Thank you for reading or listening to The Realist Juggernaut. Independent journalism should be accessible to everyone.
When the clock strikes twelve and the sky turns black,
The shadows creep, there’s no turning back.
The witching hour, where nightmares bloom,
The spirits rise from the tombs of doom.
The wind grows still, the trees don’t sway,
An eerie calm, night swallows day.
A flicker of light, a whisper near,
You’re not alone—someone’s here.
Through the fog, a figure appears,
A twisted grin, a face of fears.
Its eyes are hollow, its voice is low,
It beckons you, “Come below…”
The ground beneath your feet feels weak,
The soil parts, as whispers speak.
“Join us,” they chant, in voices cold,
“Come to the dark, come to the old.”
You try to run, but your legs won’t move,
The earth pulls you with a silent groove.
Each step you take, the shadows grow,
They wrap around you, far below.
The moon above turns blood-red bright,
A signal sent to summon the night.
A witch’s cackle fills the air,
As creatures stir from everywhere.
The trees come alive with twisted hands,
Their branches reach out like dark commands.
And in the distance, wolves do howl,
A predator’s hunt—a demon’s prowl.
You stumble, fall, the ground gives way,
Into the pit where darkness lay.
The witch’s eyes gleam fierce and bright,
She smiles and grins—a deadly sight.
Her fingers sharp, like brittle bone,
She calls to the night with an ancient tone.
“Your soul is mine, forever more,
Lost to the void, the endless door.”
The tombs break open, the dead arise,
Their empty sockets full of lies.
They march as one, a ghostly crew,
Their cold, dead hands reach out for you.
A banshee screams from distant hills,
A sound so sharp, your blood it chills.
The witch’s laugh now fills the sky,
Her curse is cast, no one gets by.
You try to fight, to pull away,
But darkness comes to claim its prey.
The witch’s curse is set in stone,
And now, dear friend, you are alone.
So heed this warning, dark and clear,
When the witching hour draws near,
Stay inside, lock the door tight,
For the witching hour brings the night.
Sponsored • TRJ Ads
Inquiries: contact@therealistjuggernaut.com
Excellent. The trees coming alive and reaching out remind me of a spooky ghost story on TV some years ago, where the trees killed someone. Appropriately creepy material for the month of Halloween. 🥹
Thank you very much, Laura! I’m glad those creepy trees brought back those spooky TV memories, and they are only going to get creepier. Well, I hope! 😎
Creepy good! I love the blood red moon and the witchy cackle lol 😆 🌕 🧹 ✨
Thank you very much, Laura! I’m glad you loved the creepy vibes, especially the blood red moon and that witchy cackle! Definitely trying to make it spookier with each one! 😎
Keep going! 😊