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A little bit of Horror

A little bit of Horror


Christopher K Bayliss


Copyright © 2012 C K Bayliss

All Rights Reserved


Cover Photo and design by C K Bayliss


Shakespir Edition April 2016


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

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to actual events or persons, living or dead, are

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Table of Contents

1 Vampire Lust

2 101

3 Below the stairs

4 Route 666

5 In the still of the Night

6 If only you Knew

7 The hunger takes Me

8 Is it far too Late

9 Vampire Initiation

10 R.I. unlikely P

11 Death’s open Door

12 Uninvited Fear

13 Forever Search

14 False Awakening

15 A face in the Crowd

16 The Grim -Reaper is coming for Tea

17 Bats in the Belfry

18 One way Flight

19 From the Grave

20 The Strangler Tree

21 Mister Manure



A little bit of Horror


Vampire Lust

I look below and to my joy they walk along the passage way and even though I look amongst, they cannot see me. How I pray.

I pray for them and then for me, then I home in for the kill and they shall die upon this eve. A less than painless death does thrill.


That really is my main concern, my thought is food rather than health, if I can relish my main course. This to me means more than wealth.

Simplicity, almost a joke, we pass amongst with perfect ease with nothing strange to worry folk. Living forever is not disease.


They may feel a strange release, a relinquishment too Suns pure ray, a thirst that first you never had and a tendency to sleep all day.

The moon may cause an almost lust. You see in such fragmented view. Your mind precedes this loss of life and unto others, you shall do.


Senses perform, “most excellent” as Bill and Ted would truly rave. Adventure’s start is imminent once we arise beyond the grave.

Your favourite colour now blood red, the taste is something too behold. Considered, like the finest wine but never drink it when it’s cold.


Until the end they walk the line, their thoughts that life was so robust. To those who once walked into the light they now share in this Vampire’s Lust.




I view with intense interest

Big Brother has his eye on you.

Our stalking shadows out of sight,

who know exactly what you do.

As you go about your daily bread

insignificance comes to my mind.

Such scrutiny is paramount,

we make decree of what we find.


Silent surveillance we will resolve,

something from which you cannot flee.

We hear you as you make your calls

and watch you with CCTV.


Our camera’s can study close,

into your life this lens can zoom.

We delve into your personnels

and film you in your living room.


Without you even being aware

and with no way for your escape.

We have your name, we have your face,

your everything on reels of tape.


You might keep things close to your chest.

Happy with your secrecy.

The thing that you might never know,

no secret can be kept from me.



Below the Stairs

What is it that lies down the stairs? It causes creaks in this old house. I can hear them from my bedroom and I do not think that it’s a mouse.


Something down there makes itself known to me late in the night, with scratching sounds and things that go bump and cause a real fright.


I lie awake so many times in the quietness and the dark and I suddenly hear these noises. Upon me they do leave a mark.


With so much insistence from his son, my father searches down below. There’s nothing down there in the dark and he takes me down so that he may show.


As we descend those cellar steps, my terror I cannot disguise and as my father talks to me. I’m sure I see two glowing eyes.


With panic flowing through my all I run in fear back to my room. My father simply laughs it off, while I am full of weary gloom.


Until this day I’ve never again ventured beyond that cellar door, for although no-one else can hear a sound, it seems that I can hear much more.


As soon as I am old enough Perhaps to vote or drink a beer. I know what I am going to do. I’m getting the hell out of here!



Route 666 Through the back end of beyond, to the east of murderers pass, is a town called Vagabond and this is where I rest my ass


It’s not too far from Terror Ridge but you must first breach Killers Drop and travelling over Horror Bridge Is somewhere no one cares to stop.


We know the folk there, would steal the fillings from your teeth. If you do go, you will soon know it’s an haven for a thief.


666 is the main Route from where I aim this truck of mine. This is the place from where I shoot and where the going’s far from fine.


Through this crimson haulage flame, evils realm is on this road. Look ahead to where I aim it’s where I transport this heavy load.


My cargo of the Inhumane, Satan’s cargo my mainstay. These deviants with evil brain, it seems I’m busy everyday.


This is the work I undertake as I truck these demon sinners. My attitude will never break for those I move are far from winners.


