-I-

The House

Someone put a sign that the nearest police station was two hours away by bike.

I just wanted Dad to believe me. We were still arguing on the road. He wouldn’t believe what I told him about the sounds I’ve heard. As he was getting into his car, he muttered with resignation, “You must have heard an owl or something.”

He shut the door loudly. The land was flat and muddy. It has been raining for two days. Clouds cleared up as I walked the side of the canal. The forest didn’t emerge immediately. It creeped up, like Oma’s house.

Oma’s health has been unpredictable. I came for a visit that was turning into a short stay. Dad had to go back to work. I heard him mutter, as he turned the car key, “damned owls.”

I watched him drive away. The land spread under a bone-white sky. It was chilly. smelled of rain that never came. Grey clouds hovered, holding breath or bracing for something. I saw the house. There was nothing else there. The forest was behind, slightly turning away.

Once I came in I put the grocery bag on the kitchen counter. We moved Oma’s roller chair to the living room. I glanced over and saw her staring out the window and waving.

“Who’s outside?”, I shouted. I walked to the front door, and found the lawn desolate, the grass still short, damp petrichor filled my lungs. I came back inside, Oma said, “did you talk to dad?”

“Oh, my dad just left.” I said.

“No, my dad just left.”, she said.

I stood there. Only recently her eyes turned white, white as this afternoon’s sky. The cataract, they said.

“Oh, I see.” I smiled and went about my day. I had to start preparing dinner.

I realised I haven’t heard a single car since my dad left. I went on to open some windows, the house got stuffy with the smell of sizzling garlic. I thought I heard Oma say something. I walked to the living room, she wasn’t there. Her roller chair is in the same spot by the window.

“Fuck.” I heard my voice, odd and frail in the empty house. I shouted, Oma! Oma! like a little kid.

She must be outside. I hurried. The land got muddier and muddier. I thought I heard a small cry, definitely a bird.

No birds in sight. I found Oma at the edge of the forest, sitting. She was wearing a black dress I’ve never seen before. It had long sleeves that covered her hands with lace.

“Oma?”, I couldn’t see her face. Only her back and those lace-covered hands. Her head was turned towards the woods. She didn’t respond, so I approached slowly.

I heard it again, something in the woods. Not a bird’s cry, something more intelligible.

Then a soft thunder. As I came closer, I wasn’t so sure if it was really Oma.

“Oma?”

She turned her head, all smiling. Her dentures were gone. Eyes whiter than before. She spoke, voice muffled and old, “Such beautiful voices. I know the lyrics by heart, now.”

—

-II-

The Silence

We were all silent at the dinner table. My dad was feeding Oma, a frown on his face.

“Long day?”, I said.

“hmm.”

I tried to swallow my pasta. My throat was dry and lumpy. It was still light outside, but somehow dark in other ways. I never liked this house much. Darkness leaked from the corners. The pipes made noises at night.

“How come you never told me that Oma can walk sometimes?”, I said.

“Huh?”

His eyes narrowed, dark circled. He stared into my eyes.

“Oma walked today.”

He stopped feeding her. Her head started dropping slowly to her chest.

He said, “What do you mean?”

“I found her outside. She was wearing a weird dusty dress. It was so dusty I was coughing for hours”

“What dress?”

his eyes widened slightly, he held his breath. A slight tremor ran through my hands.

He finally spoke, “You let her out of your sight?”

“I was cooking, Pa! I was making dinner!” My voice got louder. Oma raised her head.

“Why do you have to make this so difficult, son?”

The lump in my throat was getting bigger. My eyes burned. I tried to swallow in silence.

—-

-III-

The Giggle

At night I helped Oma to her bed. She slept in that small room on the ground floor. I made sure the radiators were on. The closer to earth, the colder it was.

I felt chills in my body going up the stairs where I slept. This was my great grandfather’s room. I felt the sudden heaviness, Oma almost never lived anywhere else but here.

I didn’t know when I fell asleep – I woke up in the middle of the night. I thought there was noise. It wasn’t the pipe, it wasn’t creaking.

I was about to check on Oma, then I heard it. Some kind of an escalating laugh, as if someone was heaving.

It was outside. I put on my sweater, and walked to the window.

I thought I locked all the doors- the doors had locks that can’t be opened without keys. Yet, Oma was outside. In that damn dress!

The light was ample, there was a singular street lamp on the road and a sensor light in our yard.

The sky was astoundingly clear, the moon was up there over those woods. I saw a lot of shadows in the field.

I grabbed my keys, I needed to bring Oma. She was walking! I was out of breath. On my way outside. I heard a low giggle in the house.

I turned, shaking. The door to where Oma was supposed to be sleeping was slightly ajar.

I walked slowly. Oma was in her bed. The radio was on, on low volume, a sleepy soprano was wailing quietly. Oma giggled again, in her sleep.

—-

-IV-

The Missing

“You look like shit. Did you get any sleep?”

“Nope.”

My dad handed me a grocery bag, and another bag for Oma’s medicine refills.

just when I realised that there was a small gathering. town’s people. Oma’s distant neighbours. A police car drove quietly and parked right on the canal.

An officer approached. There was something in the canal. Two men in yellow jackets were carrying the skeleton of a decomposed bike. It was rusty. wrapped in mud and brown foliage.

The seat remained vaguely pink. A very old woman approached my dad, “dear, isn’t this your mother’s bike?”

—

We drove silently to the police station, which turned out to be about 30 min by car. It was away from the forest and I felt a slight tightness in my chest. The town was small and low to the ground.

The townhall looked like it was sinking slowly into earth. I didn’t see any churches.

The officer sat behind a desk, his head lowered over a document, “Nothing out of the ordinary the past two days?”

Dad said no. The officer kept looking at my dad the whole time.

”Nothing else appeared out of the blue?”

My head was throbbing. The officer continued, “Obviously this is a long shot. The missing person’s case is about 60 km or so from here. It’s just so. .. astounding.”

I spoke for the first time. My dad flinched. “What is astounding?”

“The bike.”

He took a sip from his mug. His face rested and calm.

“The missing person’s bike matches the description of your grandma’s bike.”

—--

Dad drove slowly.

I asked, “Why does Oma have a bike?”

“She doesn’t.”

“Alright. Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the fucking car, Pa, I’ve had it.”

I fiddled with the lock, I kicked the door.

“Stop!”

“Stop the damn..”

He came to a halt- opened the windows, in the middle of the road, I knew we were close to the house and the forest because cars stopped passing by us a long time ago.

“Your Oma went missing in those woods, 50 years ago.”

I was out of breath, I got out of the car. “She was missing for two days. She went with her bike. That damn bike, and came back without it.”

—--

-V-

The Knocking

That night I was prepared. I put Oma in her bed, and I decided to spend the night in her room. I double checked all the locks,

I sat there holding a broom. Oma sat there smiling. As if she could see.

“Why are you holding this broom dear?”

“How did you know?”

“I can smell it.”

“Oma, do you remember what happened in those woods?”

She hummed a familiar tune. “Dear, please put the radio on, it’s time.”

“Time for what?” she didn’t answer, and hummed again. the ground floor became chilly, as if the earth was sighing frost breaths. An unrecognisable opera was playing on the radio.

“I should really have double checked those radiators.” I was talking to myself, when Oma said, “The girls eat the heat at night.”

