Murmuring

Behind a whimpering creak,

the bathroom door,

her evil whispers spill onto the floor.

Hunchback shoulders shield me from

her crow-eyed irises.

A crooked creature glares behind two pits

of what once was a woman, turned to bits,

dripping through her slipping to the earth.

Slow motion lengthens garish, barking screams,

her spine coiled into thick, misshapen beams,

that quiver as a shriek escapes her throat.

Her gaze assaults me, worming from those pits,

a refuge from which gasping curses rip.

My name leaks forward.

A quiet faucet, piercing in his still,

this silent guardian keeps his peace until

she starts her lurching.

Bloodless bones now plummet toward my neck,

to snap me.

Turkey-skin and haggard nails engage

in glassy silver warped from years of age

and circles, sage and spells of ancient witchcraft.

She hisses through her mouth's unseemly hole,

"Hello",

and there I go.