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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/bobturn/day/1-25-2021
Rated: 18+ · Book · Horror/Scary · #2222317
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
What I'm fired up about

January 25, 2021 at 10:47am
January 25, 2021 at 10:47am
#1002782
Hush little baby, don’t say a word
Your safe with me, ‘cause your mom’s disturbed.

And if she does come to her senses again
Don’t be afraid, I’ll turn her into a shattered has been.

And if your dad tries to get you back
He’ll find I have a knack, how his bones get cracked.

And if social services tracks me down
They’ll find out I haven’t stayed around.

And if the cops get my lover to turn me in
That stool pigeon end’s up with a permanent grin.

And if you cry, cry and refuse to be good
I’ll make you stay quiet, like you know you should.

And if our years turn to tears, my dear
We’ll both be together in our paranoid fear.

And if you grow up and become like me
I pity your lonely world that will come to be.


16 line poem entry for the "Monsters Under The Bed contest
January 25, 2021 at 6:05am
January 25, 2021 at 6:05am
#1002759
Daily SCREAMS!!! win

I never had no bother, being the surprise, jumping out birthday cakes and strutting my stuff. Wolf whistles swallowed themselves. Hands reaching out to pinch and tease drew back in alarm.

I didn’t take it personal. It wasn’t me causing that reaction, I’m pretty hot stuff. I’ve got the figure to prove it. I know how to make the right moves.

It is Baby, my twelve foot Anaconda curling around my voluptuous body, that stops the most degenerate perverts in their tracks. She is my protector, the best part of my act.

Once guys get used to her and me sliding sensuously together, you could hear a pin drop, their eyes are so focused on the way we move. It unnerved me at first, when things grew that quiet, like I had failed to turn the men on or something.

Some snakes are renowned for hypnotizing their prey before making a meal out of them. That’s me and baby. We’ve got a rep. We keep getting called for special occasions large and small for the rich and famous who expect to be entertained with the unusual.

The nice thing is we are secretly for hire as assassins. Bigwigs of all types like a big sendoff for their enemies, stool pigeons, rat finks, and upstarts. You’d be surprised how often we end up at going away parties.

We try to make it the most exciting day of the intended’s life. There is such encouragement by well wishers among the guests, as I wrap my arms around the real main attraction, stunned motionless before me. I always rub people the right way.

Baby does her best. It has taken a lot of training to teach her to hold on without squeezing someone to death. She knows her time will come. It is me that leaves the guest of honor breathless, the way I tease and stroke.

Money begins to flutter my way in appreciation for my style. I slither out of my skimpy clothing like it is a second skin, watching the eyes of the selected few who want me for more than my body.

The tension builds. I always make it special. My favorite finale is to end things with the kiss of death, a poisoned capsule inserted into the mouth with my wiggling tongue. When prompted, Baby gives a tight squeeze, and our victim gasps, swallows, and minutes later it’s over, the deal done.

A heart attack? Perhaps that is the feint used for those in the seat of power. For the less famous, Baby swallows the evidence that once was a stool pigeon, for example. You get the drift. She only needs to eat once every several months when she gets a belly full. Nice side benefit.

The reason I bring all this up is baby hasn’t fed in a while. She gets restless, stops sleeping, and it seems she got loose. Baby poked her head up through the ceiling tiles. I know how she escaped her locked room. She’s up there in the rafters. If you listen hard, you may hear her moving around. Hunting.

I’m not worried. She knows my scent. Last night she fell through the break room ceiling onto the half slumbering night shift’s laps. You had to be there. The screaming sent shock waves that shivered the windows, almost bust them. There was an explosion of human flesh at the door trying to get out.

I was out in the hallway searching for signs of Baby, leaving mice caught in mouse traps to entice her down. I’d left a caged rat in her room’s corner if she came back. Our gig at this place of business was to entertain some special needs kids.

The special ed teacher had tried kittens. The kids squeezed them to death. He figured the snake was a safe alternative that could be used as a therapy pet. Go figure. Money is money and the idea had merit. I liked the novelty of it.

I don’t think of Baby and me as bad. We have our way of improving the DNA of the world.

The thing is, I don’t know if Baby has eaten yet. Have you seen the special ed teacher around? Let’s hope he got embarrassed, quit and left town. Cross your fingers.

Until I know, it is best we keep this little adventure between ourselves. I don’t want anything to happen to Baby. To me, she is more than a pet.

Help me out? If you find her, don’t act frightened. She can smell it on you. Baby likes the taste. Call me, will you? I can’t be everywhere at once.

Hey, I know it is your birthday. Baby and me were going to be your office surprise. We don’t make a killing every time we put on a show, but we try. Maybe we could work something out special this time. You don’t act like a rat.

The doors are locked. Think of it as a hide and seek game. Don’t try calling anybody. Your adjusting the company books in your favor didn’t go over well. Me? I like a man who can speak with a forked tongue.

I’ve narrowed down Baby to being on this level, could be above us right now. Maybe that whisper sound is her up in the rafters.

I see that look in your eye. You want me. Think you can have your way, do me in, and make some kind of mad get-away. Exciting isn’t it?

Don’t look now, there behind you. Baby’s head is snaking down right on time.

Happy Birthday.





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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/bobturn/day/1-25-2021