The Organist

For The Organist
Setting the halls of the cathedral a-ring
With music that could wake
A demon from a thousand-year slumber
Is nothing new,
Just
Something of tradition.
Darkness engulfs
The halls
And the empty rooms
Bringing a sinister feeling
Over the man.
This, however,
Does not stop him
From playing
His horrid notes
And his cursed melodies.
The music
Echoes through the cathedral
Replaying itself for
It's non-existent inhabitants.
Except tonight
The morbid building
Is not vacant
And The Organist
Is not alone
In any sense of the word.
Darkness creeps
Through cracks
In the floors and walls.
Oblivious of his company
The Organist continues his wicked tune.
Closer
And closer
And closer
The darkness approaches him.
Ignoring the noises
He believes he is
Imagining,
The Organist does not
Stop
Playing.
Down the hall
What seem like shadows
Hugging the walls
Crawl towards the Organ room.
He finishes his song
And turn to leave.
He collapses
At the sight
Of Death
Waiting for him in the doorway.
Grasping a scythe
Of blackened wisps
He advances
On the limp,
Unconciopus body
Of the foolish man.
He lifts the weapon,
Heavy with the weight
Of pure darkness,
And bring it down
On the crippled,
Tiny,
Dark heart
Of The Organist.
The deed done,
Death vanishes into the shadows
Leaving behind
The corridors of the blasphemous cathedral,
Still echoing
From the sound of
The Organ.