The Wind Carried Voices
The night sky raged, restless, ominous
Dark, menacing clouds gathered tightly overhead
Their presence like a festering wound
Bleeding silence before the storm
Chaos above answered by chaos below
The landscape caught between stillness and upheaval
Creeping shadows hunting or seeking refuge
What waits has always been waiting
Gnarled oaks and towering maples lean into the night
Dried leaves, discarded, long since stripped away
Echoes of their rattling filling the crooked lane
A whispered warning to those who dare closer
Metallic night air, like rusted iron on your lips
Like breath in a trapped room that cannot forget the screaming
When shadows clung to the walls like splattered paint
And the wind carried voices that spoke in forgotten tongues
Icy slivers of moonlight found holes in the darkness
The old lane lapped up the energy like a hungry beast
Dry fractured earth where no grass would grow
Perhaps the price was too high, or the interest too high
Five hundred and fifty paces of barren earth and sorrow
At the end, the decrepit manor waited silently
Every door slightly open, windows cracked, unsightly, uncomfortable
Tempting, luring, inviting, even testing the curious to try their luck
Some came close, some too close, their stories now fuel campfire tales
Heavy air they spoke of, thick with something that has no name
And a feeling of dread, one that sinks deep into your bones
Borrowing from something still hidden in the shadowy night
Pained memories or perhaps words to hide the reality
Each step painting their soles with unclean forever marks
Infusing them with the gloom, the darkness, the despair
And yet they came, the long path, what waits beyond
And the wind carried voices – sultry, throaty, seductive
Beckoning those brave souls to complete the journey
Each step taken, closing the gap, the whispers growing
A sickly cloak across your back, an ice-cold arm for comfort
From there, the tale fractures, splitting into layers of madness
Gnawed minds, collapsing thoughts, something boring into their minds
Fear drives the arms to pump, the legs to sprint, no turning back
A clean escape, the grip losing strength, at least this time
Weaker minds surrender, counting down the paces
Undeterred by the creaking wooden staircase, the weight of sadness
The house wasn’t empty, but for them, it was already too late
Darkness had made a choice, and it closed around them like taking ownership
Inside, dust, decay, wallpaper peeled in long, curling strips
Layer upon layer of the past, as though the house was shedding heinous memories
The floorboards didn’t creak so much as complain, low and guttural
Resentment in the weight of a living body, at least for the time being
Dust floated upward in anguishing slow spirals, moving as if it had a purpose
Moving as if it could hold the attention of the condemned
And yet, like the furnishings and the wall hangings, nothing held support
Nothing would give comfort from the voices, for the voices held dominion
Echoes, like fists punching hollow walls, like something aching for escape
A chill crept in while distraction kept the lookers still looking
Something old waited in the shadows, something ancient, something darker
So many rooms, so many choices, so many places to rest forever
But none came close to the cellar door, that was the one that called the loudest
A screaming silence, so thick it coated the flesh, slithered through hair, teased you
Handle cold, shocking to the senses, and when you turned it, the house seemed to exhale
Stairs descending into a darkness that didn’t wait for you to enter, it rose to meet you
Pulling them forward, swallowing their light in ravenous, unruly gulps
Something rose from beneath the ancient boards and forgotten rot, something shifted
Not loudly, not violently, just enough to make them scream out in utter terror
And scream they did, realizing that today was their last day, and the voices were real
Additional Reading
R.J. (Ralph) Schwartz is an American poet, author, website owner, and online publisher. His writing spans several poetry collections—ranging from spiritual and romantic to fear-driven explorations—and even extends into science fiction. Notable works include:
- Normal Was the First Casualty – A Collection of Dystopian Poetry
- Hope – Inspirational and Spiritual Poetry
- Things That Go Bump in the Night – Poetry of Fear and Fright
- The Lover’s Thread – Poetry for Couples
- Poetry of the Human Condition – The Ups and Downs of Modern Living
- The Secrets of the Moon (a sci-fi novel co-authored with his son Sebastian J. Schwartz)
Schwartz’s work is described as purposefully wordy, richly descriptive, and thematically grounded in nature, romance, antiquity, and forgotten histories. He writes regularly on platforms he manages, including The Creative Exiles, a collaborative venue for writers, and The Gypsy Thread, which delves into offbeat histories, pagan lore, and poetry.
- Unhinged - September 28, 2026
- The Wind Carried Voices - September 16, 2026
- Commitment Understood - August 24, 2026
