It comes with the rain,
It waits for your power to cut out.
When it’s dark, and you scurry about.
It follows you, step by step,
As you light your candles,
It hides in the shadows.
It is there.
With you in your home.
You hear nothing but the downpour
Of the rain in the outdoor.
You hear nothing but the blowing
Of the violent gust as it whistles.
You see nothing but the hue
Of the candle flame.
You feel nothing but
The suspicion that something isn’t right.
It’s there with you, waiting to fright.
It watches you as you sit reading this poem.
It watches you as you wait for the storm to pass.
It is there, stalking you.
It blows out the flame of the candle.
It breathes behind you,
Blowing its breath on your neck.
Giving you chills.
Then it kills.
It was a gruesome slaying,
As it came when it was raining.