His shadow in the moonlight
It lingers on the earth
The steel axe inside his right hand
Floating in the night
He steps out from the treeline
Starts to cross the field
The wind whistles in the dark
He’s prepared to make his mark
He walks up the gravel driveway
Where he watched the children play
Early in the morning
In the light of day
Underneath the branches
Underneath the clouds
He enters through the backdoor
And never makes a sound
He breathes in his surroundings
It’s late summer early fall
He cut the telephone wires
So they would never place a call
Staring at family photos
Hanging on the wall
He slowly reminds himself
He’s there to kill them all
He moves through the kitchen
Then slowly up the stairs
Looming right beside him
A tension in the air
He inches along the floor boards
Slowly down the hall
Until he reaches a doorway
And the rain began to fall
He pushes it slightly open
It lets out a timid creak
When the axe comes down
No neighbors hear the screams
They find them in the morning
Blood thrown across the floor
But when they look around
The killer is no more
The poem is loosely based around the Villisca Axe Murders of 1912. It includes plenty of true details while omitting others and adding new ones. I submitted it with Halloween in mind.