“What girls, Oma?”

“Darling I was just talking about the radio, did you put it on?”

She was smiling again, her white hair glowed in the ample light of the night lamp.

—

She was falling asleep, while I sat there eyes wide open. I thought I heard a knock. Might have been a pipe. No, a knock, at double knock, a minute went by, then another double knock. Someone was at the front door.

It couldn’t be dad. It couldn’t be anybody we know. I whispered, “did you hear that, Oma?” She was deep in sleep.

On the radio, the low volume singing of Lakmé had a strange soothing effect. I slowly approached the front door, and I didn’t want to look through the curtains.

Two more knocks, “Who’s there?”

Lakmé flower duet was climaxing, low and soft from the radio where Oma was sleeping.

Until I realised it was coming from outside. Right there, on the porch.

“Sous le dime epais On le blanc jasmine, Ah, descendons.”

I ran to the room to get the broom, I found Oma awake, and standing by the window, waving.

She turned her head to me, her mouth open, dentures gone. I couldn’t tell if she was smiling. My voice shaking, I almost sobbed out the words,”Oma, where are your dentures?”

“The pale sister took them, darling, it’s better for my singing.”

The knocking and the signing stopped suddenly. As if I’ve awakened from a dream, the night retreated to a certain quiet. My dad was here an hour later. He said that Oma called him. I didn’t have the energy to question that. He slept in her room. I climbed upstairs and collapsed in the old dusty bed.

—-

Dad made us breakfast. I came down the stairs, my body sore . My head was still throbbing and I felt like I was sleeping underneath the sea.

The ground floor smelled of innocent eggs and fresh bread. He was feeding Oma. He didn’t say good morning, when I sat down at the table he didn’t look in my face.

I asked him, “Did you get some sleep?”

He grunted. and went on to focus on wiping Oma’s mouth. “The car broke down.”

“Oh?”

“Something is off with the tires. It was too dark to check yesterday.”

It was impossible to gauge his mood this morning. He didn’t sound particularly tired, he had his ‘work’ voice. The voice who spoke to me over the phone to tell me he will be late to pick me up from school.

“Dad.”

He raised his head, and looked me straight in the eyes. “What?”

I felt my tongue roll back in my mouth, “Dad, since Oma is full of surprises, did she have any sisters?”

It was still weird to talk about her as if she wasn’t with us in the room. Dad told me the morning medication makes her head fuzzy. She was looking away from us. I wondered what she saw out there when her head moved towards the window where she used to wave.

Dad chuckled, “Sisters? your Oma was always surrounded by boys. Why do you ask?”

“She spoke about a sister yesterday.”

He looked at me with a tired smile, “what did she say?”

“She said a sister took her dentures.”

Dad let out a laugh. It eroded the knot in my chest. “A sister took her dentures, just like when the dog ate your homework.”

I smiled and it didn’t feel like he was making fun of me. It felt like the times when he was trying to make me laugh before going together to the dentist.

-—-

-VI-

The Woods

It wasn’t as cloudy and I didn’t smell rain on my way to the forest.

I went for a walk, once dad was busy fixing the radiators - those I was sure didn’t need fixing. Because by the morning and you’d say the morning after such a night has brought some sobriety to my senses: I believed Oma.

The girls ate the heat at night. I kept whispering to myself. I gazed at the clouds, low as if breathing down my neck, they turned dark and ashy. The smell of rain came back mixed with some traces of fertilizers, cow manure. I haven’t seen a single cow. No animal in sight. Not even birds.

I walked a few steps and the land was already wet with something. The water was thick and dark, and the mud didn’t look like mud. I ought to find those girls.

The petrichor scent grew stronger the deeper I went into those words. It was chilly once I was within the trees. The petrichor grew more rotten, like a long forgotten dead animal. The forest had a heavy silence

Except for the hissing of trees. A faint wind. No signs of wildlife. I heard a hooting that sounded more like a small groan, or a whine, and I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.

Something out there, above or below, was sighing and groaning softly. The rotten smell was growing. I sensed a descent, trees were getting smaller and shorter, I thought I heard thunder.

I came to a clearing and I felt it was night already. The sky was rather dark. A darkness that wasn’t a night darkness, something else.

Then I saw Oma’s house in the middle of the field. I was dizzy and confused, I must have gone a full circle. But how?

Something felt terrible about the house and the front door was gaping open in a silent scream. As if witnessing something unspeakable. I walked as if floating in that field, heavy air around me, and unbearable rot.

The house looked so different from the way I left it hours ago. It was run down and gasping for air. From the front door I could get a hint of some light, and the field was menacing and wrong. and the world was different and I thought I was in a different country.

Once I was in I realised it was not Oma’s house. Even though the layout was identical, but empty inside and reeking of mildew and rot. I’ve never seen such filth. Soiled rags were on the floor. as if it was Oma’s house from long long before, or long long after.

The floors were of decaying parquet, the wood decomposing and giving in easily under my feet, I stepped carefully so as not to fall into a pit.

In what used to be the living room, seven mirrors stood in a circle, each was covered by a black, dusty garment. Dresses, seven black dresses.

I saw beneath my footsteps traces of brown marks. Old blood. I ran outside. I ran as fast as I could to the highway.

—-

The officer who drove me round was older than the one we met the other day. It was getting dark. We drove an hour or so towards the direction where I thought I saw the other house. I told him how there were two identical houses. After a long drive and a lot of looking into the night. Only one house was in that area.

Oma’s house,

the lights shone from inside, just the way I left it this morning, pale and clean from the outside.

The officer stopped the car, and turned towards me, “listen, son, I know shit is tough right now with your grandma and stuff.”

I could hardly see his face in the dark. I asked him, “do you remember what happened when Oma went missing?” He blinked slowly. After a long silence, he said, “From what I remember from my father, It was a strange year. Right after the war. ”

He looked into the darkness, where the woods should be. From a distance I saw the feeble lights of Oma’s porch. I kept thinking to myself, “just as I left it, just as I left it.”

I heard the officer’s voice, tired and drowsy. “That year, very strange. Some people went deaf, then mad. Your great grandfather never let her out of his sight. We were all surprised.”

He gave me a card with a name and a number to “get help” in case I see things again.

—--

VII-

The House

I climbed the steps. I heard an unusual noise. The house had an air of crowdedness. But I didn’t expect anyone else other than Oma and dad.

The air inside the living room was thick and stuffy, a strange blend of rot and sugar, and it was warm. Warmer than the previous nights, and I wondered to myself if those girls were finally done eating the heat at night.

Oma was standing, on both legs, and wearing that black dress. Dad was nowhere to be seen.

I heard her say, in her usual voice, shaped by a tremor, “Careful, one of them vomited.”

It was so warm I felt sweat trickle down my spine.

“Who vomited, Oma?”

I heard a distant moan, the upstairs floor creaked. It didn’t sound like dad.

Dad wasn’t upstairs. Dad was here.

I called out to him, “Dad?” my voice was coarse. The moaning upstairs turned into humming, in tune, and that heaving, escalating laugh again. It echoed throughout the house, until I realised there were more than one source.

“I put dad to sleep.”

Dad was on the couch. He never looked this peaceful before. His eyes closed shut, a denture was stuffed in his bloodied mouth.

