The Dark Beneath the Floor

Beneath the floor, a whisper calls,

A shiver creeping through the walls.

It claws, it gnashes, waits in vain,

To feast upon the soul's sweet pain.

The house is still, the night is deep,

But something stirs that does not sleep.

A breath too cold, a shadow wide,

Something breathes where none can hide.

In every creak and every sigh,

It crawls, it drags, it gnashes by.

Its eyes like coal, its breath like frost,

It seeks the living, what’s not lost.

You hear its voice—a rasp, a moan,

It calls to you, you’re not alone.

It calls from deep beneath the wood,

A promise of what should not be good.

And as you turn, the room grows tight,

The darkness thickens, steals the light.

A face, a smile, too close to see,

It whispers, “Now, come follow me.”

The floor gives way, the earth will feast,

You’re never free, not in the least.

Note:

This poem explores the deepest fears of being pursued by an unseen force, trapped in a place where there is no escape. It’s a chilling reminder of the things that wait just beneath the surface, waiting to claim the living in a haunting embrace.