“The Jackal”

“The Jackal at the Exit”

At the far end of the tunnels,
Where the air grows thin and cold,
Lurks a rat they call the Jackal—
A whisper older than the mold.

He waits beside the exit’s glow,
Where desperate footsteps falter,
A silent warden of the pathways
Few return from to the altar.

They say he brings an ending
To the creatures who slip past,
A shadow cutting final breath
From those who dare to run too fast.

No scream, no clawing struggle—
Just darkness folding in,
And the Jackal’s eyes like embers
Judging every fleeing sin.

Some call him fate in fur and bone,
Some call him doom made small;
But all agree the exit door
Is the last place you should crawl.

For in the threshold’s dying light,
Where hope turns thin and black,
The Jackal watches motionless—
And none who meet him make it back.