By Tom Merriman
They called to the pack, the hunt was on. One of their number is missing, and a silver bullet lodged into the trunk of an old oak tree is their only clue. It may be Hallowe’en, the night where spirits fly free, but tonight the spirit of this pack unites.
Monique always welcomed the whispered words from her Familiar, although the voice never sounded as though it was from her cat or within her head… more so over her left shoulder. But whenever she looked around, there was no body there. Keep waiting… the whispers told her… it’s nearly here.
The phantom didn’t like images.
The phantom had a way of spiriting them away. Subtly, of course.
Swirling energies
Lunacy
Crossing lines
Frantically
Chasing tails
Apparently
Silver bullets
Nightmare free?
Darkness surrounds
Fear’s fallen shadow
Silent screams
Curdle inner turmoil
Fermenting
Tormenting
Spiting the light
But light
Strikes through the darkness
And no matter how dark
Even the tiniest glimmer
No matter how dark
Shows the way forward
Shows the way through
And gives power to hope
