Creative Writing

How did we meet? well, it all began with a cursed amulet

classic story – the house was too cheap to be true,
four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a river-front view,
and fitted with copious Victorian demise
and, of course, the occasional ‘novel that flies.’
it started with spoons – my favourite set
were hurled to the walls of my kitchenette
while my back was turned, causing one to embed
in the plaster where moments ago was my head.
the books, of course, tumbled off of their sill
(in a way, he was merely parading his skill).
the knives, for the most part, remained on the rack,
while he mainly pulled furniture forward and back.
not much of a menace was my ghoulish tenant.
i was calm – until i discovered the pendant.
diffracting through crystal was a substance like smoke;
the soul of the spectre, now fully uncloaked.
i thought about calling the church, but froze
when i saw on my table a single red rose –
in blood on my mirror i carefully read:
‘i’ve liked you for ages – i should’ve said.’
though strange, it appeared to me clear as day
that my ghost did his courting the Victorian way.
i knew in this moment he’d do me no harm –
i splayed out my hand, felt his breath on my palm.
though unable to marry, we sleep side by side
in a deathbed of love which we cannot deny.
though i cannot see him, i cannot be lonely
when i sleep in his pendant, and his pendant only.
a horrible tale turned a sweet rendezvous,
and now when i die i will haunt the house too.
from body to pendant i will be transferred –
and maybe in future we’ll invite a third.

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Dylan Davies

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January 2022
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