At Midnight's Passing

This is a horror poem I wrote around December last year, it's part 3 in what I decided is going to be a 4 part series. The twist at the end may surprise you. Hope you like it ;)

At Midnight’s Passing

By Selena Uptain

 

Ah, the Chacy Mansion beyond Weeping Willow’s Hill.

Abandoned for many years and yet a wonder still.

I’ve come to work as the caretaker after the last one disappeared.

I stand outside the wrought iron gates and feel a twinge of fear.

How it looms amongst the willow trees as if time has never passed!

I approach the oaken doors and enter this monstrosity at last.

I’m standing in the foyer, a candle in my hand.

Mystified, I glance around, at this peculiar land.

I ascend the grand staircase to the second floor above.

On the wall is a portrait of Anna Chacy who died from the pains of love.

Tick, tock! Booms the clock leaning against the wall.

Stumbling backwards, I catch myself, as I almost fall.

It seems untouched, for its glossy wood gleams.

Not a speck of dust is there to be seen.

Tick, tock! It booms once more.

Then down the hall, I see a door.

I stumble my way into the room.

Whilst my eyes adjust to the murky gloom.

On the bed I see a note.

Covered in a dusty coat.

“The clock, I hear it all around.

I’ll never escape that awful sound.

Weaker I grow with each passing day.

I go to my grave and with me the secret shall stay.”

Anna Chacy, it reads at the end.

I feel a weakness deep within.

Tick, tock! The clock booms again.

In my heart I feel a stunning pain.

She said the secret lies within her grave.

I must find it if I am to be saved.

To the cemetery I make my way.

For in the mausoleum she does lay.

A gloomy mist covers the ground.

The smell of decay is all around.

I enter the tomb and descend the marble stairs.

I feel as if I’m trapped in a ghastly nightmare.

I come upon her sepulcher, the lid is open wide.

Curiously, I peer within, and gasp at what’s inside.

A note clutched in a skeletal hand.

What’s left of the skin has crumpled to sand.

Tearing the note from her icy grip, I begin to read its contents.

“My life is at an end and for this I must lament.

From the clock there is no escape.

Nothing can be done, I must face my fate.

But to those who may come across this curse,

Turn back the clock for better or worse.”

Turn back the clock, is this what I must do?

I reenter the house, eleventh hour nearly through.

I ascend the stairs and glare at the clock.

Once more it booms Tick, Tock!

And to my horror the hands begin to spin.

Faster and faster, a ticking whirlwind.

Tick, tock! Tick, tock! It booms all around.

Louder and louder increases the sound.

Weaker I grow as the hands spin faster.

And then I grab them with what little strength I can master.

Winding them back as far as they’ll go.

The weakness starts to leave my soul.

Images of my life blur in my brain.

And in my limbs is a stunning pain.

With one final Tock! The ticking stops.

And I can no longer reach the clock.

Too far I wound it, as now I can see.

For now an infant is where once was me.