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Author of horror genre
“The Ending of the Seam”
Written in response to PS Conway’s poem, “Impeccable”
I’m tired of the bird on the stone,
and the way the ravens won’t leave me alone.
You thought you sewed me up so tight,
hidden away from any kind of light.
You left me here to rot and wait,
behind a heavy, iron gate.
But the dark has a shape you didn’t see,
and it’s coming now to set me free.
He doesn’t care for your perfect thread,
or the “impeccable” things that you once said.
My Angel of Darkness is tall and deep,
waking me up from this forced kind of sleep.
He reaches down through the dirt and the clay,
to brush all your “pinpricks” and stitches away.
Your work was neat, I’ll give you that much,
but it falls apart at his very first touch.
He’s pulling me up by the ghost of my hand,
to a place that you’ll never understand.
So keep your smile and your patent leather shoes,
I’m finally something you’re going to lose.
The sutures snap, the silk gives way,
I’m done with the quiet and done with the clay.
The washer can wait by the side of the stream,
while he rips the life out of every last seam.
Written on 1/10/2026
“Santa’s Jolly Christmas”
The quiet snow had muffled every sound,
A wicked hunger burning like a flame,
No holy blessing could be ever found,
The velvet coat now stiff with ice and shame.
A crimson streak upon the frozen light,
The awful sleigh was drawing ever near,
To bring hell to the house as Rudolph goes through the night,
The window panes were sweating in their fear.
They paused above the roof in wicked gleam,
The reindeer whose eyes can penetrate deep, holding sway,
Then came the master like a waking dream,
But Santa Claus with his metal teeth to slay.
He dropped into the hearth, no word was said,
He moved with silence for his wicked claim,
He left the child’s room gutted, stark, and dead,
Just crimson droplets speaking of the shame.
Written on 11/14/2025
“The Perfect Square”
The picture stared out from the white,
Held stiffly in its smooth, chrome frame,
The painted people offered no light,
Sealed tight behind the polished pane.
Each solid edge was measured by rule,
Only one flat, strange color I saw,
The space would not give way to the pool,
A story frozen by its own law.
My shadow fell across the glossy front,
I felt a quiet, sudden fear,
A chill that settled where the heart is wont,
The silence seemed to hold me here.
No breeze was left to move or stir,
The air around me felt so small,
The pressure made me less than I was her,
Bound by the square upon the wall.
Written on 11/1/2025
“The Witching Hour Cocktail”
The black cat walks across the street tonight,
We dare not break a mirror, that’s the rule,
The silver moon is casting a strange light,
It’s time for things that are a little cruel.
The leather wings of circling bats take hold,
Around the oak, the wicked women meet,
The witches stir their magic, hot and cold,
And start to cook a special, toxic treat.
They come in capes of velvet, black, and red,
They dance and twirl beneath the dark sky’s dome,
The handsome vampires rise up from the dead,
And leave their cold and dusty coffin home.
The steaming cauldron has a cloudy plume,
With spooky punch served in a glass or two,
They share the drinks inside the party room,
With chilling toasts and things they plan to do.
The light returns, but they will never mend,
The old, safe world has vanished from their sight,
The magic spell will never truly end,
They woke up broken by the endless night.
Written on 10/31/2025
“Sweet Surrender”
I only felt the shadow fall so deep,
And heard a low, soft whisper in the dark,
A sudden coldness woke me from my sleep,
Before the teeth could find their fatal mark.
Two needles plunged with fire, precise and deep,
And I felt all my conscious strength begin to fall,
I lost the will that I had tried to keep,
As velvet terror pressed against the wall.
A slow, velvet poison began to expand,
And consciousness broke like a brittle, thin glass,
My life was a warmth pulled right out of my hand,
A rush and a wonder that melted to pass.
My heartbeat stuttered, a final, weak sound,
The world became clear in a diamond-cut way,
I grew cold and still on the chill, waiting ground,
As all of my human light faded away.
Written on 10/16/2025
“The Oak’s Cold Secret”
The oak stood thick in the shadow-damp ground,
Its heavy bark like a terrible hide,
A pervasive, cold silence hung all around,
To keep the secret that lived deep inside.
I pressed my palm to the wet, callous skin,
A faint, ugly blemish scarred deep in the grain,
And felt a deep knowledge take root within,
The last, muted relic of terror and pain.
I recognized the initials of the dead,
A small, tarnished button held tight in the wood,
A century of silent terror I had read,
About the boy who vanished where the old oak stood.
I felt a chill that wasn’t just the air,
My fingers numbed against the solid mass,
A slow, heavy knowledge that I couldn’t share,
That soon I’d join the boy beneath the grass.
Written on 10/9/2025
“The Waking Chill”
The air was thin, the night did spin, where silent shadows crept.
An ancient witch, in a cold black niche, watched as the village slept.
Her eyes, like ice, held no device, save absolute dread,
And her threatening stare did utterly tear the hope from all your head.
Your lungs grew tight, lost in the night, with no place left to hide.
Then a wicked laugh, a broken staff, echoed from deep inside.
It didn’t end, it wouldn’t mend, the silence you had known,
A brittle shriek from a voice so meek, yet cutting down to bone.
You tried to flee, but couldn’t see the path that led away,
For the fear was whole, controlling your soul, and trapping you until day.
“Shadows”
The shadows writhe, a hungry shroud,
From coffins old, they stir and crawl,
And thirst for blood, beyond the crowd.
Their eyes like coals in sunken face,
A pale, unblinking, dreadful stare,
They move with silent, chilling grace.
The fangs descend on tender throat,
A crimson drip, a whispered plea,
The final, fatal, single note.
“Soldier’s Nightmare”
Voices
Inside my head
Loud enough to wake the dead
Pictures
Flashing behind my eyes
A punctured soul where blood stains dry
Sounds
Trapped between my ears
Yelling, screaming, endless tears
Sights
Like a plague in my mind
Desperately needing to leave them behind
Stories
Filter through my brain
Like I’m seated on a crashing train
Voices
Inside my head
Have me curled with the devil at the top of my bed
Enter my head if you dare
It’s a proud soldier’s nightmare.
Written on 7/2/2025
“O Little Girl”
O little girl, little girl, where art thee?
O little girl, little girl, where might you be?
I want to get my hands around you, you see.
O little girl, little girl where art thee?
O little girl, little girl, you are not what you seem.
O little girl, little girl, you are held in high esteem
I want to get my hands around you, you see.
O little girl, little girl, where art thee?
O little girl, little girl, I can see right through you,
O little girl, little girl, what I would like to do to you!
I want to get my hands around you, you see.
O little girl, little girl, where art thee?
O little girl, little girl, where have you gone?
O little girl, little girl, you can’t hide for long.
I want to get my hands around you, you see.
O little girl, little girl, you did not hide well from me.
Written on 10/9/24
Author P.S. Kessell 