Grave Images, Vol. I Read online



  Grave Images, Vol. I

  Annette Martinez

  ©Copyright 2014 Annette Martinez

  ISBN #: 978-0-9826525-4-1

  Written by Annette Martinez

  ©Copyright 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Annette and Joseph Martinez.

  Edited by Laurie Duersch at Twosome Solutions

  https://twosomesolutions.com

  Page Layout and Cover Design by Design Type Service

  www.designtypeservice.com

  Books By

  ANNETTE MARTINEZ

  https://www.amazon.com/author/thatwhichfollows

  Reviews

  By Birdie Tracy

  I enjoyed reading this collection of (decidedly dark) poems. Humorous enough to get a few chuckles from adults and creepy enough to keep children’s attention from straying.

  They are probably best for kids who are older than 8 or 9 as they might be a tad too scary for little ones.

  It would be a fun activity to read a couple selections aloud and then let your kids illustrate them.

  By Greg Strandberg

  This book has really quick short stories. This would have been an invaluable book to me when I was teaching English in China, and I know a lot of my younger students would have enjoyed it. I think a lot of other people will too!

  In this Collection of ghost tales there is a variety of tales for all ages.

  That often take on more than one meaning—some to spiritually enlighten and others to amuse or frighten. Also available, Annette’s new series Can Such Things Happen? Vol. I, Short Stories of the Paranormal.

  The Sleep Hag

  Grandma

  The Face in the Wall

  Ghost Hunter

  The Haunting of Emily

  Monkey on my Back

  The Bridge

  Creature of the Night

  Skeletons in the Closet

  Shadow People

  Troll

  Night Creeps

  Grave Images

  Mummified

  Phantom Dog

  Old Man McNasty

  Monster

  Yours or Mine

  Dream Catcher

  He and She

  The Hook

  Ghostly Gatherings

  One in the Same

  The Grays

  Magic the Magician

  From Out of the Mirror

  The Wild Goatman

  Unknown Footsteps

  Sherman the Determined

  The Tree Witch

  Not so very long ago

  On one stormy night,

  A twisted looking figure

  Came within sight.

  The loud claps of thunder,

  As if to wake me on cue,

  Seemed to destroy the safe place

  I thought I once knew.

  A shuffling of feet,

  Methodical and slow—

  I tried to get away,

  But it had some kind of hold.

  What had I been looking at?

  Did my eyes deceive?

  Something my mind just

  Couldn’t conceive?

  This horrific old crone,

  I call the sleep hag,

  Sat on my chest

  As she pulled and grabbed.

  She seems to surface

  When I’m feeling weak,

  Or in that twilight

  Kind of sleep.

  Shouting obscenities

  In my ear,

  And gaining more strength

  Because of my fear!

  Patches of hair

  Missing from her scalp,

  And no matter how I tried,

  I couldn’t call for help.

  It was like a dead carcass

  Draped over me.

  I was sickened and appalled

  At what I could see!

  It seemed to last forever,

  Until I prayed like never before.

  The dead weight then lifted,

  And was soon out the door.

  I had fought my way out of this,

  But never on my own.

  When I called upon the Lord,

  I was no longer alone.

  Lisa was one of many grandchildren

  Who played nasty tricks,

  And disrespecting Grandma

  Was what put her in a fix.

  Grandma, much too clever

  To put up with such things,

  Thought of a strong dose of discipline

  And the peace that it would bring.

  “Stay out of the basement,”

  Grandma began to say,

  “It’s never been a safe place

  For children to play.

  And please don’t look under the

  Basement stairs,

  For there’s unspeakable evil that

  Lurks in there!

  And never, ever,

  bring a friend,

  Because no one has ever

  Been seen again.

  I was warned about this

  And now I’ve warned you,

  So be very careful

  Of what you decide to do.”

  Lisa, always doing the opposite

  Of what she’s told,

  Mocked and imitated Grandma,

  Then showed off by acting bold.

  So there went Lisa,

  Along with a friend,

  Down the creepy staircase

  As they slowly descend.

  With the light switch not working,

  They had flashlights in hand.