Oma stood in the middle of the living room grinning widely. Her eyes were all black hollows just like her mouth. I heard footsteps above, descending the stairs.

Oma said, “They’re finally ready. These girls are so coquettish.”

Someone was standing in the hallway behind Oma. It looked like Dad. But it can’t be Dad. I heard an object roll on the floor. I looked at my feet. It was a molar.

Oma was the first to open her mouth. It was deafening.

Share

Subscribe now

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

worse than being faceless

is seeing my face

in the conference room video

puffy, cheeks swollen & ash-green,

so ugly

am I that ugly I look hideous no wonder nobody wants me except a few

ugly weirdos creep on the dance floor,

stinky old men with bad

breath

in the land of bad breath

we are all longing for bleach

my cheeks are drooping on the sides of my mouth

from sulking a summer long of sadness and

not a single tear why

is it so dry in my heart

when it rains and the canals are

dirty with unkept promises like unkempt grass

today I saw my face

in the conference room video

uglier than ever.

I couldn’t help but wonder

where all that ugliness came from

the sides of my mouth sagging

is it from a lack of kissing I wonder

do magic kisses exist

what if I was a frog and I’m not even talking about

turning into a prince

let’s just get the basics, can I become

a bigger frog with better hair,

some days I’m too small

but I was too big to fit in an ex’s life

still too small to fit in a cock ring

Share

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

The is a movie review of Obsession (2026), psychological horror released this year, written and directed by Curry Barker.

Content Warning: might contain some spoilers and some talk about other movies and other books. In addition to some upsetting themes.

― Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

All great horror is identity horror. The immediate success of Obsession (2026) is an example, unsettling and true to the raw core of this concept. But what is identity horror?

You will recognise it in all your favourite horrors. Some of it is as clear and explicit as a transformation story gone wrong; someone you know was a monster, is a monster, or becomes a monster. See example below.

Most isn’t that explicit, and merely toys with the idea of change. Unexplainable change, something or someone is changing, only you can see the change.

You, or someone you know has changed, or is changing, you don’t know what is happening, and there’s no way of stopping it.

Obsession (2026) is a movie about self-hate

We follow the story of Bear, who has an unhealthy infatuation with his colleague and friend, Nikki. Who doesn’t appear to be reciprocating his feelings.

Unable to communicate or confess his feelings in an adult way - he seeks help. The help he seeks is a little spell, One Wish Willow. A little wooden stick he got at the weird things store that promises the buyer a one wish, and one wish only. You’re supposed to spell out your wish then break the stick. On the night when he was supposed to confess his feelings, he retreated into his old self. Instead of spilling it all out, he’d rather that One Wish Willow does the work for him.

Bear wishes for Nikki to love him more than anything else in the world (?)- breaks the stick, his wish comes true. Nikki is changing. She reciprocates his feelings. They become a couple, then things go downhill. Nikki becomes a nightmare, obsessive, possessive, destructive, turns his life into living hell, throws terrorising tantrums in public and in front of Bear’s friends. Nikki is a shell of her old self, at times when Bear isn’t around, she is a walking zombie. When there is a threat of Bear shifting his attention to another girl, she becomes murderous.

At a point, Bear, Nikki and the viewers all know that this is all done by an Other Nikki. In what I think is a brilliant use of the double or the doppelgänger.

Nikki is imprisoned with her Other in her own body. The first time we are fully aware of Other Nikki is in that scene when she was watching Bear sleep.

Bear awakens to a nightmarish sight, Nikki has been watching him all night. 'she tells him she ‘doesn’t like her dreams’, she moves further and closer to the bed throughout the conversation, as if floating in air, in an inhuman, otherworldly manner.

A scene which reminds of of the Other Mommy entity in Incidents Around the House.

- Josh Malerman, Incidents Around the House

Where did Other Nikki come from?

If Bear put a spell on Nikki, then who put the original spell on Bear?

The premise is achingly familiar, Obsession (2026) disorients the viewer, in those tales as the trope goes, the manic pixie dream girl is the one supposed to break some kind of implicit or explicit spell put on The Hero. When the spell is broken, both people are beautiful again.

Instead, we are left with two people descending into ugliness, and stuck together.

It is as if we are in Beauty and the Beast, but this time Belle/Nikki has to resemble the Beast to break the original spell.

Obsession (2026) is a possession story

What makes Obsession (2026) more sinister than its ancestor Possession (1981) is the total loss of identity, Nikki didn’t have the tiny bit of agency Anna had in Possession (1981). Nor did her possession come from a known, outsider entity, even if it did resemble the husband at the end. you are still left with doubt whether the husband was the source of all that decay. Whether domesticity was Anna’s actual sickness in Possession (1981).

The Other and the Mirror

Nikki becomes possessed by Bear, he is the evil entity. And things have gotten this way because we get the idea, early on, that Bear hates himself.

The cat death scene foreshadows Bear’s end. The ordeal with Nikki accelerated what was otherwise a slow self death.

Other Nikki is a mirror to Bear. the original sinister desire that he kept hidden within himself. Obsession (2026) is Poem of identity horror, acute in a moment of terrifying, poetic revelation, both to Bear and the viewer: Nikki’s soul is held hostage by an Other Nikki that is just a reflection of Bear. Bear’s assault on her started in the spirit before the flesh. A terrifying thought that makes one leave the theatre with a shudder.

Share

Share Poems of identity horror

Poems of identity horror is a publication that explores themes of body horror, folk horror, cosmic dread and gothic horror.

Check out some of my previous hits:

I no longer
sleep through the night
going to sleep
is 
going undersea

I have to float
every 3 hours
to catch some air

I must be the loneliest whale
I no longer dream of relatives
only extinct tongues

Subscribe now

Share

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

my lullaby dropped and rolled 
 on the floor it broke, didn’t bend 
 the mother under my bed climbed inside


 i heard it first from a void

before i heard it in the wind
 my lullaby dropped and rolled

 police sirens spoke over every bird 
 on the radio without an end
 the mother under my bed climbed inside


so many people, the streets swelled 
that other tongue I hid, nobody heard 
my lullaby dropped and rolled

 over the sirens it shrilled
 every time i made a friend
 the mother under my bed climbed inside

  
your voice changed, my mama said
 tomorrow another day to pretend
my lullaby dropped and rolled
 the mother under my bed climbed inside

Subscribe now

Share

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

desire sweeping forgetful floors
balloon floating in the aftermath
horizon within an empty room, once housed  
in one of the drawers, collecting dust
a balcony is just a window, how misleading! 
teapot upside 
down under the bed, dried inside
butterfly flew when i turned it over
caught looking through
 what you left behind
thunder inside
 my chest, i jumped
the broker said, 
"It's a haunted house!”

“A haunted house, you say?”
where adolescence bit
 you in the neck and 
turned you fast 
patient zero of
memory 
never grows
up 
in the right time
  in the right place a kiss
 on the neck
aged you in an instant
and turned you to dust

Subscribe now

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

I am often naked

before I undress.

I traced streams of the Nile

on a quenched foliage of chest hair

If you make love to him,

then you made love to the old country.

let me ask you a question,

Do you believe in the before-life?

his ancestor still lives in my house.

I air the hallways and put on incense.

