Chimney Creep
By
Lindsey Goddard
There's a woman who lives in my chimney.
A fire we mustn't blaze.
She's always there, never once leaves,
Starving and filthy for days.
Or maybe she hungers for nothing
Aside from her hiding spot,
Her naked body, slick with soot.
A fire? No, we cannot.
I see the wood pile you carry.
I know you've brought matches as well,
But we cannot disturb the woman...
I think she's hiding from Hell.
I caught a glimpse of her one day
When I dared to peer inside.
Her hair was a mess of tangled knots.
Ash covered her wrinkled hide.
Sometimes at night I hear her,
The steady scratching sound,
Of broken, blackened fingernails,
Clawing up and clawing down.
I'm tired of the sleepless nights
As the woman creeps in my flue.
She's been here since I bought the place.
I don't know what to do.
I see the look upon your face.
You want to build a fire.
Don't set that wood inside the pit.
Don't make my voice raise higher!
Put down the lighter fluid!
Don't dare ignite a flame!
You spark a match and toss it in,
Thinking this all a game.
Soon come the anguished wails,
Beyond the hearth, inside the flue.
Screams fill the room and blow out the fire,
Once burning so hot and blue.
Her old bones rattle as she climbs down,
Pulls herself out onto the brick.
Her flaming head locks eyes with you.
You know this isn't a trick.
Lindsey Goddard is an author of dark fiction, poetry, and true crime, living in Missouri, whose short stories have been published in e-zines such as Gamut Magazine and Carnage House, as well as in anthologies such as Error Code and The Asylum of Terror, Vol. 1 and 2. Her work has been performed on popular podcasts like Creepy Podcast and Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. She is the author of four short story collections, two poetry books, and a novel, Ashes of Another Life. For more information, visit: LindseyBethGoddard.com
By
Lindsey Goddard
There's a woman who lives in my chimney.
A fire we mustn't blaze.
She's always there, never once leaves,
Starving and filthy for days.
Or maybe she hungers for nothing
Aside from her hiding spot,
Her naked body, slick with soot.
A fire? No, we cannot.
I see the wood pile you carry.
I know you've brought matches as well,
But we cannot disturb the woman...
I think she's hiding from Hell.
I caught a glimpse of her one day
When I dared to peer inside.
Her hair was a mess of tangled knots.
Ash covered her wrinkled hide.
Sometimes at night I hear her,
The steady scratching sound,
Of broken, blackened fingernails,
Clawing up and clawing down.
I'm tired of the sleepless nights
As the woman creeps in my flue.
She's been here since I bought the place.
I don't know what to do.
I see the look upon your face.
You want to build a fire.
Don't set that wood inside the pit.
Don't make my voice raise higher!
Put down the lighter fluid!
Don't dare ignite a flame!
You spark a match and toss it in,
Thinking this all a game.
Soon come the anguished wails,
Beyond the hearth, inside the flue.
Screams fill the room and blow out the fire,
Once burning so hot and blue.
Her old bones rattle as she climbs down,
Pulls herself out onto the brick.
Her flaming head locks eyes with you.
You know this isn't a trick.
Lindsey Goddard is an author of dark fiction, poetry, and true crime, living in Missouri, whose short stories have been published in e-zines such as Gamut Magazine and Carnage House, as well as in anthologies such as Error Code and The Asylum of Terror, Vol. 1 and 2. Her work has been performed on popular podcasts like Creepy Podcast and Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. She is the author of four short story collections, two poetry books, and a novel, Ashes of Another Life. For more information, visit: LindseyBethGoddard.com
