#CoffinHop Day 3|The Abandoned & The Disappeared.Tell me what happened to these Ghost Towns…


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Dust Devils dance a macabre dervish

Tumbleweed twists in torment

Ghosts of the Disappeared stalk the streets of Death

Screams of silence fill the graveyard of the Abandoned

Gates creak open with unearthly screams

Come down to the Graveyard

Coffins spill their bone chilling secrets

~ The Abandoned and the Disappeared ~

Tell me what happened to these Ghost Towns…

Twist a tale of terror,

Send shivers of horror down my spine with a story,

Flay the flesh from my skin as you open my veins and bleed me out with our poetry…

Rules

Submit your daily entry (1 per person per day) in the comments.

Submit either a Flash Fiction Piece/Prose

or

Short Story

or

Poetry

Prizes

There can be only 1 ultimate winner for this contest.

You will win

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1 * Ebook – Death by Drivein (CoffinHop Anthology)

1 * Mystery Trick or Treat

Contest runs 24th – 31st October 2013

Winner to be announced – 5th November 2013

xxxxx

Canate, Italy

Image courtesy of weburbanist.com
Image courtesy of weburbanist.com

With roots in the 12th century built into the solid mountain walls of MT Lago, the village of Canate is lost in the spirits of time. The village can only be reached by foot along ancient stone footpaths.

The last families abandoned the village by 1958. They left with what they could carry on the steep stone paths and abandoned everything else.

Since 1958 this picturesque village on the mountains of the Italian coast has remained abandoned and deserted. This is not a village with crumbling walls even though it has been deserted for 55 years. This is a village that for whatever reason was just left behind. Why in 1958? A thriving village for 8 centuries and now a ghost town lost in the secrets of time for the last 55 years.

Tell me what happened to this ghost town…

x

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Dig up those coffin-hopping boots,

dance down to the graveyard for more

bone-chilling CoffinHop tricks & treats.

52.

x

7 Comments

  1. Mother’s milk – with it, she reclaims all. Stone she crumbles in a torrent of tears; garden she weeds with nourishing seed; ore she wraps in a shroud, making of it her own. Time’s ravage, nay – her sweet, tender kiss misunderstood.

  2. I didn’t turn my head. I didn’t look. I stayed perfectly still, every muscle tensed for flight. And not even my expression reflected that the hands on my shoulders – the masterful hands rhythmically massaging one of my erogenous zones – transmitted the cold touch of the grave.

  3. It started with a whisper, the day the Church dug into the earth for its new well. Just a voice out of the dark cold ground. The workers laughed, called it the wind, but some -the wise ones- made a sign of the cross. For when the night fell, that whisper turned into a multitude of voices, screaming in our heads, giving us our nightmares, visions of blood and death. Night after night we listened, weeped with the morning sun, until we could stand it no more. We fled our village, and left it to the demons.

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