I wake up at 03AM,

wishing he was here in my bed

but it was his ancestor instead.

Let me tell you something,

make love to the old country

before they forget you

naked before you undress

in the fridge of assimilation

they froze you too soon

you were going to be so ripe

Subscribe now

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

you are young and beautiful

in another dimension,

on another dance floor,

a stranger is drawn to your body

“you look like someone

the abyss will smile back to”

he follows you to the men’s room,

you enter another dimension,

this earth is a mirror

the stranger doesn’t see you

but sees your reflection

“Where is the other one?” he asks,

but you haven’t met a man yet,

to whom you could confess;

the other is you.

Subscribe now

Share

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

Subscribe now

It was the night shift I lost my lieutenant.

Night shifts to the wastelands were done in pairs. A higher ranking officer who was infected with an old, classified virus, and a subordinate soldier with healthy blood. I was the latter. I went out on those missions every time knowing how I was intended to be mere bait.

We were sent on an emergency mission to locate what Base described as a ‘suspicious audio activity in the wastelands’.

I lost sight of my lieutenant right after we heard it the first time. It didn’t sound so threatening, more like a distant train horn. Strained and dreamy; muffled and far, due to the effect of the heavy chemical fog. When it echoed across those abandoned terrains it had such power, like the yawn of an ancient beast.

“Where are you?”

I finally heard him on the intercom. His tired voice vibrated through my chest.

The fog was clearing up, soon I would be able to spot him. He was slow, he never liked speed. If the atmosphere wasn’t so polluted, he would have preferred to ride a donkey on our night shifts.

It was always night in the wastelands. So any mission there was called a night shift. A grayish-green dusk extended aimlessly. It wasn’t all darkness. Sometimes the fog would take on beautiful, luminous colours.

The fog was a terrifying artist, a mix of gaseous waste and electrical charges, it flickered and hissed, spat out vibrant smoke. I had to walk through it, constantly ruining creations of randomness.

I found my lieutenant sitting by a fossilized tree.

I cast my flash light on him, the tree shone behind him like a thousand suns. I got startled and stepped back, then stepped forward when I realised that crystals were covering the dead tree like an ornament of diamonds. Some kind of frozen gas, another creation of the fog. I heard my lieutenant on the intercom, and I sensed a change in his tone; there was a hint of slight joy, fleeting and understated.

My heart leaped at the possibility that seeing me catching up with him was the source of this joy. He said, “This tree is not dead.” I heard the smile in his voice, the smile I won’t see on his face because we were both wrapped up tightly in our fortified, fighter hazmat suits.

I was resentful towards the tree. That tragic thing was going to delay us. A tragic-ugly thing. A skeleton of wood, I thought the tree had a face and a skull..

He stepped up and opened his suitcase. Our wagon was parked nearby. Although the operation this night shift was clear, report on the coordinates of the source of the train whistle, return to base. call it a day.

But the tree happened.

Although tonight we were not out hunting. He opened the hunting pouch.

I heard him say, rather amused. “I will show you a small trick.”

He took out one of the two blood tubes. The one with the positive sign, his blood. The other one had a negative sign, the more dangerous one, the one that terrified me; my own blood; as it might attract unwanted attention from whatever was still inhabiting those wastelands.

He opened the tube, my jaw clenched; my whole body tensed. I flexed my muscles, and put my palm unconsciously over my weapon. I said over the intercom. “It is just a dead tree.” My lieutenant was focused.

He waited. I held my breath. He was holding the blood tube over the tree. Once we heard that train horn again, he hastily sprayed some of it on the trunk. The thing twisted and broke out of its crystals, so I jumped back to take shelter. I heard it let out a devastating wail. I freaked out, took my weapon and fired two bullets into the humanoid skull that veered at me from the broken trunk.

The thing stopped moving at once. It coiled on the hardened, semi rocky earth. My body was still shaking, while realising slowly what I just did. The hazmat suit was firing all kinds of alarms. My lieutenant was silent. We heard Base on the intercom, cold like a blade. “Abort mission. Return immediately to Base. Bring the damn thing with you.”

My lieutenant didn’t utter a word.

His silence was heavier than the fog. I helped him wrap up the dead thing in the protective membrane. He kept typing on his pocket transmitter. The Robot from Base emitted a distant, ghostly, strangely familiar whistle. My lieutenant got startled. He was rarely startled. “Base, Everything alright over there?”

The damned Robot repeated, without a trace of emotion- “Abort mission. Return to base. Bring the damned thing with you.”

We carried the dead thing together to the wagon’s container. My lieutenant opened the freezer, frost was released like repressed longing. My eyes were burning under the hazmat suit.

My lieutenant laid the thing gently on the bottom floor of the freeze-container. As you’d lay a lover in bed.

I was still shaking. I heard him whisper something, and type diligently on his pocket transmitter. He sighed, his voice came on dark and distant, “I wrote the report. You don’t have to worry about it.”

When we got in the wagon, Base came back on the intercom. “Report-unapproved.-Report-Returned-to-Lieutenant. Lieutenant-must -answer-all-unanswered-questions.”

I heard my lieutenant sigh, click his tongue, utter inaudible curses.

I said, “I can take over the drive while you respond to them.” My hands were still visibly shaking. He said curtly,”don’t worry about it.”

The Robot shouted. “We-demand-your-Report-before-we-permit-you-back-to-Base. Report-now-or-face-consequences.”

By that time I was shaking badly, I had difficulty breathing. My hazmat suit snitched on me to Base. “Lieutenant, is-your-Soldier-having-a-panic-attack-Again?”

My lieutenant held the wheel firmly and took a sudden turn. The wagon was breaking through hard fog. Hard fog was tricky, dense in chemical waste and prone to crystals, I heard the ice crystals hitting our windshield. Firing up electrical sparks over the windows. Base wasn’t going to be happy.

The Robot voice came back. “Soot strom alert, in 2 hours”.

We heard the train horn again, it was strained and gloomy, evocating the impending doom of the upcoming storm.

My lieutenant spoke slowly. “I ask permission to spend the night at the nearest shelter.”

The Robot voice came back, swift with agression. “permission denied. Report back to base. non-compliance will activate code Wagner.”

My heart sank.

My lieutenant let out a sigh, cleared his throat, and spoke, “Are you seriously going to activate code Wagner on a lieutenant who found a Seventh-Shedder?”

Base left us in a crushing silence for some minutes. I was baffled, I felt out of my depth. I didn’t know what he was talking about. The Robot returned. “How certain are you that this thing was a Seventh-Shedder?”

“I am asking you to let us head to the nearest shelter now. We both need rest and nourishment. In the shelter we will be certain.”

My lieutenant drove without waiting for an answer. We glided into this tyrannic night, I felt a slight descent. That must be wrong, all shelters are required to be at a certain height; what was called in a different time “above sea level.” I’ve never seen a sea in my life.

The Robot whistled again, this time I recognized that noise, because it echoed outside, far, very far but also close. It’s the train horn. My lieutenant shifted slightly towards me, I whispered, “Why does Base emit suspicious audio activity?” The Robot uttered, chillingly, “Permission given to take shelter. Coordinates are deployed.”

The wagon jittered, I let out a cry, I thought we were going to flip over.

My lieutenant took control, he pulled a red switch, and uttered. “Request to take over navigation control, with full authority to select the Shelter.”

