‘Scuffling Footsteps,’ a scary poem

Scuffling Footsteps

My feet scuff quiet,
quite unnoticed,
amongst the white stones,
pale light ghosting.

Not sun of day,
nor moon of night,
between perhaps,
I’m filled with fright.

Time elusive,
not mine to count,
waste not a drop,
close tight the spout.

Shadows dancing
entwined by weeds,
dark thoughts, dark thoughts,
I dare not feed.

Yet through this place
my path is found,
led by souls
in silence drowned.

Winds tear the night,
a banshee cries,
is now my time
to leave, to die?

I creep in stillness
past the crypts,
moaning sounds,
not my lips.

Icy fingers
intend caress,
reaching from
a white sleeved dress.

Telltale frost prints
leave their traces,
seeking to claim me,
then change places.

Shrieking of hinges
long unused,
my pace has quickened,
I may be news.

Oh God my Father,
save me from this!
My voice cried out
when I heard a hiss.

Then the barking,
across the way,
snarling, growling,
my time to pay.

Hell hounds bound
amidst the markers,
wet noses sniff,
smell fear then harken.

I flailed, I cried,
they kept on track,
slick furred fiends,
tear at my back.

Blood sprays wildly
from once my throat.
Spirits peer,
assess, then gloat.

An empty hole,
an unused crypt,
purposed for me,
my body ripped.

They drag and push
my lifeless form,
emptied of soul,
my body torn.

Push me on
through gates of hell.
Close me off
from light to dwell.

Now I really
know the night.
Within it’s veil,
there’s no fright.

Wait — but something
passes here!
Scuffling footsteps,
drawing near?