Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Chilling Shivers to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
My phone went dead at midnight on a deserted country lane,
With the car stalled in the shadow of the trees and the falling rain.
There was not a light for miles, and my torch was in the boot,
And I heard a slow, soft footstep, like a boot upon a root.
I called out, is somebody there? and the footsteps stopped to hear,
Then a voice as thin as paper whispered, yes, I am so near.
I felt the door handle rattle, though I had locked it tight,
And a face pressed at the window, blank and pallid in the night.
It said, I've been out here for years, since my own phone died,
And nobody has ever stopped, and nobody has tried.
I gave it my dead phone through the crack, for I could not bear to wait,
And the engine coughed to life, and I fled beyond the gate.
Poet of Chilling Shivers · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
In the age of phones, a dead battery can be the start of a horror story. This poem puts a stranded driver on a dark lane and gives a ghost a very modern complaint.
“My phone went dead at midnight on a deserted country lane,” with the car stalled “in the shadow of the trees and the falling rain.” The torch is in the boot, and the speaker hears “a slow, soft footstep.” When the speaker calls out, “a voice as thin as paper” replies, “yes, I am so near.”
The speaker feels “the door handle rattle” and sees “a face pressed at the window.” The stranger says, “I’ve been out here for years, since my own phone died, and nobody has ever stopped.” The speaker passes a dead phone through the crack, and “the engine coughed to life.”