It had been nineteen years since Steven had been here. Now that he was, he wished he had never come.

The last day of that long ago summer was now vivid in his memory. As dusk had fallen, the breeze had carried the smell of popcorn, the air had been awash with brilliant colored lights, and above it all was the calliope music of the carousel. He had watched with wonder as those magical porcelain steeds paraded up and down, flashing past the elusive brass ring. He had only been seven that year, but he had been enchanted by this place. He could remember watching the teenage boys spend all their money trying to win teddy bears for their girlfriends, and he remembered how grown-up he had felt when his mom let him ride the Ferris Wheel alone. That had been a magical night.

Until he met the gypsy woman, that was.

She was the oldest woman Stevie had ever seen, and her wrinkled face scared him. He tried to sneak past the little fortune-telling booth, but she had whipped her hand out like a snake and grabbed his wrist. He had felt the iron strength of her grip, and she pulled him close, whispering a single sentence: "I will be here, when you come back." Her voice had been rough, like sandpaper on wet wood. One of her eyes had been a shimmering electric blue, the other was cloudy and gray. She stared into his face from beneath an overhanging hooded brow, and then grinned at him, exposing one very long canine tooth behind cracked white lips.

Stevie had felt his testicles try to crawl up inside his belly. He had pulled his hand from the old crone's grasp and run crying, all the way back to his mother's side. He wouldn't be consoled, and she had finally relented and taken him home.

Over the years he had actually forgotten about that day, at least on the top of his mind, where normal, sane Steven lived. Somewhere deep inside though, Stevie remembered. He had avoided carnivals, and even fairs, ever since.

He stared up at the window at the top of the old fun-house.

This place was supposed to be deserted, and from the looks of it, should be condemned. Weeds grew rampant through the cracked asphalt, and the rusting skeleton of the Ferris wheel stood like a museum dinosaur, watching over the crumbling remains of the roller-coaster. The carousel was gone, and this fun-house was the only building left standing; it's doorways showed only dark caves where doors used to hang. Above the faded, peeling words on the front was a single window, in which glowed a feeble light. As Steven watched, a shadow crossed that window, where none should be.

From somewhere within the old building, came that same gravelly sand-paper voice. "I knew you'd come back to me."

Steve tried to run, but his feet wouldn't obey. Instead, he found himself walking toward the open door in front of him. Horrified, he realized that he could just make out two eyes in the gloom, one cloudy gray and one electric blue.

© 2018 - dustygrein

Memories live

In these halls

Like my outstretched hands

Not quite touching the walls

Pure, young, bold

Packed with stories untold

Of the bellowing laugh of a man

As he races across acres of pristine land

Now I return

And I’m horrified to see

That nothing is

As it used to be

A shell of a house

Lost in the wood

lonely woman

hidden under her hood

There are monsters that live here

Under the floor

Writhing and thriving

So unlike before

Time is a monster

For making it so

Or am I the monster

For letting it go?

The worst monsters find shelter

Where they will never be found

The scariest monsters I have ever dealt with

Reside in my own head

No one can see or hear them

No one ever has any idea they’re there

But I know

I have never seen them

But I’ve heard them

Loud and clear

I know they’re there

They won’t allow me to forget

They have access

To the deepest, darkest corners of my mind

They know exactly what to say

To keep me up at night

Doubting myself

Hating myself

Being too afraid to sleep

They let me know

They are never leaving

So, I’ve gotten used to their cruel words

I’ve gotten used to being unconfident

I don’t remember what it was like

To not constantly have someone

Pointing out every little thing you do wrong

I have to live like this now

Because I don’t know

How to fight monsters

I grew up with them.

They would keep me awake long after seeing them.

I would scream at their deformed shapes,

their sinister looks,

and the way they carried themselves,

gave fear a new meaning in my life.

They came from all walks of life,

all sizes, all shapes,

and some would change before my eyes,

while others would see me cringe in total fear.

I want to drink your blood one said to me,

his eyes becoming evil and hypnotic.

Another would crookedly walk in my direction,

a twisted grin on his face,

uttering unintelligible words

as he slowly tried to grab at me.

Another, seemingly innocent and free from harm,

changed his appearance,

becoming hideous, snarling;

his thirst for blood only second,

to nearly ripping my heart from my chest,

and when he missed his opportunity,

he would cry out,

howling his anger to the night’s moon.

There were many creatures that live in the dark,

all of them monsters,

all of them I would believe,

were after only me.

Even now, before I retire this evening,

I will lock all my doors and windows,

have the kerosene nearby,

the garlic on the nightstand,

and my gun loaded with six silver bullets.

Even now, I take no chances.

They are out there;

waiting.

and ending with you

I will dine with the devil

I will make him smile

there will be nods

and deceitful smiles

I will linger my fingers over his

and tease

in the most provocative of ways

there will be stares

there will be glares

I will lure him with my tongue

and bite my lip

I will play my role

until all is done

I will do that now

and each day

until the world is through

only so when the diner is done

I can leave hell behind

making it just a memory

a whisper of sorts

a heavy breath

on a heated skin

earning redemption

and reaching freedom's door

no longer dining with the devil

but finding my way to you

always to you

People are the true monsters,

Their words stuck in your head,

Their actions striking your stomach,

There are no monsters under beds.

Look around,

See behind the masks,

We are all monsters,

And are not hiding.

We cannot help being monsters,

But monsters can be good or bad,

What do you choose?

It is up to you.

Someone once told me 'Everyone loves differently'. And it made me think why should the way in which someone fears be any different. Then I realized, it's not. You're afraid of the dark. For you a monster is a creature with creepy yellow eyes and huge claws that will scratch your feet as soon as you put them outside the blanket. I, on the other hand, am afraid of falling in love with someone who won't love me as much. Whose love will eventually fade away. For me the charm in your brown eyes is a monster. But who's to say which one is scarier and more dangerous?

Don't you cry,

The monsters aren't in the closet,

Or under the bed.

The monsters are in your heart

And your head.