Shrouded in mystery, not for the weak of heart
The jagged cliffs dark and damp, feral mosses
Cling to ragged stones along the perilous trail
Where only fools would tread!
A cold eerie mist devours the daylight,
Leaving all-consuming darkness in its wake.
Rhythmic thunder echoes into the trees…
The turbulent sea pounding the rocks below!
There’s a footbridge near the cliff’s edge
Where spine-chilling whispers pierce the silence.
There he waits, in the shadows below the bridge,
Gnarled fingers clinging to the rotting timbers!
No one ventures there anymore.
Deemed unsafe, they closed it down.
Too many had tried, and too many had died,
Lost in the treacherous crevices within.
But now and then the very young drop by,
An adrenalin rush, they do it on a dare!
For in the minds of the youthful
There’s nothing to fear but fear itself!
And he patiently anticipates their foolhardiness!
For this half-acre of the earth belongs to him!
Banished there by the righteous a century ago…
He vowed to seek revenge against them all!
There are naysayers that mock the stories!
And there are those who’ve been there and back.
But in the Devil’s Half-Acre some have vanished
Never to be seen again!
© Annabel Sheila
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