Twisted Tryst Poem by Sean Joyce

I'm too early so I walk slowly along the riverbank.
I still get there too soon so stand and wait.
I watch the twilight fade behind the churchyard near the bridge
where the witches' trees are silhouettes against the sky.
The air is chilled by the river and the gloom
but is abruptly cooler now and I must turn and look.

There is something there.
Something is standing by the rock under the trees.
It’s like a shadow but darker then and getting darker still.
Its more than a shadow its like a hole a void.

Drawn closer now I see it is more than an absence of light.
Yet there is no fear about, no terror in the air.
What there is a sucking sense of sadness.
A sense of sorrow that is utterly profound.

Did I pick this place to meet a friend?
She'll be here shortly so I must warn her.
But even as I watch
the horror
takes on shape.
From bone
to flesh
to blood
to dress.
I try to turn
to run
too late
her fingers
at my neck.