  Then from the sound of heavy breathing,

  They turned and ran.

  But they weren’t quick enough—

  They were pulled under the stairs,

  Trapped by something unseen

  And caught in its snare!

  It was Grandma

  Who baited and set the trap;

  She knew curiosity

  Would kill the cat.

  But what was this unspeakable evil

  That was kept out of sight?

  Some say it was Grandma

  And her huge appetite!

  There’s something in the wall

  That screams and shouts;

  A face emerges as it

  Fights to get out!

  Its black, hollow eyes,

  Like bottomless pits—

  As it pushes its way

  Through the solid red bricks.

  Many thick lines

  Imbedded in the skin,

  A frightening look

  At what lies within.

  An expression of malevolence

  In its maniacal smile,

  Its deep tone whispers,

  Disgusting and vial.

  An ongoing battle

  To keep it at bay,

  It will say anything

  To get its own way.

  It almost got loose once,

  Now caught and confined,

  Yet still it messes with 

  My mind.

  Its voice often asks

  To help it escape, 

  Not to keep it walled up

  In such a dark place.

  I thought I buried it

  Long ago,

  Still it comes through

  And won’t let go.

  It wasn’t buried

  Deep enough,

  And now, its mouth

  It will not shut.

  Doctors’ theories

  And their medications,

  Believing it comes

  From hallucin
ations,

  Some speculate whether

  It’s possession or psychosis,

  Leaving me helpless

  With no diagnosis.

  Unable to analyze

  What some can’t see,

  While the face in the wall

  Still calls out to me.

  “I’m coming for you,”

  Is what it said,

  “I’m tired of living

  Among the dead.

  You called me up

  And called me out,

  But you really provoked me

  When you started to shout.

  You wanted an answer

  And you wanted a name,

  Now you’re dealing with something

  You can’t explain!

  You thought I was harmless

  And wanted to play,

  And now you want me

  To go away.

  Thought you had the ability

  To make me come and go,

  When all along it was

  Me in control!

  Now every time you turn around,

  It seems I’m all you see.

  This is the end result

  When you tried to challenge me.

  Silly little ghost hunters,

  If you only knew

  That it was I all along

  Who was always hunting you!”

  Once locked inside the attic

  Emily waited to be free.

  Now she stands at the window

  In hopes one will see,

  That she had gone missing

  Not so long ago.

  Why hadn’t they come looking?

  Didn’t they want to know?

  Who had been responsible

  For all the hurt and pain?

  This person Emily trusted

  Had been the one to blame.

  Her stepmom was the culprit

  Who had wanted Emily gone,

  Alienating her from the family,

  As if she hadn’t belonged.

  She lied to Emily’s father,

  Saying that Emily had run away,

  And that the two of them had argued

  And she couldn’t make Emily stay.

  But Emily had been lured into the attic

  Where she was gagged and tied with rope.

  Now fearing the very worse,

  She began to give up hope.

  Her father reported her missing

  While he worried over his daughter,

  Unaware that she had been led away

  Like a lamb to the slaughter.

  She was given no water

  Or even food to eat.

  She grew weaker and weaker

  Till she died in her sleep.

  The stepmom disposed of the body

  While no one was around,

  Thinking no one would suspect

  With no evidence to be found.

  However, the noises began

  That only the stepmom could hear;

  The haunting of Emily

  Now causing great fear.

  In the attic window,

  The stepmom started to see

  The shadow of a girl

  Resembling Emily.

  Then she felt a pull

  By some invisible force,

  And it was only out of fear

  That she had felt some remorse.

  “It’s time,” a voice said,

  “To set us both free.

  I’ve been waiting in the attic

  For you to join me.”

  And that’s where the stepmom was found,

  Tied to the same bed,

  Screaming that Emily

  Had returned from the dead.

  Yet how she got tied up

  Was the question that remained—

  And the haunting of Emily

  That had driven her insane!

  There’s a monkey on my back

  That will not go away,

  Though I suppose it’s my fault

  Because I feed it every day.

  It sits upon my shoulder,

  But mostly on my back.

