Monster Mash Anthology

If you love Halloween like I do, you are constantly bingeing old school movies like The Mummy, The Wolf Man, Dracula, Night of the Living Dead, The Birds, and so on. But this year, I wanted to do something special. I wanted to cast a spell on you. (Sorry)

So, I made an anthology, and asked the souls that dared, to write a poem based off the monster I assigned to them. I am so excited to share this passion project with you.

Without further ado, let the Monster Mash Anthology commence!

Changeling -

Willow

(IG: @willowisobelwrites)

I feel like a changeling.
In the mirror’s curve, I catch a glint
the blush in my lips, the trick of my eyes,
something not quite human, not quite lies.

The glass bends,
and in that ripple I see a secret grin.
Who was taken from the cradle before me,
so I could stand here, shimmering in their skin?

I am the leftover magic,
a fairy’s child, an elf’s small wonder.
I press my tongue to the mirror’s cold,
laughing softly,
the day has only just begun,
and mischief is my morning sun.

(Artwork: The Changeling (1780) by Henry Fuseli. Changelings are human-like creatures that were supernatural beings left behind in place of a human baby).

|

Cerberus - Siobhan Ronan (IG: @by.siobhan.ronan)

Cerberus:
Offspring of serpentine royalty,
favored sentry of Hell’s seas,
Hades’ best friend -
Cerberus, if you please!

Do you speak to me (and only me?)
to me alone, protector of the throne
one, and two, maybe three?
You speak to us all.

Fractured myths of my one mind,
monstrous armor, fugitive harmer,
fear not - we’ll get it right this time.
We are here.

Heracles, I plead, free me (Hades or home?)
Valiantly avenge, your demise - my revenge!
absconded once again to face reality alone.

We are one,
We are all,
We are none.

(Artwork: Hercules and Cerberus (1606) by Antonio Tempesta. Cerberus originates from Greek mythology and was a three-headed dog that guarded the Underworld for its master, Hades).

|

Siren -

Maya Cheav

(IG: @house_of_maya)

Siren for sale at the fishmonger’s market

between the booths displaying rare saltwater fish / on beds of ice, / there she was—strung up on a fishing line, / the metal hook embedded in her bloodied tail, / as she thrashed and flailed / inside the netting. / her gills flared / as she bared her seven rows of teeth / at the men in the market, / packed together like a tin of sardines. / her captor, a slimy man with a grin like a crescent moon, / tried to sell her to the highest bidder, / searching for his white whale amidst a sea of pot-bellied men donning / yellow mariner jackets coated in linseed oil / and waterproof membrane waders. / their eyes were filled with hunger, / with desire. / some wanted to study her anatomy, / to sacrifice her body to science, / to store her away in a tank filled with formaldehyde / where her webbed fingers would shrink from dehydration, / leaving her fleshy and wrought. / others wanted to throw her in a vat of frying oil, / to cook her like a fine delicacy / and serve her fins in siren soup. / most wanted to do much more than that. / they ogled her like she was the pearl at the center of an oyster, / like they wanted to know her scales and her skin. / her milky white eyes reflected their own lust. / the last hand standing at the end of the auction / belonged to someone who did not fit into any of those categories. / it belonged to a woman weathered away with time, / a wrinkled thing who looked like she was as old as the building the market lived in. / she walked up to claim her treasure, / limping with each step, the men’s eyes following her movements. / she handed the slimy man a wad of cash before making her way to the siren, / the hook lowering her down to the wood-rotted floor. / as the slimy man pulled the hook from out of her fin, / the siren wailed, / screeching bloody murder. / it left a hole the size of a pufferfish. / the old woman released her from the net / and the two shared a look that said more than words ever could. / and that was all it took/ before the siren slithered out of the market / and down to the coast, / the men chasing after, / but with little luck, for she was already far, far away, / becoming one with the sea.

(Sirens are a sailors worst nightmare, luring them to their death by their beautiful songs).

|

Gorgon - Caitlyn Adams (IG: @catscratch345)

Fatal Beings

Monsters of myth and legend,
beings so terrifying, one was known for her stony pleasures.
Though, I rather find them intriguing.
Mysterious with their dark deeds and need for revenge.
For femme fatales they are inspirations.
For mere mortal men they are nightmares to be feared.
For me, they are great and powerful,
deviously gorgeous,
and deadly to all.
I often think of the one known as Medusa,
with various tales told to both scare and pity.
No one may ever know her true tale,
but the other two sisters are a mystery to me.
Stheno and Euryale are immortal and deserving of admiration too.
Both worth a stare!

