Midnight Stalker

Sci fi/Fantasy image by

Mike Piel

He crouches low; puddles fill the curves of his hat, His face to the rough cobblestones. His eyes franticly skip across the street, His gloved hands caress the stones. Something had been there, he was sure of it, Yet the stones tell him otherwise. He thanks them for their assistance, They stare back in silent appreciation. He rises to his feat, brushing mud from his rain-soaked knees, Soon the sound of hooves on paved stones ring through the dreary night. The clouds go astray, revealing the full moon, The Midnight Stalker continues his hunt. There's a poem I wrote about Gwynn... Yea I know... I'm a nerd

Published More than a year ago

Category Horror

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