This is about an urban legend of the “Porcelain Killer” who used to turn his victims into Porcelain Dolls while they were still alive. The killer used to make them bleed and preserve them in porcelain as they die slowly.
I walk into this room,
A room with dimly lit bulbs.
I see figures among the shadows,
Silhouettes in the dark.
The crackling of wood upon the pit,
I walk slowly, my eyes adjusting in the dark.
A careless whisper whiffs past my ears,
A chill down my spine, sweat drips down my cheeks.
I hear giggles and cries faintly,
Across the room at the end of the walk.
Of children in merriment and joy,
It is but eerie to hear joy in this palace of gloom.
The door creaks open to rows of porcelain,
Rows upon rows of porcelain dolls.
Gleefully smiling, embarrassing the chaos,
As shudders swim down my nerves.
I fall to the floor, hit hard;
Panic-stricken I am.
My feet feel numb and my knees sore,
Immovable I sit watching a sight I abhor.
Their eyes haunted by immortal Time,
Their lips pursed in forgotten smiles.
Their glee forsaken in this kingdom benign,
They weren’t dolls I realise, for their skins looked sore.
I heard footsteps from thus afar,
Slowly approaching me in my stupor.
A painful grimace, a misstep; I slip,
A wail of agony I let out to these damp spaces.
He walks towards me in silence,
Imposing and towering over my fear.
he closes in and stands above me,
As I helplessly gaze in dire.
His cold breath upon my neck,
The foul damp smell of old blood.
The stench of decomposed flesh adorn the room,
As I realise I am but trapped in this chateau of doom.
He smiles as he rips,
As he rips a smile through my lips.
Slowly awaiting my demise,
He sits and rejoices, in this Porcelain Lair.
As I slipped into imminent death,
Melange of life hence passed.
A slumber I thus slip into,
Knowing never to wake up again.
Amidst the darkness and silences that followed,
I am disturbed by an incessant knocking
I see a flashlight in the corner,
Immovable I stand, unheard among these silhouettes of Porcelain.