Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: supernatural

  • On The Verge Of Doom

    On The Verge Of Doom

    On the verge of doom, where shadows cling,
    Beneath the endless skies of decay, no light to show.
    A land of sighs and tears breathes its last, steeped in dread,
    As night consumes, the sun leaves all hopes dead.

    The scent of oppression pervades with shadows of despair,
    Each dream becomes an illusion as the world lies broken.
    The trees stand twisted, their branches bare,
    Grasping at the stars as if seeking solace unspoken.

    On the verge of doom, the silence reigns,
    A haunting emptiness of forgotten pains.
    The moon hangs dim, a spectre in the night,
    Casting ghostly glimmers, a wicked light.

    Raindrops fade softly along the cobbled lane,
    Where memories linger, steeped in anguish and pain.
    The castle looms, its towers cracked and worn,
    A sentinel of sorrow, where dreams are torn.

    On the verge of doom, in chambers adorned,
    With dust and despair, wraiths of phantoms curl.
    They beckon with tales of those lost to time,
    Of loves that withered, of life’s cruel rhyme.

    Hope strives to cling tenaciously to the edge of the night,
    A flicker, a spark, in the grip of the fright.
    But darkness devours, as it always has done and always will,
    And on the verge of doom, all battles are worthless.

    On the verge of doom, the silence hangs heavy,
    Darkness creeps upon all realms, its grip tightening fast.
    Desire turns to ashes, consumed by the keeper,
    In this hollow silence, all dreams are betrayed.

    In the echoes of silence, in the depth of the gloom,
    Lies the haunting refrain of impending doom.
    Among the shadows where the weary hearts dwell,
    Forever entwined in the web of the invisible.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Abyss of Doom

    The Abyss of Doom

    The abyss of doom hunts me,
    Paving the way for my decay.
    Glorious illusions are not my guardians anymore,
    Hence, the darkness encloses me in a labyrinth of despair.

    The abyss of doom sees me wherever I roam,
    Wandering through a wild garden of wickedness,
    Surrounded by evil ghouls with burning eyes,
    Lonely and injured, striving for survival.

    I stumble through this forsaken realm,
    Where hope is a fleeting ghost,
    Fading into shadows with every step.
    The wind howls like a cursed whisper,
    Carrying with it the echoes of forgotten souls,
    Who once danced in the light,
    Now imprisoned in the eternal night.

    There is no mercy here, no salvation,
    Only the weight of my own dread.
    The ghouls laugh with hollow voices,
    Their eyes are aflame with the fire of my fear,
    And nevertheless, I press on through the thorns,
    Each step tears away the remnants of my strength.

    The abyss of doom knows my every thought,
    It feels my terror, my sorrow, my longing,
    For an escape that will never come.
    The sky above is blackened, choked with clouds,
    The ground below cracks under the weight of my despair.

    How long can I endure this torment?
    How far can one go when surrounded by spectres?
    The answers elude me, just as freedom does.
    I am lost in a maze where the walls close in,
    And every path leads deeper into oblivion.

    The flowers in this cursed garden are withered,
    Their petals fall like shattered dreams,
    Rotting under the harsh gaze of death.
    I cannot escape this realm of endless grief,
    Where each breath I take only brings me closer,
    To the abyss of doom that waits to claim me whole.

    And so I wander still, forever trapped,
    A soul adrift in the abyss of doom.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Fright and Horror

    Fright and Horror

    Fright and horror ruled the night,
    Within that house of crumbling stone,
    Where shadows swirled with dread and fright,
    And chilling whispers, all alone.

    The hearth, once warm, now cold and still,
    Had seen the darkened spirits roam,
    Their blast a chill, their presence ill,
    Made mortal hearts a haunted home.

    In faded tapestries of old,
    Where spectral eyes gazed from their frame,
    Fright and horror did unfold,
    Their stare was a harbinger of shame.

    Through moonlit panes and misty gloom,
    A figure roamed with spectral grace,
    Its eyes aglow, a foreboding doom,
    Its silent steps a grim embrace.

    Fright and horror held their sway,
    As echoes moaned through hollow halls,
    Where time and dread had lost their way,
    And shadows clung to ancient walls.

    In every scrape, in every groan,
    A tale of fear was sharply drawn,
    Where once was light, now dark is sown,
    And glimmer’s truth is nearly gone.

    A portrait hung of mournful hue,
    Its subject lost, a fate unknown,
    Fright and horror to the few
    Who dared to tread where spirits sobbed.

    The house, now left in deep darkness,
    Tales of its terror plagued,
    Panic and anguish in restless sleep,
    Tormented the realm where darkness ruled.

    Fright and horror wove their spell,
    In labyrinths of endless gloom,
    Where every corner hid a legend
    Of sorrow sealed within each chamber.

