The Visit from Hell

© John Grey

In the burgeoning shadow,
a face appears.
Wrinkled out of any discernible features.
Hair grizzled gray.

In the walls,
rats run like street children.
Outside, wind blows fierce,
rattles the recent deaths.

Suddenly, my mind jerks back
to the blank eyes of the bird
I killed with my slingshot.
Wide and dark those eyes.
Or was it a woman after all.
My memories don't know.
They turn to stone.

Then a shriek not inches from my ear
jolts me to the present.
to the face, less weary, more threatening.
Chains rattle.
The gates of hell are opening.
Fire and damnation,
home sweet home.