The Wicked Come

Uniquely Dark Film Shorts, Poetry & Photographs

December 2014... Beware

Best Horror Lullabies - Music box

Ring around the Rosie

The Birth of Evil

" Evil is an early or primitive stage of moral development. All children are fiends by nature. The criminals among us are only those who didn't progress.
It's a presence, not an absence. Evil is an incarnated character, an incubus or a succubus. It's an other. It's not an us.
Evil isn't a thing, it's not a person, it's an attribute like beauty.
It's a power, like wind.
It's an infection."-  Wicked by Gregory Maguire

The Witching Hour 2015 Horror Competition

The competition to find the best supernatural poem of  2015!  The best entries will be published on The Wicked Come, Poetry Books and Lost Tower Publications websites.  The Witching Hour Competition is run  in conjunction with Lost Tower Publications.                                     Click Here for Details!

Welcome To The Wicked Come

 The Wicked Come is an exciting explosion of new Gothic, Horror and Dark Romantic works. This site features dark poetry ranging from the  unnatural to the undesirable and exploring the dark side of humanity.

We also showcase film shorts from up and coming horror directors with a special horror film review section. As well as beautifully, atmospheric crafted Gothic photographs. 

Watching

The Statue

Trees stood dark against the sky,

Branches rattled a war cry,

Howling wind ran through the trees,
Stealing dark, decaying leaves.
Hurling twigs against gnarled bark,
Strange sounds echoed in the dark;
Bowing branch taps sleeping tomb,
White mist rises in the gloom.

Shiny truck with glaring light,
Waking spirits in the night,
White washed headstones frowned and glared,
While iron statue turned and stared.
The truck rocked with heavy beat,
Masked the sound of dragging feet,
Iron statue, dripping red, 
Woken from its earthly bed.

Young man smoothed his lovers face,
Falling into fond embrace,
As setting sun oozed and bled
Shrouding all in shades of red.
Grass crunched under heavy tread,
Flowers shook with quiet dread
Roosting rooks cawed in fright,
As statue hunted in the night.

Scabbard clanked on iron plate,
Eyes glowed through mask of hate.
One arm raised in angry fist,
Iron hook glinting in the mist.
Both lovers jolted with fear…
As screeching scrape came from the rear.
Tall man cursed and hurried out,
Dark shadows lurking all about…..

Empty silence fell too fast
As eerie sounds stopped at last.
Pale mist gently rolled away,
With the fiery red of day
The truck swayed with nervous sounds
As on the roof dead branch pounds,
Ancient fallen soldiers slept;
From the truck his lover crept.

Not looking back, he ran home
Hurt he had been left alone.
Running through the sleeping dead,
Past statue of dripping red,
His thoughts racing for lost love,
Now swaying from branch above.
Gently moving with the breeze,
As gate slams shut…..
No trespassers please.

By P.J. Reed

The Dummy

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