As I cruise this road to Hell with this load of human shit. You’d recognise it from the smell the target for them, the Lucifer pit.


I care not whether poor or famed, warnings were heeded far to late. I guess they never ever feel ashamed but soon they’ll pass that final gate.


They’ll wish they’d never been so shady, locked in this rig of foul possession. Luck surely will not be their Lady, Their health is surely now, regression.


For those of you who did not care and failed to act upon your faults and those of you who failed life’s tests will now inhabit Satan’s vaults.



In the still of the Night

In the still of the night when we are all asleep. Catching up on our z’s and not making a peep.

Could it be that all is not what it should be? Perhaps we’re not alone maybe something walks free


Would it be such a shock that you really don’t know? That there is something here and it really won’t go.


As it traipses around does it occasionally peep at us catching those z’s? Watching us as we sleep.

Would you worry it rambles with some other assignment? Do more sinister reasons lead to this soul’s confinement?

Was this entities essence not a good one in life? Did it murder its family or perhaps just his wife?

Is this perambulation looking for something that’s lost? Needing to find it whatever the cost.

Or could it be that this was simply a home? One it loved during life and it loves just to roam.

The are questions so many but the answers must keep and we may never know because were all fast asleep



If only you Knew

If only you knew what I saw last night,
I think that perhaps
it would fill you with fright.

How would you feel
if when you got home,
In your solitude
that you wasn’t alone?

If only you knew
as you ate your meal
There were things I could see,
things you could not conceal.

Could you have guessed
whilst you were in your shower
that someone could watch you
for a good half an hour?

If only you knew
while you lie asleep
that you had a guest
and around you he’d creep.

He’d search through your underwear,
rifle your clothes.
Stroke on your hair,
right under your nose.

If only you knew
how easy I play.
The freedom I have
while you are away.

The things I could do
to you in your own home.
Would you ever feel safe
while I’m still free to roam.

If only you knew
the moments I steal,
when glimpsing you naked,
how would that make you feel?

Could you ever imagine,
could you contemplate?
That if ever you saw me
it would be far too late.

If only you knew
as you lie in your bed
that if I chose the moment
I could kill you, stone dead.

I do really expect that
one day I will strike
But just for today
I shall do as I like.



The Hunger Takes Me

The clouds are slowly thinning
a subtle glowing light
pushing the darkness far aside
and lightening up the night.

A new moon shines abundant,
coming to the full
with beads of sweat upon my brow
I feel this Luna pull.

Shivering so abruptly
my collar seems so tight
my throat is burning with the thirst,
my mind seeking delight.

Vibrant shaking fever.
This seizure in full flight
my body takes another form.
I slowly lose this fight.

Nocturnal senses taking hold,
tingling feelings through my hair.
Finger nails protruding forth.
Clothing starts to rip and tear.

Dislocating jaw line
a body in confusion.
Thoughts of blood transfix my being.
Heavens dissolution.

Out into the night am I
the trail is such a thrill.
I quietly stalk my victim.
The pleasure of the kill.



Is it far too Late

A vertical column of light seeps beneath the door,
Shimmering across the stair-way flowing across the floor.

A solid line of light split into three or four.
Divided by two feet standing beyond the door.

Padlocks pop, bolts are pulled, I hear the jingle of the keys.
As the keeper selects the appropriate one, does he come for me?
My mind’s at his demand,
my heart is in my hand.

The motion of the door sends shivers down my spine.
Light elongating down the stairs now one step at a time.
Old hinges loudly creak,
that sound is so unique.

Unwelcome silhouette announces his arrival
unto this darkness down below I fear for my survival.
Please God answer my call.
I pray that he should fall.

Cast off with sudden light I am hidden at my best.
This creature does arrive a most unwelcome guest.
He brings home such a stench
It makes my stomach wrench.

Wooden treads are groaning from descending heavy load.
I hear his heavy breathing my heart just might explode.
I squirm and try to hide.
Lost so far from pride.

He gathers something up hanging from a far side wall
The axe in such a grip but where will that blade fall?
With my life at his command
My future’s so not-planned.

