I step inside the dimly lit mall,
Ahead, I see nothing but cobwebbed walls.
I wander silently, utterly alone,
When lights start to flicker—for reasons unknown.
Before I can call or react with dread,
They stop... and my fear starts to shed.
I take the escalator, slowly I rise,
To the first floor, under mannequin eyes.
In pin-drop silence, I hear a loud clap,
My heart races fast—I’m caught in a trap.
I turn around, gaze every way,
No soul in sight—fear or relief? I can’t say.
What follows next is hair-raising and cold,
A memory etched in terror, forever retold.
A thick drop slides down my cheek,
I wipe it away—red paint… or something bleak?
“Oh, Good Angel!” I gasp and cry,
Terrified to even look toward the sky.
The lights flicker again, blinding my sight,
Shadows dance, and nothing feels right.
I turn to run, heart pacing in fear,
But the mannequin—it's no longer near.
“Looking for me?” breathes a voice at my ear,
A whisper so chilling, too close, too near.
I freeze in place, afraid to turn,
My stomach knots, my insides churn.
“It’s just me, the Dark Lord, not Angel nor Sprite,”
Fright floods in like the fall of night.
I stumble backward—thud!—a fall, a cry,
Down past the barricade, through air I fly.
The light turns bright, too blinding to see,
Is this death? Or something calling to me?
I open my eyes, with breath held tight,
To a soft glow of the morning light.
An angelic face beside me lays,
My little boy, lost in dreams and haze.
I hold him close, safe from fright,
And drift again into surreal night—
Where fantasy blends with terror and grace,
In haunting dreams I still embrace
-Sharon
Superb
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