Plagues in Toyland: A Collection of Necrotic Nursery Rhymes Vol 1

Peter Pumpkin Eater

Peter, Peter sick with fever

Killed his wife but couldn't grieve her

Hid his deed in pumpkin shells

And gently tossed them down a well

Jack and Jill 

Jack and Jill critically ill

Hosts of deadly contagion
Said Goldilocks,
"You've got the pox!"
And promptly quarantined them. 

Jack Be Nimble

Jack was nimble
Jack was quick
Jack evaded
Security's tricks

He wandered o're country
Through valleys he fled
'Till Little Jack Horner
Fell over dead

Little Jack Horner

Little Jack Horner
With nary a mourner
Lamenting his unmarked grave 
He opened his eyes
Persuaded to rise
And seek out the skull meat he craved

Little Miss Muffet

Little Miss Muffet
First one to snuff it
When Jacky came home to play
He gnawed on gray matter
As sweet as cake batter
And two corpses shambled away

Wee Willie Winkie

Wee Willie Winkie runs for his life
Hiding in the shadows, and brandishing a knife
Screaming into windows, up and down the block
"Arm yourselves and flee the town, for now the undead walk!"

Little Bo Peep

Little Bo Peep
Can't fall asleep
Dead hands pound at door and window
Carnivorous moans
Throats choked with bones
Begging to see her blood flow

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall

High-powered scope to see them all

Heads pop like pumpkins

Streets splattered with brains

Humpty squeezing the trigger

Again and again

Old King Cole

Old King Cole

Was afraid for his soul

Last man in the kingdom, was he

He fingered his piece

And he prayed for release

For he knew it was futile to flee

In Dreams

Nancy cried out in her sleep. Partially paralyzed vocal cords produced a sound more similar to a yodel than a scream, but it was enough to wake her husband, Phil.

“Hush. Babyluv, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Phil placed a hand on his wife’s chest. Her heart worked furiously thrusting bone and soft tissue against his open palm at rapid, irregular intervals. “You’re okay.” he repeated. Nancy—head pivoting wildly from side to side—uttered a series of unintelligible syllables followed by four deep, gasping breaths. She opened her eyes and sat up.

“What was it this time?” Phil asked, propping himself up on one elbow. In the dark, his wife sat with knees pulled to her chest and one finger, crowned by a mangled nail, tracing the outline of her chapped lips.

“Something. In the shower. I don’t know. There was soap in my eyes.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t worry about it, love.” Phil rolled out of bed.

“Where’re you going?” Her voice was high and filled with concern.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get a glass of water. You need anything while I’m up?”

“No.”

“Try and go back to sleep.”

“Mkay.” Nancy became a curved outline beneath the sheets.

Phil padded down the hall and flipped a switch, flooding the bathroom in yellow light. He voided his bladder, washed his hands, and downed two glasses of water. While inspecting an ingrown chin hair, Phil noticed the shower curtain flutter. He looked to the window. Closed. He looked back to the shower curtain reflected in the mirror.

It fluttered again.

“No.” Phil said, fighting the panic trying to clawing its way out of his skull. 

Call the police, it screamed. A priest. An exorcist. Call anybody, but don't just stand there. And whatever you do, don't pull back the curtain. 

“I won’t  be sucked into another one of her paranoid nightmares. Not again.”

He turned and threw back the curtain.

It was Phil’s turn to scream.

Holy Communion

The boxcar was their church, a hidden place they went to beg forgiveness and take communion on Sunday. Mommy said she’d found Jesus and showed them his license to prove it. He stared woefully at them from the cross, mumbling words they couldn’t comprehend.

Mommy carved six strips of eucharist and arranged the holy ribbons onto a gilded plate. She filled a golden chalice to overflowing. Two by two the children knelt and accepted their savior; cherubic lips stained with absolution praised his name. Filled with divine light, they wiped their bloody faces and prayed.

Jesus wept.

The Nocturne (excerpt)

Aaron had stumbled across The Nocturne by accident. It was tucked away at the center of a vast labyrinth of dark alleys and dead end streets, the kinds of places people don’t notice during the day and avoid after dark. If anyone were to ask Aaron for directions to The Nocturne, or to provide a general description of it’s location, he would be of little help. And although Aaron wasn’t exactly sure where The Nocturne was - in relation to the University, in relation to his apartment, in relation to anything, really  -  he knew how to find it. Now he trudged through unlit alleys, one after another, scaling white dunes of snow-coated refuse and skating across lakes of black ice, his eyes scouring the landscape for a hint of The Glimmer.

The Glimmer, that's what Aaron called it, was a trail of barely visible iridescent markings that would lead an observant traveler to the great steel doors of The Nocturne. At first, The Glimmer appeared to be a random assortment of symbols - if it appeared at all - but if one payed close attention, as Aaron had, a pattern would emerge. Clockwise spirals indicated a right turn ahead. Inverted arrows meant taking a flight of stairs. Ringed hexagons meant you’d taken a wrong turn and needed to backtrack. There were a fair number of distractors as well. Counterclockwise spirals meant nothing, and were to be ignored.

After nearly an hour of hunting, Aaron was no closer to his destination than when he’d started. He pressed his forehead against a cement wall and cursed. On previous trips, he’d picked up The Glimmer almost immediately.

You’re trying too hard. Look again. 

The voice originated inside his head, but it was not his own. Aaron opened his eyes and stepped back. There on the wall, feathered between chips and cracks, was The Glimmer.

Sleepless in Sarcophagi

Awake and breathless I linger, cradled inside a satin-lined chamber. The first scoop of earth lands with a heavy thud!