MystyrMystyry
10-31-2025, 06:58 AM
The moon is full on Hallow’s Eve, the lanterns all ablaze,
The young'uns march with painted masks, through streets of winding haze
They sing of tricks and candied treats, they rattle at each door,
Unknowing what the night conceals, what shadows lay in store
The houses stand in crooked rows, with shutters creak and torn,
And whispers ride the autumn wind, as if the night were born
The elders spoke of Hallow’s Gate, a mansion dark, decayed,
Where none who dared to enter it came back to town by day
Yet bold young Michael cries aloud, 'I’ll prove this tale untrue!
No ghost nor ghoul shall frighten me - I’ll see what men eschew'
He strides across the haunted green, the others gasp in fright,
While jacko’lanterns grimly grin beneath the silver light
He knocks upon the iron door - it opens with a groan,
And cobwebs veil the splintered hall, the walls as cold as stone
A sudden howl, a clattering, a bat flies past his eyes,
Yet Michael only straightens tall and fearlessly he says:
'Come forth, you phantoms, wraiths, and shades! Reveal your hidden guise!
For I am he who mocks your kind - you filthy Lords of Flies!'
Then silence falls, so thick, so deep, it stops the very breath,
And from the stairs there drifts down the frozen hand of Death
The children scream, the lanterns dim, the night grows black and still,
And Michael — brave, defiant lad — is mastered by the chill
They find his mask upon the step, his bag of sweets upturned,
But Michael of the Hallow’s Gate was nevermore returned
So when the October moonlight shines, beware the house of dread,
For those who mock the spectres’ reign may join the list of dead
And if you hear the rustling leaves, a whisper in the gloom -
Pray you one and all, haste you home ere the ghost of Michael loom
The young'uns march with painted masks, through streets of winding haze
They sing of tricks and candied treats, they rattle at each door,
Unknowing what the night conceals, what shadows lay in store
The houses stand in crooked rows, with shutters creak and torn,
And whispers ride the autumn wind, as if the night were born
The elders spoke of Hallow’s Gate, a mansion dark, decayed,
Where none who dared to enter it came back to town by day
Yet bold young Michael cries aloud, 'I’ll prove this tale untrue!
No ghost nor ghoul shall frighten me - I’ll see what men eschew'
He strides across the haunted green, the others gasp in fright,
While jacko’lanterns grimly grin beneath the silver light
He knocks upon the iron door - it opens with a groan,
And cobwebs veil the splintered hall, the walls as cold as stone
A sudden howl, a clattering, a bat flies past his eyes,
Yet Michael only straightens tall and fearlessly he says:
'Come forth, you phantoms, wraiths, and shades! Reveal your hidden guise!
For I am he who mocks your kind - you filthy Lords of Flies!'
Then silence falls, so thick, so deep, it stops the very breath,
And from the stairs there drifts down the frozen hand of Death
The children scream, the lanterns dim, the night grows black and still,
And Michael — brave, defiant lad — is mastered by the chill
They find his mask upon the step, his bag of sweets upturned,
But Michael of the Hallow’s Gate was nevermore returned
So when the October moonlight shines, beware the house of dread,
For those who mock the spectres’ reign may join the list of dead
And if you hear the rustling leaves, a whisper in the gloom -
Pray you one and all, haste you home ere the ghost of Michael loom