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Andi Marchal, Authorさんのイラストまとめ


Raised on Hudson Valley folklore/legends, telling stories became my addiction #Published #Author #FolkHorror #Horror #Poetry All original work © No Tags/DMs
andimarchal.wordpress.com

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By day she was a dignified funeral director. Composed, as she led corpses to their resting place. Comforting to their loved ones. The same loved ones who came back later to find out the secrets of the dead. Yes, by night she was The Undercover Necromancer

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I engaged with a Harlequin
On a weird wondrous stage
A piper scribed our lines
Our nerves he did assuage
We didn't know if his drama
Would be light or darkly tragic
But critics agreed his talent was true
Or could it just be magic?



🎨Luca Tranchino

9 31

my nirvana is not blissful
mine is a place
wild and uncanny
written about in primeval tales
where the maiden’s beauty
is the flip side
of the maiden’s monster





🎨Vanette Kosman

6 23

Blessed ~
Night and day are equal length, perfectly balanced.
Plant the seeds of new ideas, creative inspiration, and let them be quickened with the energy of rebirth and renewal.

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HELP!! The Witches Ball?? How did I miss that one?

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You smell like ~
the blues
sad poetry
unhealed scars
torch songs
a gust of cold
slamming doors
sleepless slumber
restless reverie
piercing thorns
the last grip on the night

You exude ~
betrayal







🎨Pinterest

11 48

As in days of Yore, the wolves would howl on Christmas morning. We could hear them thru the drafts in the walls of the old house. Their legacy of guardianship of our woods lived on. Their song on the icy wind…our tribal gift.



Image: Pinterest

5 28

I remember Yule night
Cold and dark
When Krampus carved
His cursed mark

My soul burned
My mortality murdered
Death’s lessons learned

My heart fought a barrage of emotion
Now I walk beside this demon cloven
He’s claimed my dark devotion



🎨Michael Ray

5 16

Hide your brooms!
Norwegian folklore says Christmas Eve is when witches fly, spreading mischief & general tomfoolery. Setting off on their brooms into the sky. It's tradition for Norwegian families to hide away any sweeping sticks where the witches can't find them

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In bedarkened poetry
I am remembered
Ruler of this gruesome realm
Where my soul is tethered
Wraiths lost on the spirit road
Dolent voices speak my praise
In verses dark they worship me
Their queen on Hell’s dais




🎨Dopaprime

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