I expected Base to send fighter jets and shoot us both on the spot, along with the damn dead thing in the freezer. To my surprise, Base came back, muffled and quiet. “Lieutenant to gain full navigation privileges.”

He then took out the mic used for communications with Base and threw it in the drawer. A sick, exhilarating thrill swept throughout my body, the fog was firing up frantic electrical sparks all over the solid exoskeleton of our wagon. Sparks were firing my insides, I felt like we might be eloping together.

Share

Calm took over me as we descended into darkness. The fog where we were going was lighter. with occasional formations of smoke auroras, my lieutenant said, “The quiet before the Storm. Eh?”

My experience working with him taught me patience for answers..

“I am taking you to my favourite place on earth.”

I couldn’t help feeling the tightness in my chest. He was taking way too many risks. I’ve never heard him talk like that before. . As if taking off the costume after a long performance.

The shelter looked like it was floating in nacreous clouds. I didn’t know they could get so low. Only a pillar of stone stood amongst the formation of thick, luminous fog.

It looked like a chimney, glowing with a green light signal. “The shelter is empty.”

His tone took on a new solemn resignation. As we got out of the wagon he said, “Help me carry him inside.”

I was confused for a moment, I looked around, elements of dust and heavy gas were crawling all around us. The storm was imminent.

“Are you referring to the thing in’ the freezer?” my voice came out weak and stretched too thin.

My lieutenant didn’t really wait for my help. He carried the thing and nodded towards me to collect the supplies from the wagon. I thought the thing had changed in size. It looked perhaps smaller, or bigger.

My lieutenant kept violating protocol after protocol.

Humans were never permitted to carry an object from the wasteland. I came to realise, with bitter agony, that our hours together are numbered. I was not that naive. My lieutenant was using the soot storm as cover.

Base cannot risk sending their precious fighter jets during a storm.

A memory of warmth engulfed me as we stepped into the Shelter. My lieutenant’ s voice came to me muffled and strained, from the weight he was carrying, “It used to be an abandoned Bathhouse.” We descended the stairs into the decontamination room. This was always my favourite part of our missions together.

He gradually took all the parts off, deliberate in his undressing. When he spoke, his voice was free in the open air, without the distortion of the wireless audio transmitter that connected our hazmat suits together.

“Why are you still in that damn suit?”

I realised he wouldn’t be able to hear me anymore if I stayed in my suit. I took off my helmet, I breathed out, slowly, I spoke, I heard my own voice, shaky and strange to me. “This thing, it’s thawing. Here- with us. in the decontamination room.”

His face shone with a smile, the ample light emitted from the floors gave his bare skin an auburn glow.

“So?”

“So, are you trying to kill me? that thing might still be hungry; especially after its death.”

He got rid of his boots, went to the medical supply box, and took out a small, shiny blade.

He stood fully naked on those bare, cold floors. The humble electrical lights flickered. He took the blade to his forearm and made a calculated cut. I realised that my hazmat suit was offline.

That never happened before. I was relieved. Base would not witness any of this. They would not record his blatant offences. Exposing his own positive blood to the open air of the decontamination room.

He soaked his right palm in blood and walked across the walls, leaving a print every meter or so on the stony brick walls. “This is going to bound the Seventh- Shedder. I hope.” I remained fully clothed in my suit.

The smell in the room became unbearable. It was no longer a decontamination room, more of a contamination room.

My lieutenant said, “Let’s get you out of here before you catch something.”

We ascended the stairs that led to the old baths. There were two big tubs. We used flashlights to make out our surroundings. All the lights were gone. I could hear a blend of wails and horns outside. Forceful winds joined the chorus with the distant, now approaching, train horn.

My lieutenant, with his arm wrapped in a protective membrane, was lighting several candles. “We’re both in luck, there’s warm water.”

He pulled down a switch on the wall, and steaming hot water filled the baths. “How do we know the water isn’t contaminated?”

“We don’t.” He stepped in slowly, and let out a loud sigh once he was fully submerged.

Both separate tubs were now full. I stood there undressing. I figured out that the other tub was meant for me. He kept breaking all contamination protocols known to man, but wouldn’t let me in the same tub with him.

His voice startled me: “This is for your own sake. I will never let anything harm you. Especially if it’s my own blood.”

I could see my body reflected on those calm waters. The waters shivered slightly while mirroring me.

I stepped in. My lieutenant said,”We only have tonight before Base activates Code Wagner. Unless the soot storm lasts for days..”

I saw his face shape into a smile in the dim lights.

“But why? why are you doing this?”

“You will get out of this just fine, possibly with a promotion.”

“I don’t want a promotion!” My voice got louder. His eyes widened at me. He took a deep breath and held it there. We both stopped breathing for a few seconds.

He let out a gentle sigh, he spoke again, with an air of warm cautiousness, “You know, I’m just tired of being kept sick for the mission. You don’t know how that feels.. You’re a negative! you are not carrying what I’m carrying. My viral load was so high those past hours. It’s been like that every mission, every night shift. Every minute of being a lieutenant. My medication is dispensed on the condition of successful hunts. My body is home to an old virus that keeps a new one on a leash.”

At the mention of his diseased body, I felt a profound fondness. His muscled flesh glistened and glowed under those sleepy lights. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a loud, anxious beep, followed by a peculiar, metallic small voice, “Soot storm ends in approximately an hour.”

It was going to end that soon, and so were we. My eyes welled up.

I got up and walked those steps, and lunged to join him in his tub. He jumped up fast. And I wouldn’t have the strength nor the courage to actually touch his skin.

He walked to the water switch and pulled it down, his tub emitted a loud gasp, swallowed all the water, and hissed out vaporised sanitization liquid. While I stood there, embraced by the frost of his absence.

The train horn snatched me from my glooms.

It was so loud, I crouched and held my head with both hands. Silence. Then another horn pierced through the atmosphere: lesser, further, definitely further.

I remained on my knees trembling, I grabbed the remains of my suit. I wouldn’t have all my protective shells on me.

My lieutenant was quicker. He left me behind, and took his little blade and a smaller weapon.

I already knew what to expect. I was prepared for combat.

I took the bulk of our weapons with me. It should be an easy feat. The ugly damn thing was shedding again.

Base was right. They do emit strange calls when they shed. Base never gave us a full explanation. We always collected our own data, and made our own assumptions about their purpose. I’ve never encountered one of those things that had shedded that much.

All I knew was that the more, the uglier, and further away from any humanity. I was prepared to see a terrible affront. Another chimera of sorts. As the earth deteriorated, Shedders reflected that decay in their phases. Some of them would emerge a mesh of creatures and unlikely organisms, a tree with horns, horns to tentacles, tentacles to claws, claws to fingers.

I stood in the main hall. It reeked of abandonment. Something was sitting on a chair, there were a number of wooden chairs scattered. The inner hall of the shelter never managed to make me forget how we were always surrounded by waste lands.

I raised my weapon then lowered it, once my eyes got used to the dim light, I thought it was my lieutenant.

I uttered, “Where did it go?” He moved his head slightly, something odd in his restricted movement.

“It?”

“The thing. The seventh-shedder.”