    No light could pierce the shrouded veil,
    No sound could chase the spectral dread,
    Since in its chasms, the horror has passed
    Bounding every soul that dared be led.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Doll’s Curse

    The Doll’s Curse

    The doll’s curse lingered in a dusty attic,
    Beneath cobwebs and forgotten memories,
    Where shadows whispered of past misdeeds
    And echoes of laughter long since lost.

    Gossamer draped like spectral thieves,
    A doll sat motionless, with glassy eyes,
    Its eternal gaze fixed through the past,
    Silent, it spoke of secrets long surpassed.

    Once a cherished companion, now forsaken,
    Its smile, a frozen echo; joy had waned.
    The silence thickened, heavy with dread,
    As the doll’s head turned with a creak, an unseen thread.

    Moonlight filtered through the attic’s grime,
    Casting shadows that twisted with time.
    At night, when darkness wove its shroud,
    The doll awoke, its curse unbound.

    Porcelain limbs, once delicate, pure,
    Moved now with a malevolent allure.
    The doll’s eyes, glinting with ancient hate,
    Became portals to a nightmarish fate.

    As shadows deepened, the house would groan,
    With a spectral wail, a mournful tone.
    The doll’s curse, an eldritch spell,
    Lured the unwary to a darkened hell.

    Whispers floated on the cold, still air,
    Of lost souls trapped in eternal despair.
    The attic’s secret, buried in layers of dust,
    A curse born of malice and betrayal’s rust.

    Those who ventured into this cursed space
    Found their lives erased without a trace.
    Their screams, a haunting melody of fright,
    Echoed in the attic’s endless night.

    The doll remained, its gaze fixed and cold,
    Guarding secrets dark and old.
    Its eyes followed each unwelcome guest,
    Their fate was sealed by a malevolent quest.

    And as the years passed, its curse remained,
    A timeless horror, eternally unchained.
    The attic, a tomb of forgotten fears,
    Bore witness to the doll’s eternal tears.

    In silent watch, the doll endured,
    A symbol of dread, with a curse that lured.
    Its haunted presence, a perpetual blight,
    Cast shadows dancing in the dead of night, restless and bright.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Endless Labyrinth

    The Endless Labyrinth

    The endless labyrinth dwelled in a forest, deep and twisted tight,
    A maze lay hidden from the light.
    Its paths wound through eternal night,
    Where echoes whispered of lost fright.

    Each turn and corner led to despair,
    A maze of terror with no hope of repair.
    The trees grew closer, their branches gnawed,
    As shadows swirled around the clawing darkness.

    Lost dreamers wandered within its grip,
    Guided by whispers that would never slip.
    Their pleas for help were swallowed whole,
    By the labyrinth’s heart, where darkness took its toll.

    The walls, adorned with names of the lost,
    Bore witness to a chilling cost.
    Those who ventured, drawn by fate,
    Found their lives sealed by the maze’s gate.

    The endless labyrinth would claim its prize,
    Feeding on the terror in their eyes.
    And those who entered, never to leave,
    Were trapped forever in the dark reprieve.

    No light could pierce the dense and thick fog,
    No sign of longing in this sinister alcove.
    The air grew heavy and full of dread,
    As the dreams entered, their hopes were long dead.

    The labyrinth, a creature of ancient woe,
    Devoured the light, the flames, the glow.
    Its paths were twisted, wicked and cold,
    A monument to fierce nightmares.

    Fragments of life, faint and lost,
    Went astray through the maze’s frost.
    Each cry for help, each mournful plea,
    Merged with the maze’s eternal spree.

    The gardens beyond became a distant dream,
    As the labyrinth swallowed, all that gleamed.
    No exit was found, and no path was clear,
    Just the dark embrace of endless fear.

    In the heart of the maze, time ceased to exist,
    An eternal torment shrouded in mist.
    Endless paths led nowhere near,
    Trapped in a void of despair and fear.

    The endless labyrinth claims its own,
    And leaves the lost to wander alone.
    No escape, no final breath,
    Only the whisper of approaching death.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Realm Of Darkness

    The Realm Of Darkness

    The realm of darkness reigned over the valley of shadows,
    Whispers echoed of secrets long kept,
    Wandering through that eerie land,
    Where ghosts clung tight to cold and dead sand castles.

    The moon hung pale and meagre in the haunted sky,
    Casting a sallow glow where the ghouls lay.
    Hollow stares oversaw with silent dread,
    In a dwelling where the living had fled.

    A mansion loomed with windows cracked,
    Its halls lay silent and obscured by memories.
    Cobwebs shrouded each corner tight,
    As time became still in the endless nights.

