THEY LIVE IN THE NIGHT

The sun sets over a small eastern town.

Those who live here do not wander in the dark.

Doors are locked, windows sealed until morning’s light.

Stay inside for death feeds on the living flesh.

They live in the night; They fly; they thirst for the blood inside.

No souls, hearts,  or even a spirit of kindness and good.

Darkness appears as if forever on this moon -filled night.

Who will be the terror-stricken sacrifice?

They live in the night; they rest by morning’s light.

Walking the earth forever until they surely die.

Now, as the sun rises over this small town.

Death takes its sleep as mortal man rises to his day.

Keith Garrett

                                      WHAT WATCHES

The dreams were there from time to time,

Haunting my mind, torment of another kind.

Alone in a house so dark,  the wind howling,

I am peeking out a window into the dark of night.

In the distance he stands, a shadowy figure dressed

Up in black.

His clothes move with the wind, silent as he knows I am there,

I am alone, and he knows my fear.

There are times when I am walking through the streets at night,

No cars, no people,  as if I’m the only one in this world,

Again it is windy, dark,  and always the horrible fear.

I am followed,  from a distance, but I know something is out there,

No body, no face,  somewhere, always there.

My dreams are not real, but now each night I peek out of the window,

Waiting for him, this dark, shadowy figure,

If I keep searching, then will he appear? I find myself walking the night

Streets, wondering if he follows, imagining him out there, somewhere.

Keith Garrett

For generations, it’s been said that if you come down here

Then you can hear her voice moaning in agony within the wind.

What happened to her is a tale that’s a mystery that is told over

And over through the years.

Some say they have seen her ghostly presence; she haunts the creek

Where she was possibly murdered.

Legend tells that many who have been down here to find her, to

Hear her agonizing voice have never been seen or heard from again.

Near the creek, there’s a haunting fog that lives, something or.

Someone visits there, a presence not at peace.

It lures those who wander away into the darkness.

Don’t listen for the sound that waits; do not seek out this

Ghostly death; don’t go near the creek!

Keith Garrett

              WHAT HAUNTS THE NIGHT AGAIN

Peeking out at you from the closet or hiding under your bed,

What frightens the mind, what haunts the night?

From a child’s thoughts, a stranger’s face in the window,

Sounds in the hall that seem to get closer.

From reality to fantasy, does Frankenstein walk the stormy night?

Bolts in his neck, a face that terrifies.

Vampires that seek blood and live through the night,

A myth of terror by moonlight.

Does a mummy awaken from a tomb in the cold,

Wrapped in white cloth, does he search for you?

Bats do fly, but will they find you tonight?

Attack and bite until morning’s light.

A black cat sits and watches on this Halloween of fear,

If you cross his path, will you soon disappear?

Ghosts and goblins, creatures of fright,

Witches so ugly fly on their brooms by the moon.

Castles and curses, haunted houses appear,

Is it all in one’s mind, will they all vanish by light?

What haunts the night, what scares your mind?

Keith Garrett

           THEY BRING FEAR

A cold, October night, wind rushing through the trees,

Creeks and sounds awaken me in the darkness.

I think to myself, can you hear it? A sinister and evil
Little laugh, as if it were far off in the distance.

Am I imagining things? I get up and take a look around,
Again, a heart-stopping sound.

Through the window, the moonlight shines; I can see it,
the shadow of a creature, maybe just a foot or so tall.

It can’t be real, only in my mind as it vanishes again,
There it is staring at me with those awful eyes.

Running down the hall, out the door with a horrible little laugh,
Some kind of miniature, ugly-looking elf.

I am trapped, looking out the window in the dark, cold night,
They’re everywhere; more of them are out there.

Where they come from I do not know; they bring fear,
Night after night they gather, no place to run, just a
place to hide.

They are by sight horrible to the mind,
What they want is not known; what I know is that they
Bring fear.

Keith Garrett

              WHAT HAUNTS THE NIGHT

Stumble upon a haunted house,

Ghosts of fear that roam everywhere.

A black cat watches all that you see,

Not a candle is lit in a place of misery.

Through a howling wind you can listen as it sounds,

Somewhere out in the darkness a werewolf cries.

Lock the windows as they feed in the night,

Vampires that do not die are there in the moonlight.

Hidden in the basement is a mummy’s tomb,

It rises on a cold, cold night and wanders till dawn.

A monster that’s brought back to life,

Frankenstein is a thought full of fright.

What haunts the night, an old witch on a broom flying by,

A spell she casts to those on this night.

Legends and fables, fantasy or fact,

What haunts the night? Is it all in your mind?

Keith Garrett

    MY NAME IS MALABAR

Just for one night, each year, a day in October,
I soar down from the sky to bring hell to all humans.

From a place I come, A far-off demonic world, fast
As the wind, horror is my only game.

I’m mean and ugly; soon you’ll see my face, when you do
Then say goodbye to this mortal place.

My teeth are like razors, my eyes red as blood, claws on
My hands and feet, a tail of pain.

No conscience have I, not a heart of sorrow. If you do meet me,
Never again a tomorrow.

My name is Malabar, for you it means death; nothing can stop me,
I’ll devour you to survive.

Hide where you dwell; do not let me introduce myself, after
Midnight, look out of your window, as I soar to the sky.

In one year I’ll be back for your life.

Keith Garrett

                        1943 NICKEL


           A nickel I came upon, old is its age,


          Dirty and worn, 1943 had a name.


         When it was made, which first pocket did hold,


        A celebrity of movies or a farmer tired at night.


        Could it have been the great Joe DiMaggio, 


        As time went by, possibly a singer or Olympian.


       A little boy had a nickel in his pocket, grew did he,


       A famous writer he became, a 1943 nickel, where could it be?


      Beyond seventy years this silver-looking coin has traveled,


      Today it rests with me, who held onto it in 1943?

      Keith Garrett

             DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!

I was warned about it many times by my grandfather,
Father, and for many years, family members.

The rule was that when visiting this most unusual house
never go downstairs past the basement.

There’s a room further on that’s been built into the earth.

A fearful warning: don’t open the door! has been echoed
For a century.

I went down there one night after everyone went to sleep,
I wanted to know what was in there.

I pressed my ear to the door and listened for any sound.

Quiet, no window to look through, nothing.

I discovered a key hanging above the door.

Although I wanted so badly to see what was in that room
I wondered more about why this key was there if it was
So forbidden to open the door.

I went back to bed, night after night; dreams filled my head.

What was in there? A monster, crazy people, were there bodies
Or treasure?

Could it be just an empty old room of dust and cobwebs?

I needed to know, and soon I would find out.

I would see what no person should ever see. I took the key
Into my hand and unlocked it.

I heard the words Don’t open the door! But I did; I opened
The door. Oh God! I opened the door!

Keith Garrett

               PRISON OF FEAR

On this Island I am stranded. No one knows I am here,

I am sought out fore they know my whereabouts.

Not only am I trying to survive, but now I must hide,

Never staying in the same spot, this is no home.

Through the night, I try to sleep, but I

Must keep watch.

Prison of fear has become my existence.

Every day, each night I take refuge in a different site,

It’s morning light once more; time to move on.

I am hungry as I quietly hide, things to eat here and there,

To live this way for the rest of my life would be a most

Certain hell.

They are always on the hunt, following through the brush,

Over a hill, or in the distance,

I will eventually tire; they will find me,

They are my fear; this is my prison of fear.

Keith Garrett