There’s a couple next door
Young and newly married
They sing each morning
They are as most would expect
Devoted, in love
The most perfect of neighbours.
I watch as the woman
Young and beautiful
Collects herbs and produce from her garden.
Through her kitchen window
She chops and prepares
Her daily soup
It’s such a delight.
As evening descends a change occurs
Manicured fingers take on fierce talons
Youthful beauty morphs to crone like
Her pointy nose a wrinkle hook
Her teeth lengthen, around a flash of gold.
Perfect posture is bent and menacing
Her angelic voice cackles in expectation
Of nightly pleasures and sinful bounty.
The soup bubbling happily all morning
Now is agitated, steams and thickens,
The pleasant aroma no longer present
Putrid gases invade your nose
The crone and her husband apprentice
Chant in tones to chill your spine.
The substance rises as if alive
Towers triumphant sweeps the room
The crone hysterically crows
As goo and ghoul interact
A film of blue, of gold of red
As if the once soup
Is now to be bled.
Flashes of light blinding and binding
Then a darkness, a pulsing hum
The crone can be heard,
Raving feverishly incantations,
Hideous and loud
Over and over
I block my ears
Shut tight my eyes
Willing this nightmare away.
I awaken as first light appears
It is quiet, peaceful, as dawn should be.
A light is on, my neighbours have risen
Fussing about as morning requires.
I see the young woman
Harvesting her garden
Singing a song
Of expectation and magic.
She looks up at me
Nods to my presence
There’s the flash of gold
I recall from my dream?