emerge from the undergrowth, a Wraith floating at her heels.

Muninn hops over, "Bella. Igni. I'm glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Bella says.

Igni, the Wraith, bows it's head in greeting, the tattered veil covering it's face swaying along with the action. A ghastly pale glow encompasses it's body, including the ancient sword sheathed on it's back as it floats a few inches above the ground.

The next of the guests to arrive is Lichen and the Hellhound going by the name of Jay.

"Finally I have a reason to visit the above world. The boss is giving me literal hell for the amount of souls coming in recently. What the heck is going on with these mortals?" Jay complains.

"Perhaps you should ask Celty when she arrives," Muninn suggests.

Jay furrows his brow in thought, "I'll be sure to do that."

Muninn nods and goes to greet the other creature that have since turned up.

As the moon continues to creep higher into the sky the bog fills with chatter. The twisted branches of the willow and cypress' bear the weight of countless Nymphs, Harpies and Strigoi. Their trunks being constricted by a Naga's strength.

A Griffin and Shrieker lay side by side on the edge of the clearing, sharing stories of moons ago as a Succubus with ram horns and lightly tanned skin embellished with intricate patterns sings songs long forgotten by the mortals.

A Siren soon joins in, their enchanting voices flowing together into a carefully spun melody.

Music fills the air as the celebration commences, food and drink offered to each of the guests as the moon reaches the highest point, signaling the witching hour.