Haunted Trails Presents
Horror is Ever Present
by
Mina Stillwater
The pillars of Horror are erected and stand on landscapes familiar, but quite out of hand. While the logical mind attempts to label, or even dismiss, the revelations of Horror are poised to enlist. As an entity so familiar, yet not quite clear, It simmers & slithers until It’s congealed into a form with a power that none can resist (though they try).
At once, yet forever, to be embraced by the masses as truth to the senses, where this primordial god dwells. A supple reminder that’s laced through the ages, escaping decay through Its alchemical change.
The body of Horror needs no introduction to the child when born from its mother’s safe womb. For It lingers below, without loss to Its vigor and opens Its arms (even) before the afterbirth is expelled.
Horror came to my town as a vampire of sorts, with a penchant for finding that vital metallic source. Growing up, I knew this and hid under the covers and trembled as It crept in the silence of night, unable to move --- at times holding my breath --- ‘til I almost turned blue, dying of fright.
But Horror likes you like that, trembling and sweaty, to the point of exhaustion, to the stage of servitude. Its best friend is Fear, you know, Its consort through the ages and droplets of Anxiety, Its Prophet of Doom. Famed by Its legends and telltale myths.
Horror is unceasingly present, hovering like a fog, freeing you only for a moment, (here and there) just to keep you alive. You weep on your pillow; you cry deep inside as your fingers are clutching, digging deep in your rind.
Once you’re addicted to the thrill Horror gives, only then does It grace you with a glimpse of Its face; a visage that leaves you lying down on the ground. There your blood rushes wildly while you swim in distress. Still, Horror pokes and It prods you, leaving you wholly spellbound. Horror, as the Master of all your dreads, is ever present, threatening all you hold dear. Still, you lovingly stroke It, clinging tight to your fears.
Horror is an animal. It runs alongside the frayed ends of one’s psyche just under the tide; in oceans of memories and rivers of moaning, anointing new converts as Its baptismal bride. Enticing the timid, unearthing the sane with beats of antiquity and songs of one’s pain.
Ne’er was a Master so precise, so refined as the King of all builders and tailor of shame. Uprooting, revealing the roots of the brave, as It tears, rearranging then making them lame. Horror contorts then assembles all moving cells to grow into menacing dark teller of tales. Its whispers, they linger; Its haunting winds blow. Not nor never, but always bestows.
“Hail to the Rex,” cry those who align. Who wait without swerving for the Dark Angel of Gore. Who quake without twitching. Who never exhale, but grind out their being from every raised pore. Who follow the path of the sorrowful masses and all that do dine on His bread and His wine.
Oh Horror, my suitor, you are base and unkind. You’re always and forever embracing my mind. Seducing me onward ‘til I’m wrapped in the gauze of the unbearable aching of Death’s final applause.
Mina Stillwater is a retired paralegal, a musician, artist, and writer who lives in
Central Florida. Having extensively studied world religions, she subsequently devoted
her personal research to the area of metaphysics to include alchemy, correspondences
and theurgy together with Kabbalistic studies.
When not writing, Mina engages in drawing using the mediums of graphite
pencil and India ink to produce works that, among other subjects, include the human
anatomy as well as sacred geometry. Her musical background includes classical piano,
guitar and vocals.
Transition is Mina Stillwater’s debut novel, the first in the trilogy The Opus of
Jada Noita available in eBook and paperback format on Amazon. A synopsis of
Transition is available on her website https://mstillwater23.wixsite.com/mysite-3/b
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