Ooooooo (Horror ooo)

Swollen heads and black eyes

Vacant and cruel

Wobbling toddlers without mercy

Probing waxy fingers


Expressionless narrow mouth set in grey

Bulbous head atop sympathetic frailty.

Limited imagination in our consciousness creates

Alien cliches.

How long have we been falling back on vampires for?

They’ve been “sexy”, they’ve been Gollum Nosferatu

Long in the tooth blood-sucker.

Please mate.

Frigging werewolves again

Prowling around in their tartan,

Classic mirror scene seeing the beast within

Oh the horror,

The imaginable, overdone horror.

Monsters who blend in,

Vacuous gases threaten,

Illness, bacteria, death embodied.

Fear is a creeping darkness

In context.

Little girls with discordant chimes and knives,

Standing over the safe place – the bed, the intrusion of it all,

The relative vulnerability of the sleeping figure and the loomer poised to take violent action.

The suspense of a hand on one’s shoulder, chilling.


Literally anything can be scary, if there’s enough of them, or very few –

Just the wrong amount.

Puppy – lovely.

Skip full of puppies – scary.

Fly – OK, mildly gross shit eater.

Drawer full of flies – disturbing.

Forest – normal, only potentially frightening

One singular tree growing through a house or out of someone’s face – well, you get the idea.

An idea can make anything uncanny, I’m looking at jars now, The jars on my brother’s shelf – they’re filled with seeds, and grains and things.

But imagine if they were filled with souls, or eyeballs, or whole worlds and the power to shake the world consumed someone and drove them to a frightening place where they became the voyeur of the jar people,

a little god, and they did experiments and felt the guilt but carried on, and took it out on the innocent jar people and crushed them.

Then that’d be scary-

Or it could be scary, with the right filming and the right acting,

(Grimace in the right place,

Play up that moral struggle and settle on what no one wants you to do)

the right lights and unnerving music.

I wrote this before bed, how silly of me. Typical.

Sickening behaviour by the protagonist once again.

Little page people

Writing happy nightmares

Is a pleasure

Twisting my tongue and fingers through the ink

Spill liquid on the paper and watch it run

Let it get strong calves

And a tank

That can go for hours.

Build towers that never were

And jump from them, see what it’s like

Or hide in the shadow

And live there for a bit.

Sit in the paper,

Write fulfilment,

What you’d imagine it to be like.

Spike thorns through your characters then take them out,

Scribble it out when you regret it

But keep a copy in case you change your mind.

Take a picture of the corpse and make it hard to find.

Let them find the killer,

And when they know it’s you

Take your pen blade, hold them up

And cut them into two.


Snarling strong,

Gritted teeth,

Body pulses with fear and bewilderment

As she prepares to cut you


Down from this angle, you can’t see her,

She’ll leap out in the night and cut you


Ground falls away, you fall into weakness

She seizes her chance, she cuts you


Tender pups

Smacking lips,

Tiny throats,

They swallow you


Silky crimson offal,

Mixed with mother’s milk,

Look who’s finally helpful.

You don’t get to



From this.