The rain had left
the steps slick
and tar black
gum spotted
and gruesome
light was
few and far between
reflecting and refracting.
The witching hour
had come and gone
not one witch in sight
the Fleshmarket Close stair
a challenge for
beer soaked minds
and legs.
Halfway up
a phantasm
peripheral and eerie
soundless and shimmering
it took my breath
passing through me
a hot knife
slicing my butter heart.
At the top
I saw stars
oxygen depleted
and puffing hard
I turned to see
if the apparition
had followed
church mouse silent
I bolted.
*
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