Creepypasta Stories And Rituals

The Shadows Of Samuel Craven

In the sleepy town of Windarm,

a street where no one goes,

a child of wondrous prying

was deadened in crooked pose.

His name was Samuel Craven

a boy no older than ten,

sneaking out from the safety

of his home, a reluctant one then.

The breeze of the night engulfed him

as he ran free and clear to his doom.

To a place which never existed

but he'd found it, no less, in his room.

At night the shadows would scurry,

and paint pictures of streets on his wall,

as he'd lie in his bed and observe

a place where children stood tall.

Each night the pictures grew stronger,

as slivers of dark made the scene;

a street of cobble and houses,

glowing windows, thatched roofs, and oak beams.

On his wall, shadowed children would scamper,

playing late and loud as they pleased.

While Samuel lay there in envy,

of the place he so wanted to be.

For his parents seemed strict and distant,

far removed from the freedom he yearned.

And of course Samuel wished for an instance,

where the rules of grown-ups could be spurned.

Night upon night he was beckoned,

by the children playing tag on the wall,

and the rules of his parents rang harshly;

in his ears, in his soul, in him all.

On the fifth night the picture froze sharply,

and the shadows of children turned round

to face Samuel Craven, with wide grins in place,

made of dark, and of light, which was drowned.

"Come with us, dear Samuel", they whispered.

"You can play with us now in our street,

and you never need worry about grown-ups again

for here parents and children shan't meet".

Young Samuel did not have to answer,

for he leapt from his bed with glee,

through the wall where empty eyes watched him,

open handed and whispering "be free".