Oct 17 prompt and poem

Okay, let’s go with some urban myths now – a little Freddy Kruger, a bloody hook on a car door, a little Hannibal Lecter …

I want to slip my skin off and slide into eerie imagination.

The Oct 17th’s prompt is “psychotic killer”

Write that you are being chased through the silent trees by a killer. Maybe you’re that token character that gets killed first. Maybe you are the unwitting babysitter that just arrived to babysit for that reclusive family. Just maybe you are the police officer that came too late. The guard that unwittingly let them loose just before Halloween. Or maybe you are the inmate that fooled the guard, slipped the restraints, headed home …

Wild Bill from Silence of the Lambs?

Maybe you are one who hasn’t been caught yet?

The urban legend I liked being told around the campfire? The Hook! Where he’s stalking the unwitting couple. That bloody hook swinging from the car handle …

I’m going to be honest; I substituted another prompt for today’s just so I can share this little tidbit.

I love a good thriller – not so much a horror flick, although I sat through many of those gore-fests in a dark theater with friends. But something with suspense and makes the hair stand up on your arms; the ones that have you dreading the next moment and deliciously anticipating it – that’s my fall jam. I confess I stream ghost stories some nights when I have the house to myself (And, yes, I do believe in ghosts. And spirits. Have one in my attic.) But there is an addictive rush of adrenaline after when I realized I survived it. Survived this vicarious experience.

And when I write “spooky” poetry – when I go for the eerie chills – I often incorporate a little Hannibal in there (Like in Salt shared in Oct 4 post). Not that I would ever go “Jeffrey Dahlmer” on someone – heck, my palate is pretty limited – no way am I eating anything’s heart, liver, brain, tongue … <shiver> it’s just too gross. Not even if it is just cow’ or chicken’ or pig. I can’t even eat lamb or goat anything; my mind says it is not meant to be eaten. Nope – it has to muscles and only muscle from rabbit or the said cow, chicken, pig. If it’s ever going to be a Donner Dinner Party situation, I would more likely be the dinner itself.

But … If I’m going to go for a freak factor, that IS one! So here’s the lil’ tidbit – “Let Me”

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My archive of blog’ poetry prompts is here.

You know I’m all about the prompts!

Ariel