By: Steve Bolin

Thereís a pitch black tower in the midnight hour,
Lurking deep within a barren moor.
A moat of bone surrounds the slime and stone,
A bridge leads me to the dark, closed door.

The portal opens and creeks on hinges that squeak,
The wooden door has stains and warps.
Inside thereís a room filled with death and doom,
On the wall hangs a rotted corpse.

A howl somewhere pierces through the air,
The mournful sound I do deplore.
Shadows slither across planks covered in moss,
Something awakens beneath the floor.

In the darkness concealed, a shape unrevealed,
What it is still remains unknown.
Horrific fright fills the tower at night,
It was a mistake to come alone.

Beneath wooden cracks it waits and attacks,
Those who foolishly enter the door.
Not one has returned so no one has learned,
About the thing beneath the floor.

Despite all of its power itís trapped in the tower,
But tremors shook and the foundation tore.
Shrieks of elation cause an eerie vibration,
From the entity beneath the floor.

The corruption of time has weakened stones of lime,
Countless years have taken their toll.
Large fractures reveal fissures in the seal,
A collapse will release its soul.

The tower will crumble and bricks will tumble,
Through rotting boards will be an uproar.
Then out of the prison will evil have risen,
It is the thing beneath the floor.

Once it brakes loose it will then produce,
A malignant plague of blood and gore.
Teeth lined jaws, scales, horns and claws,
All wait patiently below the floor.

Without the ancient power of the pitch black tower,
The thing will roam forevermore.
If I hear a taunting, then itís closely haunting,
The thing lurking beneath the floor.

It slips through walls and strolls past halls,
It brings death, destruction and more.
It comes from the deep while I am asleep,
It is the thing beneath the floor.

In my sanctuary, it will dig and bury,
Sharp talons into my flesh and bone.
In an unexpected tangle it will swiftly mangle,
And take delight in my every groan.

No one can flee from what they canít see,
None can hide from this thing abhor.
With every breath I come closer to death,
It watches me through the floor.

My eyes open wide, I sit on the bedside,
I want to sleep but donít know if I should.
Suddenly I feel, something wrap Ďround my heel,
I see red eyes burning between the wood.

I fall on my back; my footís jerked through a crack,
So much pain Iíve not felt before.
My organs compress beneath unholy stress,
Inch by inch, Iím pulled through the floor.

I cry and I scream at this thing so blaspheme,
This is not a dream I can choose to ignore.
I somehow survive, only to be eaten alive,
So beware the thing beneath the floor.

About the Author

With the exception of a four-year hitch in the U.S. Navy, Steve has been a lifelong resident of Indiana. He has more than 40 publishing credits, including co-authoring Black Rising, an epic fantasy novel. He plans to assemble his short stories of dark fantasy and weird tales into an anthology.
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