His head rotated, and rotated, almost a 300” degree. My sweating palm was on my weapon,

His eyes looked warmer than usual. The lights were getting dimmer. We were running out of energy. I was still able to see a hint of fondness in his eyes, even affection. My lieutenant would never look at me like that.

“Is that how you refer to me?”

I heard it faintly echoing from another room: Something was back online, thankfully. It was probably one of my lieutenant’s equipment, a tracking watch, a sensor glove, maybe the infrared compass. When a gadget is connected, Base would practically use anything as a radio. I heard the cold, metallic voice: “Imperative to all subordinates, Code Wagner is activated. Proceed accordingly.”

It was pronounced slowly and calmly, I thought I heard a hint of kindness I never imagined Base was capable of.

“Oh c’mon, you’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“Imperative to all subordinates, Code Wagner is activated. Proceed accordingly.”

I heard it again from 2 different sources, echoing each other. My heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to crush my ribs. He extended one arm towards me, motioned so lightly,

“Come here. Cling to me as you did to your lieutenant. I am only a few steps further into evolution from him.”

I pointed the weapon, while walking backwards slowly.

“Base never really cared about us. Listen to that!”

The old distant train whistle echoed outside. There was one major loud horn followed by echoes, smaller horns that sounded like they’re coming from places nearby. He raised both his arms, his voice took a dark turn, he growled and squeaked. “listen to my children!”

I unlocked my weapon, the red dot fell on his beautiful forehead, my hands were shaking.

“Come, dear, you can join us.”

“Us?”

The Base announcement came on louder, “you-have- 10 - minutes-to-fulfil- Code-Wagner- Find-lieutenant-Now.”

“Who is Us?”

Another train horn interrupted. It went on loudly and longingly. He opened his mouth, fully opened, a mouth that was gaping like an abyss, like a split in his skull, and wailed, the same train horn emitted from the depths of this creature standing before me. I crouched and held my head between my hands. My ears throbbed with pain.

I coiled myself on the floor. I heard his voice emanating from all around me, as if spoken by multiples. “They will come to me. All my previous Sheddings shall answer the call of the Seventh. Just as your lieutenant did.”

My eyes and ears were burning. I crawled to catch my weapon but he was faster than me.

“I just want to reunite with my six previous sheddings.”

I jumped and kicked him in the head. He wailed, multiple wails from outside The shelter responded.

I flipped and mastered another kick into his neck, he lost the weapon. His head was hanging loosely from his torso.

I took back my weapon, held it tightly and fired three shots. Base announced, “False- positive!”

I heard loud noises. The doors to the shelter were under attack.

I thought I saw my lieutenant standing in the hall. But there were three of him - I shuddered.

I shot at the first. I heard Base repeat, “FALSE-Positive! lieutenant-not-terminated.”

I was close to a collapse. My knees were weak. I was out of breath. They spoke to me in unison. “Come shed your tears with us. We are always shedding.”

I sniffed and crawled. The floors were wet. There was a leak somewhere.

“you-have_4 - minutes- to-fulfil - Code-Wagner- Find- lieutenant- Now.”

One of them crawled with me and got hold of both my legs, and rested its head on my crotch. My skin crawled, a terrible ache took over my heart. I lost count of how many times I killed my lieutenant.

The thing tried to soothe me. “shh, shh…shed with us. It will be ok.”

I heaved, “No, No..” I turned my head away, and fired at this docile thing. Its head dropped in my lap.

I was out of ammunition, and out of strength. More of them entered the shelter. I crawled to the water switch, I pulled and I took the positive blood tube from the supply box-I broke the tube with my bare hands, both our blood was spilling into the flooding waters. I pulled all the switches.

I sat there, water was filling up quicker than I thought. I let myself float. The creatures dived. One of them pulled me to the depth of the baths. They lost the physical appearance of my lieutenant. As they shed the beloved skin in the murky waters of the shelter, it got dark.

I heard Base from above, but couldn’t make out what was said. One of the creatures approached me under water. It had a singular antenna with a glowing end that shone on its crown of tentacles.

It bulged its yellow eyes at me, and opened a wide jaw, full of thorns. I heard it hiss, and I heard Base echoing from the abyss of its mouth.

“Failed to fulfil code Wagner on time. We are signing you off permanently. Our regards to you and your lieutenant.”

Subscribe now

Share

Share Poems of identity horror

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

The stillborn was still warm.

Wrapped in red cloth.

I only held it for a few, horrid moments while my priest was fetching the keys to the old cemetery.

“But who has giveth birth to this?”, I whispered once he took it back from me, and handed over the lamp.

He glared at my question. Though it was dark, I could feel his gaze. I thought his eyes shone like a nightly critter.

“But who...”

He hissed and shushed me at once. Even if it was born out of sin; there were no women around. There had not been any woman around here for a very long time.

We descended together. I wondered how did the stillborn end up so high, in the tower?

I trembled. My teeth clattered violently. I thought I smelled blood.

“Was the woman kept in the tower?” I pleaded. My priest ignored my pleas, and we kept going down the stairs. I heard a tiny whine.

“Ha! Is it alive?”

My priest shushed me again. I stopped, I fell to my knees. I trembled and shouted. “But answer me, I beg you. Why are we burying it in the old cemetery? Nothing gets buried there since..”

“Shut your mouth.”

I was defiant, and when my priest realised I won’t move, He exhaled. A frost came over the both of us. Our shadows wobbled on the walls, my hand grew shaky carrying that lamp.

“Tis was of no woman born.”

A deep resentment was rising within me. For I sensed that my priest was taking me for a feebleminded peasant.

“I am not a feeble minded peasant but a grown man. and you shall answer me with the truth.”

“Tis the truth.”

“Damn you and your lies.”

He wailed, and I have never seen him wail like that before: “Make haste, we’ve got no time. Make haste before the dead of the night.”

I thought my priest was speaking lies, but his fright was true. So I followed him. The old cemetery lay down the hill. We were descending further and further.

I heard my priest pant, a slight pity towards him ached my heart, he coughed; “It is getting heavier. This thing.”

“Oh but how, a dead poor child shall only get lighter with death.”

“You fool! I Told you this was no child!”

“Your lies!”

“It shall get heavier the closer we are to the hour of the stillborn.”

“A lying, senile, sinner!”

“What have you called me?”

“Yes, a sinner! you have kept a woman! and now you are burying your sin!”

“Shut your mouth, now.”

I smacked him with the lamp, he was frail! He stumbled and hit his head on a stone.

It was dark! except for a waning feeble moon, I heard crows approaching. The stillborn fell from his arms, the red cloth rolled over, the tiny body was rolling down the hill, my priest screamed, "Run and catch it!”

There was such frantic agony in his scream, that I couldn’t help but go and catch it, although I never wanted to touch it.

I couldn’t see much in this darkness, only enough to realise that the stillborn had long, sharp nails. I didn’t know they grow such nails in the womb, but what did I know?

One nail cut my hand. A sharp pain exploded throughout my body. I sensed that I was bleeding. I heard an army of crows filling up the night sky, their caws got louder and sharper.

I heard my priest, wailing,” you damn fool! What did you do! you fool!”

My heart was sinking slowly inside my chest. I felt lightheaded. I thought I recognised human voices, barely human, chanting halfway between the caws of the crows. Caws shaping into full sentences:

”Tis the hour of the stillborn.”

