After the last hooligans knock—light’s out—
Halloween has ended for good this night.
Before succumbing to bed, I peer out
Of my windows observing the pitch dark—
Outside is an abyss of primal fear—
The shadows are consuming my whole porch.
Someone can be seen lurking—eyes glowing—
Standing right there as if alive, but dead.
.am I Here
Before I could think, I heard that cold voice
Uttering its guttural sounds in the dark
Outside my window in the great beyond,
Yet the sound is close, as if from my porch.
Someone—something—standing and haunting there;
A lurker with eyes, red, and standing dead.
After that horrid sight, I screamed in fright
And let out a curse upon the dark night.
.am I Fear
Outside, shadows are starting to shift my
Perception of things—shadows shift the porch.
Someone is smiling an awful green grin—
The fluorescent, jagged teeth of the dead.
After which my heart jumped up to my throat;
I start to fear my life forfeit this night.
Before I can look away—I must see
If I can recognize it in the dark.
.am I Death
Someone I know—I recognize their voice—
Is standing there taunting me as the dead.
After their last words, I have it nailed down!
Oh!—the horror of this shade in the night!—
Before the dawn shall break—Oh, the horror!
I will drop dead here alone in the dark—
Outside the earshot of a living soul—
For that fuck I buried ’s there on my porch.
POET’S NOTE:
The debut poem of the Darklings collection and the first Interversa, an original poetic form created by Tristan Robert Lange.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
This Macabre Monday
Devilishly Dreadful
The Boy Detective; or,
The Crimes of the Collective
Monday, October 5, 2026
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
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