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| A horrid man who was forgotten by time. Would not one person up that hill climb? Alas, no one cared if he lived or died and he cared not if they even tried. While the sky rumbled and roared away, He recalled the child who lived by the bay. Lighting a squat candle that struggled to shine, He remembered that tonight was a hallowed time. When costumed children played pranks on all But knew nothing of what ills might befall. A dead branch scratched against the window. Adding more drama to this tale of woe. Wind wheezed through the cracks, sucah eerie sound, And the candlelight died when the wick drowned. He made his plan while cursing the candle and clawed for a match on the dusty mantle. Lightning criss-crossed over the old bleak dwelling and while thunder crashed, the clouds were swelling. With the candle lit, he pulled the curtain aside, "Tonight, the foolish boy may come. I must decide!" He watched the gray moss twisting in the gale, and wondered if the boy was climbing the trail. As a flash of lightning scorched the ground, Over the thunder came a screeching sound. Straining his tired eyes, the old man was pleased. Indeed, it was the boy who had slipped out free. The old wretch said, "Give them a sweet or a small toy And it is awfully easy to catch a little boy. Dripping wet, the boy rapped upon the door. He had no belief in spooky ghosts and gore. He said as the door slowly creaked open, "There are no goblins! The lock's just broken." The man crept to the stairs, a rope in hand but nothing occurred quite as he planned. His twisted old foot slipped on the very top stair. The fall broke his neck; his eyes froze in a glare. Terrified, the boy screamed and ran home in a flash. Thunder rolled up the hill and lightning crashed. The wind blew in gusts that stole one's breath And all around there was the scent of death. A scraggly old tree resembled a dead man's shroud as crackling electricity split the dark gray clouds. The hoot owl "Hooo-hooooed" then tucked in his head. There'd be no hunting on this night of the dead. Catherine Kennedy Copyright Halloween 10/31/06 |
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| "It was a dark and stormy night" |
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| A moist veil of fog oozed through the trees. The thunder was distant; there was no breeze. Upon the hill, the thistle had browned. Decaying leaves meshed with the ground. The decaying gray house, a horrid sight, Creaked and groaned on that eerie night. A small graveyard, beside the cold black sea Was a steadfast reminder of what would be. Hunkered on the cliff over the rutted road, Within the bowels of that grungy abode, was a ragged figure with a mangled hand. He was a tortured soul; a bitter old man. |
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