Licking thumb and first finger he runs them down the blade
This cutting edge will do nicely is what this Devil says.
To breath I do not dare.
As he walks back up the stair.

A creaking, closure of the door and padlocks locking tight
as the footsteps dissipate away, safe for another night.
The light does finally yield.
Darkness is now my shield.

Baleful sounds into this void filled with terrorised attack,
acrid laughter following but all I see is black.
As I hear that final Chop
I fear my heart will stop.

Such an eerie silence now tells so much to me.
Cutting to my centres core shall I ever be free.
Is this what I await.
Is my life in debate.

It seems a time shall never come when I sleep safely in my bed
all thoughts of rescue dwindling I fear soon I’ll be dead.
This is what I await.
For me it’s far to late.



Vampire Initiation

Night falls so quickly causing relief,
such fears I remember that once tormented me.
Grasping for darkness like a sneak thief,
it now releases, I feel so free.

Where fear once trod, now stands the thrill
with senses that feel intensively strong
and as I silently stalk my intended kill,
I feel that I’m doing nothing that’s wrong.

I do still recall of that fateful night
as I wandered the streets of this midnight town.
With such imagination, that embellished my plight
I was staring ahead so scared to look around.

I was unimportant, walking shadowed and dark,
why on earth I decided to leave it so late?
I should have never have chosen to cut through the park.
Those shuffling footsteps, caused a high heart beat rate.

In spite of such fear I turned right around
My neck hairs were spiking, my head in a spin
as an on the tiles Tom-cat, exuded his sound
and wind wrestling bushes creating such din.

My own mind created what it thought I must see.
Burning sensations from another’s eye.
Invading, foreboding and following me
with a fear so intense that I can only cry.

With my quickening pace feeling immensely slow.
I am worried at how long this ordeal must last
as from out of the thicket a figure did show.
Its pounce was ferocious, its strike was so fast.

Details of a face I couldn’t make out.
Focally extinct except for that glare.
This is where my life ends, of that I’ve no doubt
as our eyes become one, transfixed by his stare.

The bite to my jugular, so ripping, so fierce.
I was swathed with the wetness as my fluids did flow.
Incisors sank deep as my skin they did pierce.
Convulsing to death in this horrific show.

Alone now and spent I am laid out in red
with this Butterfly motif cast with my own blood.
To an onlookers eyes they would see a man dead.
So I’m really surprised that I feel so good.

This isn’t an end any one would desire,
such a terrorised death at the hands of another
and as I enter the gates to this realm of Vampire,
my killer progresses, becoming my brother.

But alas I must leave now, as soon I must dine.
The hunts going my way that it’s so plain to see.
This life flowing blood make a tasty old wine
and I toast my success with another soul set free.



R I unlikely P

It isn’t right it’s far from good to leave a man confined in wood. To bury him it should be said just isn’t right when he’s not dead.

We do it now without delay so he can’t give the game away. For these reasons our skins to save means he should end in this here grave.

I can only imagine if he should wake his mind will grieve, his bones will shake. He may scream out for all he’s worth but the sounds will stay below the earth.

His nails will scratch on splintered wood but I don’t think he’ll feel too good. Eventually for want of air he will be squirming inside this lair.

For die he will, this stone is cast, his future’s set, he is the past. No more a risk to me or you so we are free to do what we do.



Death’s Open Door

In this dark and forlorn room, stirring impish thoughts to bloom,
unnatural thought should not be said, lest it should fall upon your head.
Where candlelight creates its own with shadows stalking, freely roam.
Waltzing off into the night with dancing flames at merest slight.
Following, guiding, leading way. Such silhouettes in constant play
from darkest corner of the room, shimmering light does start its bloom.
The palest hint of glowing red appearing at the foot of bed.
A single spark though barely warm, expands with linking, swathing swarm.
Enveloping before my very eyes, this mass extrudes to mortal guise,
suspended upright gathering dense of human form with no pretence.
Instructing me with single hand, is gesture though in fact demand,
of that concourse I am most sure as finger motion makes its lure.
With fear aligned upon my face, with beating heart my blood does race,
two drying lips and palate sour I quiver like some windswept flower.
I have no wrap to screen these tense, mauling from the elements,
I flounder forward so demure, this life before me, Insecure.
At whose command I have no reign my reservations cry in vain,
with unheard screams that I bestow, cast out on candlelight’s shadow.
Whistling off into the night, drawn am I to scheduled plight.
Barefooted walk along the shore, confronted by deaths open door.
Retrieving now that one last look as final breath is rankly took. I cast my eyes upon that bed, where external shell, so pail, so dead,
I turn around to welcome host, he that of light, me that of ghost and I follow him into that place where one can look upon his face.
This life expired, shared good intent a time I feel was worthwhile spent
following happily through the haze with such sights I see that do so amaze.
Should I have words what would they be could express these joys I see?
Cry not for me, try not to mourn this soul of mine has been reborn.



