Part 8

Eight

Laughing with a throated passion
Mandrake dropped another cartridge
Into his rifle
And looked at Mero

‘Call that a army,
I’ve had more hot dinners
Than whatever the heck
You can throw at me’

Ripping the corpses
That crawled at him into broken pieces
With his guns
Until he ran out of bullets

Laughing at death in the face
With a twisted precision 
And he moved onto his sword
Instead of re-loading

And then his dagger
Spinning around in a circular pattern
Like a ballroom dancer
Gone mad

Leaving nothing
But chaos in his wake
And a few frightened witness
Trying to frantically get out alive. 

Part 7

Seven

Caged between the screaming

And a endless ream of shooting

Joe and Cherry

Somewhat were the only two

To actually make it

Behind the bar

Without getting torn to sheds

Ducking and diving

Like professional soldiers

Between Mandrake’s bullets

And the band’s hunger

That killed hundreds

In a few heartbeats

Holding onto their ears

For seemingly a eternity

Until there was nothing left

But a silence

And Mandrake’s exhausted chant

‘Come on, I ain’t f**king finished’

And what was the singer’s voice

Laughing in the shadows

‘Neither have we, neither have we’

Pulling up dozens of people

Like a puppet master

To throw back at him. 

Part 6

Six

Just over a mile away

Near the deserted library

He waited silently

With his pointed lack hat

Barely covering his guilt

‘What now?’

Brooks coughed

Into his pipe

‘This is like waiting

For Cyanide’

‘We wait’

He responded with resignation

‘We wait

For the signal’

Wishing he could wipe

His hands

Clean of the

Full bloody mess

But knowing

He couldn’t. 

Part 5

(This next piece focuses on something on the outside but people will know i will bring it all together like a Jigsaw Puzzle lol)


Five

Black listed across the media
The killings were all hushed up
And cobbled under the carpet
With tents over the venue

Dumbing down the carnage
Into a attempted terrorism act
Rather than the first real thrones
Of a new supernatural war

And the Police then the Army
Who was hushed up
By a forgotten branch
Of the Supernatural Unit

Armed to the teeth
With weapons previously
Only rumoured about
For decades and decades

Smelling more and more
Like death 
With each step
They took towards the door.

Part 4

(Not revealing yet who the person in Part 4 but eagle eyed readers of previous Ghost Stories may guess) 

Four

Unseen like a closed kiss
She remained unseen
Even after it exploded
And blood firstly
Then limbs covered the stage

Dismantling herself
Further and further
Beyond the curtains 
Over corpses
Mostly ripped in half

And each head spinning
Around the floor
With blood pouring out
Like spilled bottles
Of cheap whiskey 

Shouldering thoughts
Mixed with guilt 
And broken fear
That there was nothing
She could have done

Even if she could have
Come back to life
To warn everybody
Or whether they would have
Even listened to her

Regretfully wishing 
She could have saved
More of them 
Than she could. 

Part 3

(This next one is from personal experience a little, minus the bloodbath of course)

Three

Wrapping themselves in familiar threads
Like empty catchphrases
The support band
Played to almost silence

Throwing themselves
Into each song
With a inhuman energy
That stank over their clothes

Bemusing them
As the chant Doom
Rose slowly in the dark
Until it became almost a hum

Anchoring itself
To any hope
Of attracting new fans
With a invisible kick

Leaving them thinking in the station
After the bloodbath
They had all looked 
Like rabid dogs.

Part 2

(Hope you enjoyed Part 1 which set the scene a little. Part 2 is where we start looking at a few of the characters)

Two

And there was the man
Stood there in a trench coat
Who followed them around silently,

Exhaling broken smoke
Through in endless trail of fog
Like Borget gone wrong,

Drowning himself in silence
In the corner of every gig,

Casting a casual eye
Over everybody. 

Who was head banging
At the front 

And who was on the side
Kissing or maybe more

His hands always dangling
Near the edge of his coat

Looking
Always looking for the first sign

Focused on the band on the stage
With a look that went beyond hatred.