  And every now and then

  It likes to attack.

  It won’t let anything

  Come between me and it,

  And if anything does,

  It will surely throw a fit.

  I try to rid myself of monkey,

  But it gets me every time.

  And since I lack the willpower,

  I have no peace of mind.

  But one day I got angry,

  And said, “Enough is enough!”

  I started to get stronger;

  I had to get tough!

  I stopped feeding monkey

  And it tried to break my will,

  But the more I resisted,

  The less weight I could feel.

  Getting back my courage

  And overcoming my fear,

  Left monkey very weak

  As he slowly disappeared.

  A monkey on my back

  Once had a hold on me.

  But I kicked that monkey called habit,

  And now I’m truly free.

  There’s a gruesome tale

  Of old Miss Riggs,

  Who was robbed and thrown

  Under the bridge.

  She’d been seen in the water

  Floating face down,

  Making a gurgling

  Kind of sound.

  She emerged drenched,

  Her eyes a milky wash,

  Reaching for something

  She seemed to have lost.

  As the story goes,

  She was murdered one day,

  Her body afloat

  And left that way,

  By those that witnessed

  And left her there—

  That wouldn’t help out

  And didn’t care.

  Though finally buried

  And laid to rest,

  She returns to the water,

  Reliving her death.

  There are those who go swimming

  Where she was found,

  And pulled underwater,

  As if to be drowned.

  In her watery grave

  She often appears,

  Her face now upward

  In a state of pure fear.

  The trauma it caused

  By those who witnessed the sight,

  Who now are haunted

  By sleepless nights.

  Her cold wet fingers

  On the back of their necks,

  And the gurgling sound

  That leaves an effect,

  For some who had walked

  Across the bridge,

  And heard the sounds

  Of old Miss Riggs.

  And if you should sense something,

  Or hear a sound,

  Get off the bridge

  And don’t look down!

  The sight of her alone

  Will freeze you on the spot;

  And when you can’t move,

  You’re sure to get caught!

  Wet and muddy footprints

  On the ground,

  Are said to be hers

  As she looks all around,

  For all those

  Who ignore the cries

  Of those being hurt

  And left to die!

  Once upon

  A chilling time

  When the vampire world

  Invaded mine.

  Enticed by a kiss—

  Then a bite—

  And now a creature

  Of the night.

  Caught in this

  Tornado swirl

  Of the strange and hidden

  Vampire world.

  Now immortal,

  A nocturnal being,

  Going many places

  And seeing many things.

  The power lies

  Within our eyes,

  Beckoning those


  As we arise,

  From out of the coffin,

  To capture one’s soul,

  Keeps us alive,

  And we never grow old.

  Friendships and romance

  Can no longer be,

  For the heart is caged

  And can never be free.

  The uncontrollable

  Craving for blood

  Makes one a predator

  With no room for love.

  The price we pay

  Is very extreme,

  And isolation

  Is all that it brings.

  An ageless parasite

  That lives in me,

  The cycle continues

  Like a contagious disease.

  Descending upon the living

  And quenching one’s thirst,

  That endless need for blood

  Now becoming a curse.

   

  A sleep so somber

  And profound

  For those who live

  In the underground.

  Oh how I miss the sunlight

  And my reflection in the mirror.

  Those who once loved me

  Now feel only fear—

  Longing to end

  This bloodthirsty madness,

  Yet a stake through the heart

  Brings fear and sadness.

  And so I go on

  Living this plight,

  For I am a creature

  Of the night.

  There are skeletons in the closet

  That want to come out.

  They all have a secret

  Of what each one’s about.

  Bursting to tell

  All that they know,

  Yet trapped and confined

  With no place to go.

  Wanting to expose

  And eager to shock,

  Waiting to laugh

  At those that they mock.

  Teeth chattering

  With anticipation,

  And bones that rattle

  from desperation.

  Some skeletons are bigger

  Than the next,

  And which will escape

  Is anyone’s bet.

  Like nails on a chalkboard

  Making one cringe,

  This closet door

  Becomes unhinged.

  How many skeletons