(Gorgons are monstrous women from Greek mythology who had snakes for hair and the power to turn people to stone. Medusa is the most famous Gorgon).

|

Wendigo -

Oswald Perez

(IG: @oswaldperez85)

A sudden chill fills the air

The next second, thunder rolls
Vivid lightning strikes, darkness

Without warning, footsteps arise
A creature rises, the Wendigo

Ice all over the body, guttural scream
Open fangs, ready to dine on flesh

No one is safe from it’s wrath
A spirit, hellbent on possession

Get all the silver bullets possible
You can only slow the beast down

It lurks in every shadow
From twilight waiting, waiting

What can be done?!
Outlast the night, make it to daylight

Beware the Wendigo,
the legend’s real

One never knows, when it’ll rise again

(The Wendigo originated from the folklore of some northern Algonquian people. It was a cannibalistic giant or spirit, mimicking voices of loved ones to lure poor souls to their doom.)

|

Vampire - Cara Phelym (IG :@polar_truths)

The lair of deepest night

Mist curls from a fanged cavern, slowly, and with deadly purpose.
Hearses do not carry this much weight, oppressive and inescapable.
It was a betrayal that led me here, yet I cannot deny the seductive lure
to pierce that endless chasm of darkness.

Something waits for me,
a whisper that sounds eerily like my name, if only I would claim it.
Goosebumps pinch my naked skin, tendrils of hair floating in a wind
which does not exist.

The surrounding forest is silent, yet the trees
seem to breathe, exuding a pushing force.

My toes curl in complaint,
digging furrows into the damp dirt, that overhang just a little closer now.
The dark does not appear as complete, more smoked, opaque,
a doorway to a different dimension.

It swirls and coaxes a silhouette,
hinting at a tall form brimming with power.

The air closes in my throat
as the clouds shift and moonlight glints silver on overlong teeth.
I shiver, but with fear creeps excitement, those points are so endlessly sharp,
that perhaps I might finally feel something.

My feet relax into a careful step,
heart thudding, as I come face to face with my monster, my master.
His eyes are a whirlpool of manic maroon, cat’s pupils flooding into view
and a ghastly sheen that belongs solely to the dead.

The breath is forced
from my blue lips, lungs empty and somehow I know they will not rise again.
No more pretense, my body eager to be delivered to the next, rivulets of blood
marking a new destiny as talons grip and sunder my skin to him.
Neck bared as each thrum erodes my lifeforce, mist enveloping us in a gentle kiss
as I am swept away, name erased, humanity decayed.
There is only this eternal night, and the blackness I surrendered to.

(Artwork: Love and pain (1895) Edward Munch. The story of vampires originates from European folklore and were described as being corpses who woke at night to drink the blood of the living.)

|

Minotaur -

S.A. SHIVAAY

(IG: @trishivaay)

Asterion

He dreams where marble corridors breathe,
Where silence weaves what gods bequeath.
The stone remembers every tread,
Each echo mourns the thing it fed.

His hands recall the warmth of bone,
The cries that made his hunger known.
He eats, yet feels the hollow grow,
A curse the sea refused to know.

The walls inhale his salted skin,
The labyrinth sleeps deep within.
Its corridors, his ribs and veins,
Where mercy lives in welded chains.

He hears a thread, a human sound,
A heart that beats above the ground.
He tastes the word he cannot speak,
A name that light forgot to seek.

He was not born of love or sin,
But of the god that burned within.
A beast, they said, yet who decides
Where hunger ends and man resides?

Sometimes he dreams of open air,
Of wind through unbound morning hair.
But waking cuts the dream in two,
And blood repeats what gods undo.

He builds a fire from shattered bone,
And waits for death to guide him home.
Perhaps the blade will set him free,
Perhaps the dark will learn to see.

And when the thread slips through his hand,
He will not rage, he understands.
To be a myth is not to live,
But to forgive what gods forbid.

The maze will sleep, the stone will fade,
His name will ghost the halls he made.
And somewhere far beyond the sea,
The myth will rest, remembering me.

|

(Artwork: “The Minotaur” (1885) by George Frederic Watts. The minotaur was a mythological creature created by Poseidon as punishment for King Minos for not sacrificing a bull to him. The minotaur was half man and half bull, and was kept in the Labyrinth, where it would feast on the poor men and women who could not find their way out of the maze).

|

If you were brave enough to finish this anthology, are you alright? Just kidding, thank you so much for supporting me, and the artists who took the time to share this work with this humble corner of Substack. Please consider supporting their work by following their Substack or Instagram page. Also, comment your favorite piece below, and without further ado, Happy Halloween!