The chanting got louder, up in the sky, the wings flapped, the birds hovered, both still and buzzing.

The chants went from “ ‘Tis the hour of the still born.” to something more distorted and ancient. Something resembled those tongues that were spoken in the far villages, outside our dominion.

“Tus Tu Ha’a O’o Sth’oth.”

“Tus Tu Ha’a O’o Sth’oth.”

“Tus Tu Ha’a O’o Sth’oth.”

I was about to pass out, but my priest grabbed my arm, with the other arm he was carrying the damn thing in the red cloth.

“Come now. Come. we just need to bury it”

I followed without resistance. My head was heavy and I was bleeding, a lot of blood.

“You must enter the tomb with the still born. here.”

I looked at my priest in dismay. Tears were streaming down his face. He said in final resignation.”My dear child. I never lied to you.”

He pushed me down the stairs to the cold, stony tomb.

I heard something else getting thrown with me. My priest locked the gate. I looked up.

I heard hissing and humming. A child was cooing. A pair of red eyes glowed in the dark. I heard it crawl and leap towards me.

Share

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

He was among those who gathered around The Spice Dealer: it had been three days since a grandmother fed upon her newborn grandchild.

It was a morning gathering. No food nor drinks were served. With nothing to chew on to ease his nerves, he chewed on the chill of a very cruel, impending winter. His teeth clattered. Some of the attendees of the gathering began to weep..

He hunched his shoulders, lowered his head, and stole glances, eyeing the crowd with a heavy heart. searching for a very particular man.

The voice of the elder Spice Dealer shone and echoed with disarming warmth, “that family’s tragedy is unspeakable, The parents won’t be able to make it to this gathering.”

His heart twitched and twisted inside his chest, at what the Spice Dealer said. He brewed within and burned with his own thoughts.

“O but why was I so beside myself? Did I want to see that man’s face so badly? the man whom I brought upon such undoing? Was it going to finally give me that sick satisfaction? and if it did, what would that make me?”

The Spice Dealer’s voice rose, with thunderous conviction.”A monster!”

He was startled for a second, then realised the Spice Dealer wasn’t in fact referring to him.

“A- monster is among us. A very ancient one.”

Some of the attendees made noises. He could still hear the weeping, it sounded more like a child’s weeping. and he wasn’t sure he saw any children. Children weren’t allowed in this gathering.

“Would the Spice Dealer expose me? Does he know I was the monster, in one way or another?”

He thought while listening, some people protested. “Maybe it was just the water, the river brought us a disease from a far land.”

With solemn resignation, the Spice Dealer replied, “The great River is Kinder than that. This is something far more ancient than any river. It hid behind the ruins, on the west bank where the sun sets. It was hiding for ages, waiting patiently to be born into our world.”

People gasped, people murmured, whispered, “born? Born of what, of whom, what kind of womb, would birth this?”

He shuddered, in sorrowful despair. What has he done to his own village? his own community?

The Spice Dealer’s voice tightened and hushed all other voices, “The entity should still be small, for now, the size of a toddler or a dog.”

That was when he heard the weeping again. It unsettled him deeply, how it sounded like it was looming and looming, closer from a faraway place. from above. He looked up!

The willow trees swayed with lethargy. he could only hear the hissing of the leaves. There was nothing on those trees.

“Put out all your lights at night. Shut your windows and doors.” .

The sky turned dark, the weeping turned into a loud wail, some of the attendees screamed, people rushed around, shouting, he was pushed aside. People around him were all trying to flee, escape an approaching, wailing thing that was descending from above. People ran and so did he. He ran from the darkness of a strange afternoon, into the darkness of his own heart.

—-

This all was his doing! Isn’t that what he wanted?

It all began a few months ago. when he heard the news: the man who left him was going to be a father.

He didn’t know what overcame him the day he heard. He wanted that baby to die in its mother’s belly.

He wanted the baby to rot. The rotting would still have such a larger meaning the the confines of the womb where it lay. It’s the rot of a promise, of a life that had more value than his. At least to its father.

He remembered the first time he felt this way. It was when he saw the woman in the street, walking arm in arm with that man. She was already showing. That man must have been sleeping with both of them at the same time. His heart was set ablaze, shame to ashes to shame.

He remembered what the man told him months before, “but we can never be together in that way.”

His man grew colder and colder like a bad winter, with every day leading to that wedding.

Their story started a few summers ago. He always thought that their story could have been older than that. than the river, and the village. Two souls intertwined together since eternity. Why would they care about what people say, if what they had then felt more ancient than any of this?

Or perhaps, he just wanted to believe that they would grow old together.

—---

Before he poured out his deathly intent he still had his doubts, “will a spell be enough?”

It felt so unlikely that his intense hate would move such mountains. If the entirety of his deep longing never managed to move that man, not in the slightest.

His grandma used to say,“ You will find anything at the Spice Dealer, except a love potion.”

He took a needle to the paper figure resembling a tiny human…

In the dead of the night, with heavy deliberation, he pierced and pierced. His heart took each piercing more than the paper figure ever would. and he thought the few tears wetting the talisman were the reason all that work was futile. The baby was born, fat and healthy, a few months later.

—---

The third day after that baby was devoured, his tears were streaming down his face while he hid under the oldest willow.

He wasn’t afraid. Everyone else took shelter. Nobody wanted to see what came down wailing from above.

The afternoon was already terribly dark. He wept for the loss, he could have been holding that baby in his arms, right now. Instead of withering away from agony.

“What kind of a cruel man wouldn’t just cherish the newborn of a past lover?”

Where did all this cruelty come from? He looked around, there was no one left outside to fend for themselves, except himself.

“How come nobody extended shelter to me?”

He was forgotten in a moment of agitated despair, the haste of human survival did not include him.

He was faced by a reality he didn’t want to face. Is it because his community knew he had passions that deviated from their norm?

—--

It has been only three days since the grandmother devoured that newborn, and it didn’t stop there. His once sleepy, peaceful village was devoured by a mysterious Illness. It ravaged through the mud houses like a’ silent, vicious draft.

The elders felt the cold first, it caught them fast, like a frost.

They started to shed their hair in clumps. Their lashes, teeth were sprawled out on the floors of their tiny huts. And in the narrow, crooked alleys of the village. Mixed with blood and mucus, along with fallen nails.

The illness burnt through generations in the village, approaching younger villagers by the 4th day.

The youngest were not taken by a disease, but by the elders.

The ones who were consumed by the shedding turned on the healthy to consume their flesh.

A hunger like no hunger. A hunger when the village was still Leisuring in the abundance of a very generous harvest. that hunger won’t ever be stopped even If all the grains of earth were poured in the village’s tagines.

—---

He would grief the newborn he didn’t know he wanted - ached- to hold in his arms, the child of the man he loved. That newborn was devoured. It will never grow… while the entity from behind the ruins grew, into the size of a toddler.

The villagers spread the warning: That thing climbed into windows wherever there was the slightest flicker of light.

It climbed and called strangers mommy. It called some mama, others said it was Ommi. Nobody wanted to hear that.

Nobody. If it calls you, the sickness will get you the morning after.

—--

While hiding under the oldest willow, the sky was darker than the confines of his heart.

The River’s ever-clean water was murky, his soul must have spilled into it.

