Of the long dead, who lived therein,
Paused by the cold hearth I felt the tendrils of hot sin,
Call of the bed, lover’s sigh made my head spin,
Head all aswirl, my mind lit in colors ablaze,
Will I survive this Christmas witch’s love haze?
Will I survive this Christmas witch’s love haze?
–CHRISTMAS WITCH
I call…I call…I call to you,
I call…I call…I call to you,
I call to you,
Lover hear…lover hear…lover hear my pleas!
Lover hear…lover hear…lover hear my pleas!
Lover come….lover come…lover come warm me in the snow,
Lover come….lover come…lover come warm me in the snow.
–SNOW ANGEL
“Not long after she had gone, a biting wind came up, and close upon it a fierce storm. Father had already repented his hasty action, and sent some of the men to look for the girl. They didn’t find her, but in the morning she was found frozen to death on the long slope of the hill to the west.”
–August Derleth (THE DRIFTING SNOW)
‘“None have understood it, not even those who experience the like. It is a chillness, a want of earnestness, a feeling as if what should be my heart were a thing of vapor, a haunting perception of unreality! Thus seeming to possess all that other men have, all that men aim at, I have really possessed nothing, neither joy nor griefs. All things, all persons,—as was truly said to me at this table long and long ago,—have been like shadows flickering on the wall. It was so with my wife and children, with those who seemed my friends: it is so with yourselves, whom I see now before one. Neither have I myself any real existence, but am a shadow like the rest.’
–Nathaniel Hawthorne (The Christmas Banquet)
It was his last moment of fear. When he had recovered his breath and his control, he sat and thought about meeting death with dignity.-Jack London
“The Thing” terrifying origin story now on RUMBLE and YOUTUBE!!!!!! Welcome…to Dweller of the Dark! We are a channel honoring the yellowed, and blackened bones of many prominent authors. We will be digging up several obscure, strange, and forgotten authors who influenced many of the great horror, science fiction, and fantasy writer’s today. Comment below […]
On a freezing night, with no shoes on her feet, the little match girl has a ghostly story to tell. Hopefully she won’t judge us all too monstrous…from the grave.–JL
As I wait to freeze, I don’t remember much these days as I’m old. But I do remember the bite of that ice storm in 1866.
And, the blood. How I remember the blood.
Jeffrey LeBlanc 