    A frosty wind lingered among forsaken relics,
    An ancient place that harboured only quiet death.
    The walls hummed with tales of sorrow and woe,
    Of existences lost centuries ago.

    Doors creaked open with eerie sobs,
    Leading further where the darkness had grown.
    An ambience of doom and fear arose, but there was no escape,
    A suffocating silence filled the air.

    Through endless halls, shadows deceived,
    Each niche hid despair’s cruel snare,
    In a place where night clung to the air.

    A mirror waited in a forgotten room,
    Reflecting faces twisted in doom.
    One spectre stared back with eyes so grim,
    Trapped in the void, lost and dim.

    Once whole, now merely a part
    Of the darkness that tore apart.
    In the realm of darkness, forever to dwell,
    Dreamers were ensnared in the night’s cruel spell.

    Underneath the floors, shadows crawled,
    Restless dreams could not befall.
    Ancient fears were left behind,
    In the void where echoes bind.

    The wind howled through barren trees,
    Carrying with it ghostly pleas
    Of those who entered and never returned,
    Their stories of terror were forever unrevealed.

    An ancient clock ticked loudly in the gloom,
    Marking time in that eternal vault.
    Its pendulum swung like a centuries-old curse,
    Shrouding this realm in a veil of forgotten lore.

    Lights faded as shadows reigned,
    Trapped in a world of endless despair.
    No dawn broke that eternal night,
    Only sorrow beneath the gelid moon’s dim light.

    The realm of darkness lingered, forever lost,
    Where shadows wove tales of eternal night.
    In silence, memories were left to drift,
    Their essence was bound in the grasp of the void—
    An endless existence in a haunted dream.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Watcher In The Void

    The Watcher In The Void

    The watcher in the void exists beyond the reach of darkness and light. A shadow crawls—no, creeps—through cracks unseen, where time crumbles and whispers dissolve into nothingness. A hollow and vast eye looms through the endless darkness, constant and unblinking. The pulse of something unknown shudders through the air, a rhythm that defies reason. Has it begun? Will it ever end? The gaze of the watcher in the void pierces through the walls of sanity, unravelling the fabric of reality with a slow, deliberate stare.

    Breath lingers, suspended between worlds that will never merge. The air itself quivers as the void inhales thoughts, exhaling fragments of something twisted and dark. The ground shifts, a subtle tremor beneath unseen steps. Silence hums with tension, and the watcher in the void lingers just beyond the edge of perception. It watches—always watching—staring indefinitely at the infinite abyss of the universe.

    The void is endless—there is no beginning or end—only the infinite eye of the watcher in the void, which never closes and never tyres. Memories scatter like dust, ephemeral and insubstantial, fading into oblivion. Time loops in strange patterns, distorted, lost in the eternal gaze of something ancient, something incomprehensible.

    Echoes drift through the silence, faint and distorted, as if carried from a distant, forgotten realm. The watcher in the void is there, always present, with tendrils of existence coiling through unseen spaces, tightening, constricting, and squeezing until only fragments remain. The eye never wavers, never falters, holding everything in a relentless stare that knows no mercy.

    A scream fades into nothingness, consumed by the void, looping back into itself. The watcher in the void remembers all—every thought, every moment—caught in the never-ending cycle of its gaze. The void is eternal, and the watcher endures, bound to the emptiness, forever seeing, forever waiting. Nothing and no one can escape this lethal and cruel stare, not even the stars.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Alchemy Of Darkness

    The Alchemy Of Darkness

    The alchemy of darkness cast its spell
    In ancient castles where shadows dwelled.
    A tale of dark enchantments swelled,
    Through the alchemy of night’s embrace,
    Secrets whimpered, lost in time.

    Once the spark of light in darkness kindled,
    With mystic words and arcane thoughts,
    In cauldrons deep where gloom was brewed,
    Dreams transformed, and darkness grew.

    In cryptic tomes of ages past,
    Lay the spells of shadows cast.
    The alchemy of night’s domain
    Turned light to dark’s refrain.

    Phantoms rose in midnight’s veil,
    Reflecting a whispered tale.
    In the stillness, darkness flourished,
    Where once, the light of day had strived.

    In moonlit chambers, shadows toiled,
    With potions dark and secrets spoiled.
    In every flask, a cloud stirred,
    Turning light into arcane spells.

    The night’s elixir, dark and deep,
    Held secrets that the shadows kept.
    In every drop, a story told
    Of light transformed, of dreams grown cold.

    Under watchful eyes, light faded into night.
    Darkness became an artwork of dismay,
    Transforming light into a twisted luminary.
    Shadiness revealed mysteries, igniting silent frights.

    Gloominess remained the keeper of antique spells and arcane wisdom,
    In a storm of the night, echoes of dread began their silent flight.
    Through alchemy, light had faded,
    Into the dark, its debt repaid.

