The Eve before Hallow's*

Twas the Eve before the Eve of Hallows,
here in my parents' house,
My computer was whirring,
Me clicking my mouse.

My costume was assembled,
with the usual care,
with pieces all found,
right here in my lair.

My parents and cats,
all snug in their beds,
Visions of me leaving,
likely dancing in their heads.

I needed not a kerchief,
but maybe a cap,
I settled on ideas,
resolved in a snap.

When out in the hall,
I heard some blood spatter,
With uncharacteristic courage,
I checked what was the matter.

I flung open my door,
with the speed of The Flash,
Suddenly wished for a chainsaw,
like my hero, Campbell's Ash.

For there in the hall,
with an eerie fiery glow,
stood Freddy Kreuger,
a nightmarish foe.

Why, to my wandering eyes
should appear,
that macabre icon,
of subconscious fear?

With his glove tipped with blades,
so vicious and quick,
I felt in that moment,
I was going to be sick.

“Uh, Freddy....”
I sputtered his name,
slowly retreating to my room
from whence I came.

“No danger...no stranger...
no problem...needs fixing...
Please stop it....so stupid...
I'm dumber...mind frizzing...”

I babbled in my room,
at the end of the hall,
“Just go away, go away,
don't cut me at all.”

He cleaved through my door,
this menacing guy,
It was barely an obstacle,
as he entered my sty.

He grabbed me and threw me,
across the room I flew,
with a mouth full of blood,
and broken bones too.

There in my suffering,
I cursed my bad luck,
and I prayed and I prayed,
that I should wake up.

Freddy held out his hand,
he made not a sound,
I thought it was strange,
no mocking around.

Into my house,
terror had set foot,
was it only a dream,
or would I go kaput?

Still on the floor,
old toys in my back,
I waited for the monster,
to press his attack.

His eyes, how they stared!
His intentions, so scary!
His cheeks scarred and burned,
that visage made me wary.

His twisted mouth
wrinkled below,
a pointed nose that
dipped down too low.

I saw my reflection,
in his wall of teeth,
they grew to encircle,
my room like a wreath.

“Not real...not real.”
I crawled on my belly,
I shook and I whimpered,
the mouth-room was smelly.

What was wrong with my brain,
Why do that to myself?
I laughed at the madness,
my strange mental health.

I opened one eye,
I was curled up in bed,
And I knew then and there,
I had nothing to dread.

I spoke not a word,
of that nocturnal quirk,
I just sat up and breathed,
and allowed a small smirk.

My computer still on,
a blank document glowed,
So I started typing,
in rhyme rather than prose.

I read what I'd wrote,
and I let out a whistle,
When a machete pierced my chest,
soaring like a missile.

I heard Jason exclaim nothing,
as he ended my life,
That dude may be mute,
but he's good with a knife.

Happy Halloween!

* With deepest apologies to Wes Craven, Victor Miller, and Clement Clarke Moore. Also, this whole piece reads a lot better if you imagine The Fresh Prince rapping it....


Blogger Lorna said...

This piece couldn't read better!

10/31/2009 6:10 AM  

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