Scratch, Scratch, Scratch: A Poem

Scratch, Scratch, Scratch


Scratch, scratch, scratch. What was that?

My imagination that haunts me? Or the noise from under the floor?

My sister come to talk to me; come to do me harm?

She was my friend at one time, but now I’m not so sure.

She scares me with her intentions, maybe means to hurt me?

Surely, she means me no mischief? But that is what she knows best.


Scratch, scratch, scratch. I hear it again

Its seems to be coming closer, under the bed now?

The covers I pull over my head to hide from the thing I can’t see

I listen for the sound, but nothing is produced

Maybe she is gone? Back to Hell, I hope.

That is where mommy says she is, and I have no reason to doubt.

For demons reside there and languish in grief

They gnash their teeth and weep with the fiends


Scratch, scratch, scratch. There it is again, closer I think.

Not under, but above, I can’t tell, but I will continue to hide

My fear is great, and I know what she can do

I watched her descend into evil, denounce what was sacred


Once she was my sister but changed when talking to the board.

She signed a pact, with another that was evil.

Why she did, I don’t know, but now she wants me;

I feel she will stop at nothing to own my soul.


Scratch, scratch, scratch. Now it’s in the closet.

I’m trembling, but must peek, with covers away from my face.

I see the toys fall from their shelves, once neatly in place.

They fall to the floor, but one slides out for me to see.

The Ouija board my sister once owned is before me now,

I hear the laughter of children from within the closet; they are playing I think.

A gray, shriveled arm comes from the dark of the closet.


Scratch, scratch, scratch, it goes, illuminated by moonlight from the window,

Lines of shadow from the partially open shade stripe the arm and I count them

One, two, three, four? Then the darkness hides the rest of the thing from within the closet

I hear my name from the nether region that is the place I hang my clothes

But it seems that it is now where she resides, she whispers, but what is it I hear?

The laughter of children or the whispers of demons?

The guide on the board begins to move and spells out a name

I watch as it moves, a detriment to my character, for I am good

Momma tells me so and explains that my sister played with dark forces

That she had no business to understand or comprehend.


Scratch, scratch, scratch. The board makes the sound, as the arm guides it to spell letters,

My name again and then something else. J…o…i…n…m…e

I jump back against the wall and scream, as the arm pulls the board back into the closet.

Momma is at the door within seconds, pounding as hard as she can,

“Come in! Please come in!” I say as loud as I can, as she enters the room.

“What is wrong my child?” she says with the sweetest tone.

“I saw her, I think, she was in the closet and asked me to come.”

“Your sister has returned?” she says with an air of disbelief.


Scratch, scratch, scratch. “Did you hear it, momma?”

“Hear what?” the last word she says as the closet bursts open and the thing within takes her.

It is gray and green with a shriveled face and dark sockets where eyes once were;

I recognize it is some semblance of what my sister used to be.

“Momma!” I scream in anguish. “Don’t take her, please. It’s me you want!”

The Ouija board slides out again and I see the guide move all by itself.

T…h…i…s…w…i…l…l…d…o, is spelled out for me.


I hear no scratch, scratch, scratch now, but cower here in the dark.

Will I ever have peace? Will this torture leave? I fear not.

I take the board and begin to spell. What will I find?

Abhorrence to the light, for my sister, is a proprietor of the dark domain.

She wishes me to join her still, for she has taken my mother.

This I will, but not without help. When she last tried, I was but a girl.

Now I’m older and have wisdom, this priest will help me,

Then maybe I can rid her of her captive and bring my mother back to me.



This poem originally appeared in Horrorzine Summer of 2017







Published by edmundstone69

My name is Edmund Stone and I am a horror/fiction writer. I write in a small rural community on the banks of the Ohio River. I take inspiration from this place full of macabre characters and strange landscapes that most people would only dream of. I'm married to a wife that supports my crazy whims, along with three dogs, a slew of cats and a son who appears periodically from his bedroom to say, "Hi".

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