The 'disappearance' of Jason McFarren (Friday 13th)

Hesitant fingers
hold the key to the attic;
a keychain rattles

clink-clink in the lock
(a rusty belly dancer);
the hinges scream out.

Prying eyes adjust -
midnight madness lies ahead -
where the moonlight hides

under rotten flesh,
covered in dusty red cloth
where she awaits him.

“Are you sleeping, dear?”
The only answer, a sob;
a snob sob sigh sneer.

“Will you ever wake?
You have been sleeping so long.”
The windows rattle,

and the door slams shut -
the candle out of his grasp -
orange flames lighten

a figure that climbs,
head first, from under the cloth;
crawls hand over hand.

Her voice reeks of hate,
“Too long have you kept me here!
You picked the wrong day!”