Twelve they were, ’round Coffin’s Gate,
Heavy robed and with cowls drawn up
Against December’s icy blast.

Dead blossoms clasped to withered breasts,
Shuffling in counterclockwise motion,
Slowly they circled the pit around.

With pentagram drawn, nightshade spread,
And fairly outshouting the howling wind,
They chanted their invitation.

From out of the pit, riding a column of flame,
The thirteenth appears and joins the coven.

And now there are none.


An excerpt from “A Mixed Bag.”

About rixlibris

Retired from child care photography after thirty years of coaxing smiles and wiping noses. Currently venting years of repressed fictional story lines via self-published novels. Married and still alive in a remote corner of Waller County, Texas.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to THE LAST SABBAT

  1. You create a strong and intriguing mix here. I feel as though there’s more to the story.

  2. Pingback: Featured Posts 115 – Share your posts. | a cooking pot and twistedtales

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s