Nightmare Eater

Silvatiicus Riddle

From whence my master lay in his bed,
in dreamland, in repose, where all the dark does charge
the cracks and crags of his features in palettes of amber
and blue, I, myself, cannot so rest––finding a different charge, I rise
from a day’s waking-slumber to feast
upon the dried and twisted necks
of the daemons that ignite
the floorboards at jutting angles––steadfast
to avoid the intrusive slant of street lights
through the heat-fogged panes.

How I crave the bitter marrows
of wretched creatures that cry, and creep,
to leave him frail and fragile, breathless in his sleep;
I hunger for their hearts, those vile and wicked beasts,
their oil-black blood, their rank and sappy bile.

Do you dare expose your rot, your ills,
your bare and wanton dread?
For in me there is a catacombs, dark, and seeming,
off and away from the lazed and dreaming,
where shadows of the nameless tread.

Know me, then: Nightmare Eater, Grimalkin,
old witch-soul companion of yore;
awakened by fate from the blood of his birth,
ensouled I am, thrice, from the breaths that came first,
to sleep in his breast, therein tethered, and bound,
to live, a stalwart sentry, a private tempest carried,
in the pocket of the magus heart.

And though the night is prowled by many things,
I am in a strange courtship with the dense, and umbral eve.
From every wickedness––a stolen breath,
and every anguish––a heart distilled.
Man does carve an egregore, that crawls like so much death
from out the unconscious maw, to lay a heavy hand
upon the weary, and world-worn soul.

Thus, Grimalkin count the strangers, their interests,
every vespertine trespass, where scavengers circle, shift
against their master’s unawares. But, oh, to die, to choose!
Flee beneath the cloud-laced moon,
or risk the burn of gilded eyes

Do you dare cross the circled salt, a mare,
to impose your will, your dread?
For in me there is a catacombs, dark, and seeming,
off and away from the lazed and dreaming,
where shadows of the nameless tread.

“Nightmare Eater”  © Silvatiicus Riddle.  First published here in Cosmic Roots & Eldritch Shores, May 25, 2025
Silvatiicus Riddle. Forest Enigma. A Mystery Within a Feral Landscape. The Unknowable Woodlands. Curiously Mystified Thicket. Anachronistic Troubadour. Sleepy Iconoclast. Witch. Lover. Friend. Lost Boy. Multi-faceted, multi-dimensional being disguised as a Dark Fantasy & Speculative Fiction Writer, and Poet. A Faerie, misplaced. A strange, 19th century Victorian-Gothic figure haunting the doorways of the mind. Sometimes looks like a painting, or a small, wooden doll. Might have been educated in the likes of English and Literature at Kingsborough. May have appeared as an enchanted poem or story, folded tightly among the pages of Apex Magazine, Dreams & Nightmares, Enchanted Living, Spectral Realms, Eternal Haunted Summer, and Weird Fiction Quarterly. Is far too shy to ask you to help him find his time machine. He cannot recall where he parked it. If found, please call: [redacted].

Lead and end pics by Fran Eisemann.  Background pic by Wyldravn.deviantart.com