miasma

In dank and gloom
the creature creeps
through broken stones
and creaking trees.
It stalks the silly
thrill-seekers
wandering its lot
in the midnight hour
oblivious to shadows;
closing in
on youthful idiocy
and its bottle of gin.
And so it begins
when for them it ends.
A scream unanswered.
A body found,
a bloodied pile
on the ground.
Teens spouting
improbable babble
ignored by authority
as cockamamie twaddle.
So a swirling miasma
of fog and decay,
of distrust and delay
fills the air
rank and noxious -
a portent
of days to come
as one by one
the monster feeds.