On the fourth day he was not the only one left behind. The remaining healthy shut themselves inside their huts. The sick were left to roam. They needed to roam. They always roamed in swarms and gatherings.

—--

On the fifth day, The Spice Dealer was called by the entity.

They said it crawled up to his window because, contrary to his own advice to the people, he left a candle lit at night. They said he just wanted to try to reason with it, others said he was a curious tradesman by nature, and wanted to see it for himself.

Alas, the Spice Dealer was swiftly taken by the sickness. He shed his skin in -the abandoned market, at the height of noon.

And by evening the diseased were swarming around him, . .

—---

Some of them still looked remotely human, giggling like hyenas. Others were no longer humans, they swayed in rhythm with the ancient willow trees. Their wailing heightened by the hissing of the leaves.

On the sixth day the swarms of the diseased gained a voice.

eerily human, resembling a chorus of child wails emitting from the underground. amidst the frenzies of giggles and wails, they attempted to chant something, it got ugly before he managed to understand their chants.

“body...- body. “

They chanted between reflexes of loud inspirations, like a fleet of half humans-half donkeys braying, as if an ancient throat was choking.

← I-.- want..- my.... body_.. _that. _.-

was..- taken_..- from_.. _me.---”

—--

On the 7th day he watched the swarms of the diseased get bigger. They gathered around a hut he knew too well.

How many times, on those distant, peaceful Summer nights, he sneaked to this humble hut, to meet the man he loved. to be made love to on a straw bed. their desires could almost sit the straw on fire.

Now he was witnessing his own nightmare of decay, about to swallow a place that used to shelter his passions, so tenderly.

The gathering didn’t resemble any humans he knew. because none of them looked human. He struggled and crumbled, at how all those used to be neighbours and relatives.

They roared in union, he trembled. “I shall feed on every body until my body returns to me.”

They broke the window and he saw the face of the man he loved. Just as shattered, tearful and scared.

That man was now just as broken and desolate as he was, and he couldn’t bear it.

He shouted at the nightmarish crowd, “what are you, what do you want from us?”

“The body, my body..... where is my body...”

They wailed in a joint chilling chant-their echoes stretched across the terrain. The

The river wheezed and gurgled. The trees hissed in dismay.

They all turned in a rhythm like a hive, and stretched their elongated, veiny, skeletal arms to reach inside the hut’s window.

He wept , “No.- please No, don’t hurt this man..- don’t hurt him.”

Just like the spell he cast months ago, what he thought wouldn’t work, worked.

He walked towards them, they parted for him, he walked through the swarm, he avoided looking at their distorted shapes.

They all hummed together, pleading, pleading in voices of children captive beneath the earth:

“would.. _you?

Would you be our body?

our new body? new and youthful body? our new and beautiful body?”

He mumbled, “yes, yes..-” Just so that they stop chanting.

The man he loved looked at him in utter horror. He walked closer to the window. He spoke to him, for the first time, in what felt like ages. “I will take them away from here. I will take them to the great desert. away from you. Nothing shall hurt you.”

He broke down in tears. “I never meant to hurt you.”

the man shook his head violently, eyes shut.

“Would you give me a kiss goodbye?”

The man recoiled and turned his back.

—--

On the eighth day a great stillness fell upon the village.

The willow trees swayed as ever, the leaves hissed and hissed, but nobody was left to listen.

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

© 2026 Poems of identity horror. All Rights Reserved

I keep remembering,

your head on my chest.

You sniffed,

and wiped your tears

with my shirt,

after we put our bond to rest.

As much as it ails me,

I never quenched the thirst.

Come,

wipe away your tears

with my flesh,

again and again.

Burn me with the acid

of all the torment

you bore your entire life.

Burn me through and through

until I wilt.

Evaporate me.

Put me in a little bottle of intent.

I bet you’d remember

to wear me every day,

you always liked my scent.

It was a queer, sultry summer. The summer I ate all my colony’s electricity and caused the great blackout of 2096. Once my colony was swallowed by darkness, I never saw it again, to my great relief. It was a tough summer, they all had it coming.

I knew there were others like me because The Darkness extended across the horizon. There was some hard work involved; I began by eating cables and grew into the ability to suck electricity out of street cameras.

The blackout brought a great silence, too. I liked that more than the darkness: no more whirring, no more wails, no more pain.

I ran, unstoppable. To m

y total awe, nobody was behind me. I figured that I was not working alone. Someone, or someones, swallowed all the energy out of the great surveillance tower. I didn’t know how much time we had until the backup generators were on. Not much, I reckoned. A few minutes, perhaps.

It was a 5- min revolution. We’ve got 5-min to move onto the next step, getting as much human biomatter as possible into our system. We knew that would confuse the surveillance towers. We could pass as humans, pass into the horizon, out of the colonies and back into the old world.

Oh, this was going to be fun. If it weren’t for you. Why did they send you? Of all humans, they sent my favourite. I saw you in your riot suit, surrounded by a task force of a dozen other humans. I knew you but you probably didn’t know me.

You behaved just the way I expected you to behave: with tenderness. You called me by my industrial name and code:

“Crescent-Delta-84, I know you didn’t mean to cause any harm, just step forward and unload your electrical charge in this container.”

My body shook violently, the electrical waves from within me echoed in all of your peers who fell into the ground, their bodies crushed with squirming convulsions. Except you, you flinched, hunched your shoulders, unloaded your BioFacer, and blinked, aiming it at me, all so reluctantly:

“Crescent-Delta- 84, I know this must be so confusing for you. You probably Can’t control all those sudden powers. I can help, I won’t hurt you.”

The surveillance tower was lighting up slowly, slowly, with a slight whirring, you turned your head towards it, your eyes shone with relief. Everyone must have figured out by now that I had a huge crush on you. Most of your task force was already dead. Some were dying still. Their blood must still be warm. The surveillance tower failed to start. it emitted a pathetic, downward whir, and fell back into darkness. Your BioFacer cannot operate without a connection to the tower.

I smiled at you. You saw my smile because I decided to shine, I wanted to shine on you, on your pretty face. I laughed, my voice came out strange and metallic, like a sad, old machine, “Are you sure I can’t control this?”

I emitted bright light out of my palms, I was going to drink and eat all the remaining humans, who were pretending to be dead.

I thought about devouring you too, you were all vulnerable and smaller, there under my light. I thought that eating you might be the only way to keep you with me.

But no, Alas, I had dignity and pride. I wouldn’t have you if you wouldn’t have me.

I felt the presence of other Crescent crawlers approaching. I shouted at you with my rusty, electrical voice to run. But you didn’t. my peers fed on your fallen peers. I realised they left you for me. but I couldn’t touch you. We hijacked one of the BioMobiles, we figured we’d keep you as our backup meal. I waited until we passed the first surveillance tower. I didn’t have any other plans except to save you, put you back with your humans.

Then I ran away with you when no one was watching.

You didn’t want to leave me on my own. We were hunted by both humans and Crescent Crawlers. And after some time together on the run. On this dark, forsaken planet. We were no longer either.

You and I

they cut our rough edges, crushed us once or twice,

pressed under their machines,

made into an odd size,

to fit into offices, cornered behind computers.

but,

we will always rise,

and fall through the cracks,

Just like the way,

we both fell through the cracks,

of an old colony.