A poem, inspired by a picture.

Yeah, there's a story behind this one. My two friends and I were up far too late playing video games when I showed them this image:



Which is from a recent news story, and no one knows what the hell it is.
Anyway, we kept reading up on it and similar things, and became extremely scared.
MANLY MEN DOING MANLY THINGS.
Anyway, I wrote a poem about it:

It's coming.
It's here.
It's all around us.

Its putrid eyes
Staring
Watching
Waiting.

Its talons scrape
The window pane
Like nails on a blackboard

It stares at our souls.

When one of us leaves the rest
And is alone
It will steal us
With a shriek

One will disappear forever.
Two left, it returns and waits.
Endlessly.
No escape.

Making it up as I go along: to be continued?

The moon shone with such intensity that it seemed almost like daylight, casting a thick shadow of trees and buildings onto the train I was on as they whizzed past the fogged-up window. I cast my gaze to the black cat walking along the carriage floor. I still thought it a bit strange to have a pet on board, especially on the way to such a cold and desolate place, but to each their own.

I turned my attention back to the tracks ahead.
We must be nearly there by now.
A few minutes passed, but with everyone so unfocussed, most of them staring into space, heads bobbing to and fro with the train, I'd be surprised if anyone noticed.

A loud crashing sound suddenly erupted from the carriage in front of us, jolting everyone back to the present, and, with confused faces and murmurs of concern around me, I watched as the scenery outside stopped moving and the train screeched to a halt.

I stood up and clambered up the carriage.
I had to see what the fuss was about.
With people now yelling behind me, I walked out the carriage door.
What lay before me, I will say now, was a surprise: absolutely nothing.
Where the rest of the train that contained the driver and many passengers should have been, there lay only tracks, stretching as far as I could see with no signs of life whatsoever.

It began to snow.

'Dark'.

In the dark, next to the door
there is a shape that's nothing more
than a shirt or book or shoe
but it's frightening, you wonder "who
or what is that, beside my chair,
staring at me with fiendish glare?"
and so you hide your frightened head,
push it to your warm, safe bed
'til morning comes, to your surpise
that scary beast, those beady eyes
were nothing more than shoes, marked
made surreal and scary in the dark.