Catch Your Death: I

The plaid shirt trembled
With each little heartbeat.
His breath was stifled,
Tongue swollen, surfeit.

A deep hunger filled
His concave shell
And the clock ticked
With every pulse and swell.

Fingers laced between
This world and theirs
As they surround us,
Heads bowed, creaking chairs.

“Catch your death. Catch your death”
They chant and they beckon
“Catch your death, catch your death.
You will come soon, we reckon.”

Skin paler than grey,
Teeth blackened by grit.
A clumsy, young beard
Gathers tendrils of spit.

The roots of our evil
Growl beneath bone
And skin that encases
Each warbling moan.

“Catch your death. Catch your death”
The door grumbles ajar
“Catch your death. Catch your death.
Come to us from afar.”

Eyes roll back into
A pendulous head
“They are coming”, he spat
“The victorious dead!”

Purpling fingers clutch
The arms of the chair
But then befalls silence
‘Fore now they are there.

“Catch your death. Catch your death”
Says no living thing
“Catch your death. Catch your death”
It wails through a grin.