In the hollow where shadows crawl,
The trolls awake to claim them all.
With hunger foul, and hunger deep,
They rise from dirt where secrets sleep.
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Their skin is rotting, black and slick,
Their eyes—two pits that burn and flick.
The smell of death, the taste of fear,
When they draw near, no soul is clear.
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They crawl from cracks, they crawl from stone,
Beneath the earth, their hearts have grown.
And when the moon, so pale and thin,
Casts light, it lets the evil in.
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The town is still, its silence sweet,
A lull before the death they meet.
Then comes the sound—a creaking door,
The trolls are here, and hell’s in store.
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The children’s cries, a twisted song,
Echo as the night grows long.
No walls too high, no door too strong,
They tear through steel as if it’s wrong.
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Their claws are knives, their teeth are hooks,
They rip through flesh like ripped-up books.
Each scream they hear, each soul they break,
Is food for them, their thirst to slake.
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The air grows thick with blood and ash,
The ground shakes with each savage crash.
Their breath, a stench of rotting meat,
Their footsteps like the pounding beat
Of drums in hell, a rhythmic sound,
That shakes the heart and cracks the ground.
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The parents run, but they are slow,
The trolls are fast, the shadows grow.
With jagged teeth, they tear and rend,
Their twisted mouths will never end.
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They drag their victims, pale and torn,
Into the woods where night is born.
The darkness whispers, hungry, deep,
As it devours those who sleep.
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The moon itself begins to bleed,
A crimson glow that feeds the need.
The trolls, they laugh with twisted glee,
Their hunger’s all that they will be.
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There’s no escape, no place to hide,
The monsters walk with death as guide.
They find the weak, the lost, the young,
And twist their bodies, pull their lungs.
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In the woods, where the trees bend low,
There’s something worse, something below.
For the trolls are not the only thing,
There are darker things that live and sting.
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Each body left is never still,
The shadows come to claim their fill.
A thousand voices, whispers thick,
The trolls’ victims rise, the darkness sticks.
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They become the trolls—they feast, they feed,
They’re twisted now, they’ve lost their need.
And once they’ve tasted, once they’ve learned,
The fires of hell are where they burn.
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No one survives; no one has escaped.
The town is gone, the town is raped.
The earth is thick with blood and screams,
The trolls still hunger—hear their dreams.
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So, if you wander near the woods,
Beware the trees that watch your moods.
For in the dark, the trolls still wait,
And once they find you—it’s too late.