Count the houses, taste the air. There's Christmas disappearing, ethereal in its flight. We wind ourselves under the covers while the wolves walk about.
Aiiii! How the headlights cut into the verdant gloom, moon aghast at the sight, duplex lit and split by the opposing beams.
No laughter. No breath. Just the garish puke yellow glow of fluorescent reflectance upon a wet and deserted basketball court. Wet, stringy vomitus slimed along the outer rim of a child's sanity.
This is where the gremlins grow, in a garden of bones buried beneath a ceramic casting. They rise from the drains to claim the toes of anyone who dares dip their feet in the cold waters.
Pile it high, pile it wide, and let the dead things die. Leaves, leaves rot and decay on the streets where children play. And when the beetles and spiders scuttle inside run and hide, run and hide. They come out tonight, tonight, trading fun for fright.
In the lot and under the moon a light casts the gravel cat gray. A car sits resting, watching, waiting for its escape from the prison. It burps, then settles.
The lights come and fade, bringing the drone of an overtaxed engine into the soundscape. The red beams cut swathes into the night, blooding the houses in LED doom.
This is the meaning of Christmas. This is the meaning of life. This is what we've created, cultured, and cloned. Can you feel the cheer?
Step into the house. Step into the light. Step into the everlasting. One step, one cut, one sigh, and the sharp blue icicles will grow from the tears of your eyes. This house will lay you low, and the cars will watch idly as your body freezes on the stoop.
Black & White
Black is the night, white is the light. Shadows cut angles, and angles make angels in the sky. They circle above, but cannot make their way inside.
She Walks Alone
She walks alone. She walks slow, as if the beast follows her from the black behind. She walks tall, as if the wind might sigh a secret above. She walks onto another street, hoping to find someone, anyone, to share a word with.
An alien lives in this house. The ice blue glow is radiating from its core, where a savage ache has taken hold after the Gromgoid ate forty sausage balls and half a pecan pie while opening his Christmas presents. Now he sits in his underwear in the recliner chair, holding his distended belly and dozing to his sixth hour of holiday tv.
What a House Might Say
Walk in me. Sleep in me. Eat in me. I am bones and skin stretched and sculpted for you, you, you and your loves. I am so full with and so empty without. So stay in me, play in me, and we will love to love each other.
When the Night Ends
When the night ends and the residents wake the lights go out with the rising sun. As they stretch and drink their coffee and read their papers and itch idly at the vampire bite on their neck never will they suspect the truth - that the Christmas Ghouls were out last night, watching, waiting.