Angel Hair

 I've searched for a place to lay and rest

As fatigue was mere steps behind.

Withered was my strength at best

At ease was where I needed my mind

Not far in the distance stood a quaint little Hamlet

With several homes who's doorways were lit.

With frail arms I rapped at the entrance

Answered to me was a delicate fragrance.

“What brings you here at this given hour?” a gentle voice did speak.

“It is a place of rest that I seek,” a frail voice escaped this traveler.

The door was ajar and peered through was a maiden

Fair skin, pale lips, and hair as dark as a raven 

“You may rest for the night,” said she. 

To my tired delight she bade passage to me.

She said, “The spare room is at the end of the hall,

“If you need to freshen up, across is the bath.”

It was the bed that answered the call, 

But shower I must, as this was part of my path.

Though dreary was I in this place

The droplets fell with a cozy embrace

A step in the tub of porcelain design

Not needing much, this settled just fine

I rinse, lathered, and showered

Despite the nest of bundled up hair

That gathered by the drain as if it just stared 

Deep at me, looking to consume, eager to devour 

With fingers in my hair as shampoo ran down

A sensation I felt upon my toes, my eyes temporarily closed

My body was bound, as if restricted to the ground

A feeling of dread this did impose 

I shook my foot to free from the binding

Only to realize there was nothing winding

Around my leg or at my feet, nothing was there

The only trace was at the drain, the source of the hair.

With eyes locked, I kept at attention

At any sign that the hair was alive

Could it be that I'm just deprived

From this day wanting to end my stride. 

Perhaps it was my mind, but I swore I felt the bind

With no truth I could find, it was time to go unwind. 

I patted myself dry from my head to my toe

With the towel she supplied just a minute ago

Maybe my mind was just playing tricks

With the hair in the tub binding its grips.

I entered in my room across from the bath

Laughing at the notion of some hairy wrath

Hoping all was just a jeste 

A mental strain, if I do detest.

Though I struggled to find rest, in time I found slumber

But what came next were terrors, and nothing of wonder.

It felt before when standing in the shower

The warmth of the water slowly gone sour.

The damp matted hair had found its way on me

Heavy and cold as it started crawling

Up my calf and around my thighs

A sensation that is nothing short of agonize

The scent was of mold, so putrid and foul

Crawling its way, it continued to climb

As it tightened its hold like a dense soaking towel

Dampened and bound in its disgusting slime

The fibers had tangled like that of a rope

Struggle I tried but now losing hope

For my strength was matched by the frails of my day

All efforts escaped me as it made its way

Further up my torso it wrapped up my arms

I could feel its pressure constricting my muscles

I mustered some strength to let out a scream so

The lady of the house would hear my alarms.

Quickly it sprung to reach in my mouth

The muggy strands slid down into my throat

My air was restricted as I’m losing hope

What cursed thing that lived in this house.

At the foot she stood, watching me sleep

With hair hanging down, wrapped up to my feet

The same scent as before, but she was no maiden

A crone she now was, one relished in mayhem.

I tried to leave, but it was too late

Her hair had entangled and kept me restrained.

“I’m glad that you came, I’m in need of youth”

Those words that she sang was her honest truth.

Those murky strands now wrapped every inch

And syphoned away, but not in a pinch.

I felt those damp strands for what felt like hours

As the lowly old c

rone slowly devoured

Just enough breath to continue living

Until nothing left till her feast was filling