Uninvited Fear

Do you ever get the feeling
that someone is standing near.
An instinct you can not shake off
that makes you feel quite queer.

That lonesome breeze,
unusual sound
that strange sensation
inward bound.

Abnormal movements that create
those senses tingling from your core.
A change of light, has something moved.
The creaking of an unseen door.

Something glimpsed but not yet seen,
peripheral vision so alert.

Each subtle change of atmosphere
pushing those brain cells to divert.

Enhanced so deeply with the coming
of the impending night time screen,
That magnifies normality,
endangering the accustomed scene.

Shadows performing most unnatural,
skewering, jigging in its play.
Creating silhouettes that outline
that fears pull has got its way.

Do the noises come from bloods flow,
discharging quickly through your brain.
Alarm and panic, chills and sweat
is this from overburdened vein.

Panics attack is building quickly,
heart that’s beating like a drum.
The slightest wisp of the unusual
enough to cause you stricken dumb.

Tears flowing, freely running.
Body hot but breeze is cold.
That tremble now a full on quake,
as fear now presents untold.

It may be a false unwanted feeling
and you might try to conquer fear.
Imaginations overdrive
but nothings really helping here.

The night can seem so long and lonely
when fears the trophy that you keep.
Eventually though far too slowly
your saviour comes. You fall asleep.



Forever Search

I search through the ashes struggling with doubt, how could anyone in there of ever got out?

Who knows how it started? What could it have been? To have me here searching through this awful scene.


A wife and two children it is those who are gone so I will search on even if I must search alone.

Memories haunt me, why can I not find? Those lovely faces that I see in my mind.


Deserted and barren, I sift here alone. For it has been many years since the searchers have gone.

The scenery changes, the worlds now modernized though I still search the embers of a site so disguised.


I see auto-mobiles like the one I did drive, it’s all rusted and broken, most no longer survive.

But I shall search on another hundred years and I’ll sodden this land with a millennia of tears.


When at last I do find those that I’m looking for, I shall keep them beside me forever more.

I won’t give up this search until I find where they hide and we shall be as together as the day that we died.



False Awakening

A peck upon my window frame brought me from my dream secure As Raven plays illicit game within my sleep clad state does lure.


My being instilled with such immense, that chilling breeze runs through my all, enough to cause my rigid tense demeanour that might cause my fall.


Should I faint before those eyes that send such fear through my mind, anxiety and complete surprise with stealing glance of such unkind.


Speaking to me without a sound it’s telling me that life does end and once I lay below the ground this withered soul must then descend.


Hands that magically protrude from no-where’s state to make the grasp, Such treatment invades onto me so rude, pulling my spirit in its clasp.

Much torturous treatment does unfold, cast upon me with such immense its power drags me into the cold, without my pride, without pretence.


I scream into the evenings now, my prayers are that my life I keep, to change my ways is what I vow and I awake from horrors sleep.



A face in the Crowd

In my own way I am your superior Those of you who think others inferior.


You feel so safe out there in the crowd, mingling with the masses and shouting out loud.


But lest you forget may I state my position. Make it more clear, perhaps tell you my mission.


It’s simply this, to keep my eye on you. To know where you go and see what you do.


You will not know my face, it’s just one from the crowd, you might not realise while you stand there so proud


When you get out of line with a gut full of drink. I don’t think that you know, that you stand on the brink.


I did not need to look nor did I need to seek for you drew me too you with the words that you speak.


I then took it upon my own little self to remove you my friend from that place on the shelf.


