M.K. Lee's Blog: Telling Tales, page 52
October 26, 2020
Ancestor
He could be looking at a cousin, an absent brother, or a photo of his father or uncle when they were young. Yet this is Brian’s ancestor, a soldier from a long-ago war he hardly knows a thing about. He wants to ask him questions, climb into the screen where he’s viewing his records and learn everything he’s got to say. His face is proud, serious, yet there’s a hint of mischief around his eyes. Brian ignores his date of death and glosses over the cause of it, wishing for the chance to go back in ...
October 25, 2020
Dormant
It’s been a while since you slept in a single bed, and to be honest you aren’t entirely sure how you got here, but here is where you are, and here is where you’ll be for the foreseeable future.
Moonlight casts shadows through the strip of window and bathes the bare grey floor in a pale half light, right between the desk and the wardrobe.
The night is unbearably silent, and yet, crushingly loud; every wind-rustled leaf, every passing car, every disembodied voice floats past and surround...
October 24, 2020
The Building
This building is old. It has worn many identities, been both home and safe haven, yet also a horror for some of its occupants. There have been fights, failings, fortunes, and famines. Laughter, love, and so much life. But there has also been death, and despair, the everyday demands of what it is to be living. The building has seen so much that it is almost as though the building lives itself.
Some people remain with the building. Walk its halls, peer out its windows, long after they have...
Confront
Tony keeps having this dream where he finds the courage to confront him. Where he backs him into a corner demanding that Reece tells him what he wants. They’ve both hinted enough. Discreet glances and no-so discreet touches, stolen kisses in the middle of the night. Always when no one can see, of course, always stealing those moments out of sight. Avoidance is something they’ve both perfected over these past few months. Now Tony’s just tired. That smirk is calling him even now, calling for him t...
October 23, 2020
Scurrying
The scurrying sound starts on a cold Sunday evening, when she’s comfortably slouched on the sofa and on a second glass of wine. Her gaze lifts to the ceiling unworried; this is a top floor flat with the only thing above it an unused attic. They get the occasional bird, and bat, and who knows what other wildlife half the time.
She continues to watch the ceiling as the burrowing sound continues, picturing a Labrador happily digging a hole in the park at the bottom of the road. She knows it’...
Ensnare
A ghostly poem for Halloween!
Hear that?
Listen beyond the trees rustling in the breeze
And the occasional bird song overhead,
Ignore the panted breath of excited dog out for a woodland walk
Off in the distance
And listen.
Feel the gaze on the back of your neck
And know you are completely alone.
Even if you called out to the dog
Or shouted to rouse the attention of its owner
You are too far away
From anyone, or anything that could lead you out.
So, walk.
Hear the crunch of autumn leaves beneath the soles ...
October 22, 2020
Beware
There’s no need for technology to know that he is there.
Even in this pitched darkness, you are ensnared in his stare.
When they warned this place was haunted maybe you should have had a care,
But then, you always did disdain at those who cautioned: beware.
You moved into this old house and replaced corroded locks.
You blamed the age and creaking wood for all those unknown knocks.
Whispering scorned, footsteps dismissed, unsettled feelings mocked
Until you woke from slumber, startled by a chair...
October 21, 2020
Nothing More
It’s the wind. It’s the extractor fan rattling, a stiff breeze coming in through the closed front door. The cold whisper over your shoulders nothing more than a blast of cold air.
It’s the building. It’s the neighbours shuffling furniture, the brickwork expanding in the sun’s heat, poor workmanship that’s led to uneven, creaky floors. The knock to the desk beside you nothing more than its wood settling.
It’s you. Your overactive imagination sees shadows when there are none. Your irrati...
October 20, 2020
Turn Around
You can feel his stare on the back of your neck.
He’s not in the same room as you, he’s not even inside the house. But you know with full certainty that if you turn from the kitchen counter away from the overripe tomatoes you are chopping and towards the full glass doors that form the only barrier between you and him, he will be there, watching. His eyes will flit from your face, down to the sharp knife in your hand as the tomato juice drips from its point, pooling and splashing onto the ...
