MystyrMystyry
10-16-2013, 06:41 PM
At the stroke of the midnight dour, for long I've dreaded this loomin' hour;
The chime peals twelve, and fades, whence I discern a tiny squeakin';
It comes not from my rockin' chair, but the cellar door beneath the stair!
As I attempt to rise I knock my stick, so tonight it seems there'll be no peakin';
But that squeakin' it becomes a screechin', as though my aid it is beseechin';
Is it snared in some manner? I have no traps set for mice, nor a cat;
But I have presumed a harmless rodent, though it may be of larger portent;
As the plainsong kettle shrills - is it a Hedgehog? Badger? Maniacal Raven? Or a Bat?
At first a scritchin', thence a scratchin', as of something weird ahatchin';
Could this be just my wanderin' imaginin's, so late at night, perhaps...
Not even a rat, a mere insect, though my paralysis prevents me inspect;
Were I able I would find but nothin' (except I may have suffered a lapse)
But then: the noise is reshapin', as the scratchin' becomes a scrapin'!
"The cellar is cursed!" I blurt, "A demonic curse from distant antiquity!"
Intensely I listen to this befoulin' as the screechin' grows into howlin';
The hair on my nape begins to bristle, as if charged by electricity!
"G-et back to Hell!" I am stammerin', as the scrapin' becomes a hammerin'!
And all the while that incessant, most unpleasant, wailin' howlin'!
Can I reach it to make the call, emergency, free from the premises is all?
If, this is, they then may hear me, over what has become an insidious growlin'!
The fiercest growlin', and accentuated, by the frequent gruntin' punctuated;
So next the hammerin' becomes a tearin', wrenchin' at the wooden obstacle;
With claw, with talon, with tooth, with fang, shreddin' with the whole shebang;
My mind flees, wishin' elsewhere, my thoughts completely astronautical;
They need be fast, within a minute, lest I become the monster's dinner;
To stretch and writhe and then wriggle, from its restin' my phone to snatch;
Would they believe me? Would it matter? I must be rid of the devilish chatter;
But alas my nerves it is testin', once my phone at last my nails catch;
Who would believe the bad luck of it all? Who I ask? It's diabolical!
Panic strikes as thoughts are racin': not the battery! No! Completely dead!
To the charger! Upon my knees I crawl over, nudgin' up behind the sofa;
A hidin' spot and hopefully safe - a secret fort to clear my head!
A cover story I need make up, so that from this nightmare I may wake up;
Though my savers might arrive to find, I hope not, and then be angry;
But then the Demon behind the door seeks my blood, and may then want more;
And from the sounds it's makin' it's not givin' up, and it's beyond hungry!
From my vantage point I peep, so as to keep an eye on the Creep
And ensure it doesn't break out, though were it to what should I do?
From the fireplace I grab a poker, and check it's point - damn! Mediocre!
Maybe I can poke its heads, or capsize it off its rails, until arrive the rescue crew;
But then the howlin' growlin' screech brief stops before the door is breached!
What is this flamin' ghastly Fiend, it's hair slicked back like a mortician;
Did it spy me with its blood red eye? I'm guessin' not because it passed me by;
That cold dead eye! And strikin' resemblance to a certain notorious politician!
So I'm thinkin' what the bloomin'! though I suspected the thing less than human;
To appear horrifyin': that's understood. But how low have the demons sunk?
But then again - no, that's unfair - on fiends and monsters everywhere;
Why in my cellar I wonder - perhaps it was aimin' to look like the town drunk!
Last I heard it was seen kissin' babies, probably givin' them a dose of rabies;
Makin' promises it won't keep, except to itself of course, its sneaky pockets line;
But here is where my tale end, safe in my house with a cellar door to mend;
And should you see it, a word of caution: run a mile lest your sanity it undermine!
.
The chime peals twelve, and fades, whence I discern a tiny squeakin';
It comes not from my rockin' chair, but the cellar door beneath the stair!
As I attempt to rise I knock my stick, so tonight it seems there'll be no peakin';
But that squeakin' it becomes a screechin', as though my aid it is beseechin';
Is it snared in some manner? I have no traps set for mice, nor a cat;
But I have presumed a harmless rodent, though it may be of larger portent;
As the plainsong kettle shrills - is it a Hedgehog? Badger? Maniacal Raven? Or a Bat?
At first a scritchin', thence a scratchin', as of something weird ahatchin';
Could this be just my wanderin' imaginin's, so late at night, perhaps...
Not even a rat, a mere insect, though my paralysis prevents me inspect;
Were I able I would find but nothin' (except I may have suffered a lapse)
But then: the noise is reshapin', as the scratchin' becomes a scrapin'!
"The cellar is cursed!" I blurt, "A demonic curse from distant antiquity!"
Intensely I listen to this befoulin' as the screechin' grows into howlin';
The hair on my nape begins to bristle, as if charged by electricity!
"G-et back to Hell!" I am stammerin', as the scrapin' becomes a hammerin'!
And all the while that incessant, most unpleasant, wailin' howlin'!
Can I reach it to make the call, emergency, free from the premises is all?
If, this is, they then may hear me, over what has become an insidious growlin'!
The fiercest growlin', and accentuated, by the frequent gruntin' punctuated;
So next the hammerin' becomes a tearin', wrenchin' at the wooden obstacle;
With claw, with talon, with tooth, with fang, shreddin' with the whole shebang;
My mind flees, wishin' elsewhere, my thoughts completely astronautical;
They need be fast, within a minute, lest I become the monster's dinner;
To stretch and writhe and then wriggle, from its restin' my phone to snatch;
Would they believe me? Would it matter? I must be rid of the devilish chatter;
But alas my nerves it is testin', once my phone at last my nails catch;
Who would believe the bad luck of it all? Who I ask? It's diabolical!
Panic strikes as thoughts are racin': not the battery! No! Completely dead!
To the charger! Upon my knees I crawl over, nudgin' up behind the sofa;
A hidin' spot and hopefully safe - a secret fort to clear my head!
A cover story I need make up, so that from this nightmare I may wake up;
Though my savers might arrive to find, I hope not, and then be angry;
But then the Demon behind the door seeks my blood, and may then want more;
And from the sounds it's makin' it's not givin' up, and it's beyond hungry!
From my vantage point I peep, so as to keep an eye on the Creep
And ensure it doesn't break out, though were it to what should I do?
From the fireplace I grab a poker, and check it's point - damn! Mediocre!
Maybe I can poke its heads, or capsize it off its rails, until arrive the rescue crew;
But then the howlin' growlin' screech brief stops before the door is breached!
What is this flamin' ghastly Fiend, it's hair slicked back like a mortician;
Did it spy me with its blood red eye? I'm guessin' not because it passed me by;
That cold dead eye! And strikin' resemblance to a certain notorious politician!
So I'm thinkin' what the bloomin'! though I suspected the thing less than human;
To appear horrifyin': that's understood. But how low have the demons sunk?
But then again - no, that's unfair - on fiends and monsters everywhere;
Why in my cellar I wonder - perhaps it was aimin' to look like the town drunk!
Last I heard it was seen kissin' babies, probably givin' them a dose of rabies;
Makin' promises it won't keep, except to itself of course, its sneaky pockets line;
But here is where my tale end, safe in my house with a cellar door to mend;
And should you see it, a word of caution: run a mile lest your sanity it undermine!
.