You published yourself, displayed so much before those who stay in the crowd and your likes do abhor.


Perhaps you should recollect these faceless and not-named, those to whom you struck out, those who you cursed and shamed.


From out of nowhere, one day you will find a nameless face from the crowd who will be so inclined.


When enough is enough you will pay with your lot and your last days will come from a face you forgot.



The Grim Reaper is coming to Tea

He isn’t somebody
you normally see
but today the Grim Reaper is coming to tea.

It is not a reason,
it shouldn’t set one to gloat
at you when your choking with something stuck in your throat.

With your breathing erratic
and your temperature high.
It is not a good feeling
when you think you might die.

It was only a morsel,
one that I didn’t chew,
I just swallowed it whole
and it stuck there like glue.

My face is bright red
as I try hard to breathe
and I wipe away blood
that leaves stains on my sleeve.

I am not doing well,
tears run from my eyes
as the panic and horror,
I cannot now disguise.

As the Grim Reaper watches
while still eating my pie,
He looks almost ecstatic
as he watches me die.

So the moral is this
always chew on your meal
or you may well find out
just the way that I feel.

Do not try to rush eating!
Do not pig out like me
and you won’t get the
Grim Reaper coming for tea!



Bats in the Belfry

The phone did ring that night
with a constant loud none end.
The caller I do not know but neither relative or friend.

Nor do I recognize the voice
with such an ethereal tone
as it instructs in real terms
that it knows I’m alone.

The picture it paints of me
a portrayal so aghast.
Scrutinising my good health,
hinting that it may not last.

My attention then arrests
with such sudden heavy knocks,
pounding hard upon my door,
until the entry-way unlocks

The sound of rusted hinges,
allied with such an eerie squeal.
This is not my imagination
but it seems almost unreal

With a breath so deeply held,
fighting so hard not to shake
Should a heart beat at this speed?
Surely it is going to break.

A surging chilling haze
covers everything In sight
as a colony of bats
flutter in from darkest night.

This black conglomeration
fly around me without grace
While my arms I wave around,
trying to keep them from my face.

I flinch in pain as fangs connect
and I fight hard to get free
and my life will pass me by
in my own makeshift belfry.



One way Flight

As he stood on the edge his heart skipped a beat as he stepped from the ledge, his direction the Street.


There is no turning back on this one way flight. Flying into the blackness of his final night.


And so as they say, his life he can see, he must watch this replay before he is set free.


The money acquired had helped him to rise. It was all he inspired, the one thing he did prize.


Now it’s no use at all, he thought, as he frowned and he continued to fall towards the oncoming ground.


He had been a big cheese, fought his way to the top. Brought them down to their knees even then would not stop.


He needed to possess so he fiddled and lied. Caused a whole heap of mess, because he would not be denied.


It had not been unknown and it was quite often said that the seeds he had sewn had caused some to be dead.


But this mattered not as long as he got his way. He would never forgive, he would make them all pay.

When the markets did crash and there was money no more. Well it wasn’t his cash, his was all safe. Off-shore.


He had never cared for the harm he had done for his bonuses were spared from this web he had spun.


He remembered it all as his flight did progress and he ended his life with another bloody mess.



From the Grave

The earth tumbled into
his half opened tomb
where he had spent many years
like a child in the womb.

Freedom had called him
and answer he did
as he slowly removed
that old coffin lid.

Now unconfined,
he walked once again
and from his death bed
he was keen to remain.

He came from the mist,
coming from the South Downs,
a surprise lay in store
for these East Sussex towns.

He remembered those folk
who for their own remedy
had buried him there
in that old cemetery.

He could still see in his mind
that his life they did dwindle
so their ancestors acquaintance
he’s inclined to rekindle.

To continue the story
of long, long, ago
he has longed for their blood
and the seeds he will sow.

Making merry their woman
and the bastards he’ll sire
for although he loves blood
he’s a randy vampire.

He favoured to bite them
inside of their thigh
filling them with desire
just before they would die.

Watching them wanting,
seeing them writhe
feeling them with him
as they wantonly strive.

With licentious abandonment
these females so keen, being so uncontrolled by
this vampire libertine.