    In twilight’s grasp, the darkness unfolded,
    A silent world of eerie hue.
    Through alchemy, the night held sway,
    Turning light to shadow’s play.

    The ancient craft, in darkness, bound,
    With every spell, the night was profound.
    In shadows deep, where secrets lay,
    The alchemy of darkness thrived.

    So, in the night when silence screamed,
    Lay the alchemy of haunted dreams.
    In the darkness, truth abided,
    Where light and shadow intertwined and collided.

    The mystic arts had wrought their end,
    In twilight’s realm, where shadows blended.
    The work was never done,
    In the dark where night and light had spun.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Shadowed Passage

    The Shadowed Passage

    The shadowed passage rested at the heart of a forgotten manor,
    Past the majestic hall and beneath the stairs,
    Where time had left its mark in cold and dark layers,
    Thick with decay and secrets, it bore.

    A single candle’s dim light flickered,
    Casting grotesque shapes upon the ornate walls,
    Forms that moved and twisted eerily,
    With a life of their own in the shadows’ thrall.

    As one ventured deeper, chills gripped the bones,
    The oppressive silence was broken by a drip,
    The uneven floor, worn smooth by countless feet,
    Whispers rose like cold breath to nip.

    In the heart of the passage loomed a door,
    Marred by scratches from desperate attempts to flee,
    Pushing it open revealed a small, dark room,
    Dusty shelves and a chair facing the dark sea.

    From the depths of shadows, a figure emerged,
    More an absence of light than a form,
    Gliding silently with eerie grace,
    Its face was shown briefly with sorrow forlorn.

    Suddenly, the door slammed shut,
    The candle’s light extinguished in the obscurity,
    The whispers crescendoed into a cacophony,
    The figure reached out, and then it all went slack.

    The noise ceased as quickly as it had begun,
    The room remained empty save for a faint, eerie trace,
    The passage, once silent and foreboding,
    Now hummed with echoes of a haunting embrace.

    A chill swept through the manor’s very bones,
    As if the walls themselves were breathing deep,
    Ancient echoes as remembrances of forgotten moans,
    In the shadows where the restless spirits slept.

    The ceiling’s beams, aged and cracked, groaned faintly,
    Their weight seemed almost unbearable,
    Casting elongated, spectral and unsettling shades,
    A spectacle of the eerily intangible.

    In the far corner, a mirror stood covered in dust and fear,
    Reflecting only darkness and fading light,
    Its glass was a gateway to another time,
    Where memories twisted in the heart of each night.

    Steps lingered in the silence, slow and measured,
    Each echo was a relic of the passage’s curse,
    A place where past and present were forever tethered,
    A labyrinth of sighs, haunted and immersed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Haunted Clock Tower

    The Haunted Clock Tower

    The haunted clock tower arose at the edge of the small town,
    A relic from a bygone era, tall and spindly in power,
    Its shadowed spire reached towards the sky,
    Casting long, eerie shapes as the night slipped by.

    The clock, once a symbol of progress and light,
    Hung silent, its hands frozen at midnight,
    People never spoke of it, only silently,
    For it harboured a presence that chilled to the bones.

    Its interior was a maze of rust and decay,
    With oil and neglect filling the air each day,
    Narrow stairs creaked underfoot in the gloom,
    Leading to darkness where the pendulum loomed.

    At midnight, the silence would shatter and fade,
    By a faint chime that seemed distant and played,
    Cold air grew colder, and fog would seep in,
    Swirling through cracks where the old clock had been.

    As the final chime echoed through the night,
    A ghostly figure appeared in the dim light,
    Dressed in a flowing gown, with fair hair,
    Their dark, gloomy eyes stared through the air.

    Among these ghouls was the spirit of a young maid,
    Who loved the clockmaker, but fate betrayed,
    She leapt from the tower, her grief bound tight,
    Her soul was forever cursed to haunt the stormy night.

    Tales told of her form in the windows seen,
    Her longing eyes and sorrowful sheen,
    Her voice on the wind, a chilling, soft cry,
    The tower’s gears groaned as if to reply.

    Brave wanderers ventured in at the witching hour,
    Felt an overwhelming despair, a ghostly power,
    Saw glimpses of her flicker, a spectral flight,
    The chime of the clock brought shivers of fright.

    At dawn, she would fade, and the silence would return,
    The clock stood still, its message unturned,
    A sombre reminder of love and hope lost to time,
    Her haunting presence became an echo in rhyme.

    The folks did not dare approach but kept their distance,
    Avoiding the haunted clock tower with spectral persistence.
    Some spirits were bound too deep to ever find peace,
    Their sorrow remained, and their echoes never ceased.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah