The Haunting Stones
((1997, non-fiction) (Stonehenge))
Standing in front
of one of the megalith
colossal stones,
at Stonehenge,
on the Salisbury
Plain, in Southern England
I was awe-struck
immediately—
A demonic face,
ominously contorted appeared.
The longer I
looked, the more sinister the impression.
The strange evil
spirit was as if in despair,
imprisoned, caged
in granite!
The imprint leered
from the stone hatefully!
The spot where the
hollow remained,
wore a macabre
grimace.
I thought for a
moment, it might even speak aloud.
The evil conveyed
was outside humanity—
It was more
ancient than the Bronze Aged stones,
this temple or
shrine of sorts!
Perchance this
unfamiliar spirit had grown hideous
because of his
Mesolithic old world age.
After a long staring
in silence
equally includible
and sinister was that the face
which grew
hypnotically if not actually more robust…
The lower portion
of the stone was haunted likewise
with shadowy lords
of hell: they
were also looking
at me with malediction.
The stone and
impressions, the color of gray-rats,
with a blustering
flame in its curvatures.
But never anything
like the face.
All frightful
entities, night-bird spirits, whom serve
whom?
Servitor for the
damned?
I asked the
keeper, “Can you see faces in these
stones?”
“No,” he said
almost begrudgingly,
“but a few select
other folk can!”
“Maybe it’s
haunted!” I said as if in half jest.
To him, it was of
no disquiet.
As I walked away
to my bus, of tourists, I looked back
towards the stone
with the face in it—
(out of the tail
end of my eye, —my peripheral vision)
The image was
tracking me, like a wolf to blood.
Then the image
melted into the miry granite.
It remains after
nineteen-years an infernal mystery,
perhaps not to be
solved.
The place its self
has a horde of entities of its own—
scrutinizing, and
an indwelling personality
I do believe.
It’s there like a
soul of a devil.
But I can’t pin it
down, or touch it!
I’m not
superstitious, but I know this world exists.
It’s just not an
odd phenomena in my time.
Traveling
throughout the world, this was not
the first time
some particular spot I’ve visited, that
I’ve come face to
face with an inimical nature
of this sort.
The difference
here was, whatever it was, was
hatefully aware,
watchful!
It is in essence,
a cul-de-sac.
#5238/5-11 & 12-2016
