The Night the Ghosts Screamed
James G. Piatt
I listened to the raucous screaming of ghosts in the dark night hours. Their eyes opened and shut in rapid motion, trying to inhale the moon’s silver beams. I tried to sleep and dream during the lapses of such horrible screaming, and as I twisted and turned, my fears crept into Infinity.
I felt the icy wind that wafted through my flesh, and bones, sewing darkness into my thoughts while the ghosts screamed in the language of bereavement, hoping I would succumb. The rusting hours of the echoing night stitched into an unreality, left me with a sense of despair. I searched for metaphors to smother the haunting voices of the ghosts as they screamed into the mysterious emptiness of the dark moonless night, but to no avail, until I died.
