"The Flayed One"

In a dark, haunting wood in the middle of the night
If you’re cursed, you’ll see it in the beam of  light
It’s the thing of terror, of horror, of screams
It mars you in real life and  your dreams

Its skin hangs in tatters, dripping in sheets
Its nimble body can tackle sinister feats
Its long, pointed claws claim you as their own
It stalks you and taunts you when you are alone

Its smell reeks of death, of demise, of decay
The shriek it emits incites unbearable dismay
With your senses assaulted, it’s hard to think straight
When you realize the danger, it’s probably too late

The claws on its fingers gut you if it chooses
Torture and Hades certainly must be its muses
Most likely, though, it will let you get away
And save your anguish for an unmarked day

It will come at night, the thing of horror and screams
It will restlessly infect all your  hours and dreams
It will send you to madness, the asylum awaits
To be chosen by the being is the darkest of fates

No survivors can voice its fiendish destruction
It’s not, however, an imaginary construction
One victim’s journal details its story
And outlines its malice, its tenacious fury

So if you’ve ever traversed a wood at night
You may have been spotted by the creature of fright
You may not yet know, but you are its prey
There will be no chance to get away

When you least expect, this monster of the wood
Will come for you and end you for good
You will not know when, you will not know why
But when the Flayed One comes, you’ll want to die.