Her mother had been dead a month now
This was her third visit to the grave
She had noticed the crows on her first visit
Sat at the grave four rows in front of her mum
They were back again today
There was something ugly about crows, she thought
Like death was their home
She wondered why they only sat at that grave
Was there more than usual today
Maybe she was just imagining things
It made her uncomfortable though
She noticed more crows flying in
It was like they were waiting for something
Suddenly they began to claw at the grave
As if they were trying to get to the body
The clawing intensified into a frenzy
She could feel the noise pierce right through her
Then everything stopped
One by one, the crows disappeared into the grave
She sat petrified, unable to move
Like she was in some horror film
She waited for the crows to reappear
They didn't
A strange light caught her attention
She could feel herself walking towards the grave
Looking inside to what looked like a crypt
The stairs beckoned her in
Slowly she entered.
His father had been dead a month now
This was his third visit to the grave
He had noticed the crows on his first visit
He wondered why they only sat at that grave.
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 21st, 2025 04:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
After reading this poem/story I had to ask are these all spirits or are they beckoning the living into death and the netherworld. Erie and haunting this write is perfect for the season. Very nicely done.
That time of the year again.
This reads like a gothic echo...two mourners, one presence, grief as inheritance. It’s cinematic in the best sense, and the final reversal lands hard. Haunting work, Paul. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
The spooky time of year.
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