He would love them and drain them
of more than their soul.
He would take of their body,
depleting it whole.

Then he would move on
leaving death in his wake.
It was not only love
it was lives he would take.

This is the course,
how he will behave
and the new aim in life
as he climbs from his grave.



The Strangler Tree

Myths and Legends’ tell a tale which in these times cannot be heard,
a life brushing such things aside, classing them as so absurd.
Old wives tales, fictitious myths, fables that have gone astray.
Meaning nothing, from the past. slighted in this modern day.

But laugh you not, you doubting Toms’, do not throw allegory aside
for more happens within this phrase the likes of, if witnessed would open your eyes.

For I recall the Strangler Tree and like you I thought a story so tall.

A lie to stop kids shinning up, in order that they would not fall.

One evening as we walked the path that leads through Devils’ peak,
we came across the Strangler Tree and couldn’t help but take a peek.

Not sure of our distance out from the yonder distant town.
He scaled the branches just to see but promised to climb straight back down.

The view was an amazing sight where he could see for many miles
and from the forest floor below I could see him with beaming smiles.

As he set to come back down to the earth and all us friends
who waited patiently down below and watching as this boy descends.

The ground about vibrated so, leaves fell down like autumns fall,
the earth beneath our feet did crack and roots below did start to crawl.

Elongating through the soil, tubers rising like an asp,
circling around young feet, twisting roots, making their grasp.

The sky above was darkening, thundering clouds, oncoming storm,
the heavens throwing down the rain, no longer sun, no longer warm.

Branches encircling appendages, limbs akimbo of their place.
The climber being torn apart, his blood spurting from every place.

A large knot in the trunk of tree puncturing like hells own door.
branches and roots now making pace towing us across the floor.

Entrance of Hades welcoming, with almost a sneering, grimaced smile
as sections of small body parts are taken deep into the bile.

Where once the noise so agonizing, now the silence eerie.
Five young persons so defying and only one could struggle free.

Many paces from this place a child found nearly deceased.
The towns folk had their own ideas, the police main suspect, wild beast.

The sights I saw within those minutes are with me each and every day, my words the psychiatrist dismisses but my horrors never go away.

We laughed away those old wives tales, we took them all with dubiety.
So listen, heed that old time wisdom or you may end up just like me.



Mister Manure I walk quietly through the forest,
although I think I’m on my own
a million eyes are watching me.
So far from sight yet never alone.

My tread though light still makes me known
to what lies underneath my feet
and through my soles I feel a pulse
a throbbing, solid, rhythmic beat.

Out of sight, below the earth,
life is happening at full pace,
roots are escalating forth,
tubers rising from this place.

Non-contained with rapid growth,
enlarging rate with no restraints.
Powering life throughout the soil,
like blood that flows through clear veins.

As I lie here in the shade
of such a well developed tree,
I wonder if my eyes play tricks,
as grimacing faces look down at me.

Timber gargoyles form in the grain,
protruding outward obtrusive and bloating.

Fierce whispers throughout the woodlands,
sneering grins, a forest gloating.

A blanket of greeneries warmth
stirring through this grassy mound
inside the greenery of my bed
my hands and feet are wholly bound.

Uprooting with a thunderous force
migrating movements of the tree.
malicious roots break through the earth
as lumber’s army surrounds me.

Elongating wooden tentacles,
these branches whipping all around.
One moment I watch terrorised
the next I’m pulled below the ground.

Tuber’s filling orifices,
strangling roots a paralyser.
Tearing me from limb to limb
this human being now fertilizer.


A little bit of Horror

A little bit of Horror is a lyrical look at superstion, occult and horror. Hinting at the creepy and evil aspects of poetry but bound in a lyrical prose. Looking to cause alarm, unease and trepidation to those of a timid or faint hearted disposition. Christopher K Bayliss is a poet and writer with a macabre fascination for the darker side of penmanship. He writes with the intention of endowing the reader with a sense of anxiety and suggests reading this eerie balladry by candlelight and next to an open fire.

  • ISBN: 9781311790996
  • Author: Christopher K Bayliss
  • Published: 2016-04-18 17:05:12
  • Words: 5000
A little bit of Horror A little bit of Horror