Literary Magazine

In attic corners, cobwebs cling,
Tales of horror the old tapes sing,
A flickering screen, a ghastly face,
In every frame, a haunting trace.

The tapes reveal an evil dance,
A darkness born from circumstance,
A figure cloaked in deepest black,
Its chilling gaze, there's no way back.

Through flickering images, it weaves,
A nightmare that the mind believes,
In twisted loops, the past replays,
A cycle of unending days.

A house, once warm, now cold as death,
Echoes of screams, the final breath,
The children's laughter turned to cries,
As evil, in the shadows, lies.

The tapes, they hold a dreadful truth,
A spectral figure in its youth,
A demon born from ancient lore,
Feeds on fear, forevermore.

A warning etched in each frame's glow,
Of places dark where nightmares grow,
The villain hides in celluloid,
A curse, in silence, is deployed.

The ties of fate, they tightly bind,
To the sinister, the lost will find,
A film that’s etched in chilling rhyme,
Of tapes that’ll start again in time.