The things that go bump in the night,
sinister sounds,
that make ghouls squeal with delight.
Gasped breathing,
coming from under the bed.
The freezing hand that grabs your leg,
pulling you down to the land of the dead.
Creaking floorboards
when you know your alone.
On your own,
and you hear a strange guttural moan,
childlike voices chanting nursery rhymes
through the bleakest night.
That feeling of fright
the fear of monsters
with teeth about to bite.
The cold spot in the corner
and the hideous smell that follows.
The way the clock stops dead on 3.
Every morning.
And without warning, that terrifying scream,
that wakes you from your peaceful dream.
As the duvet is yanked to the floor,
the clock chimes thirteen times or more.
Chains dragged grinding along the ground,
pots and pans that float around.
That scratching in the walls,
such a dreadful sound.
The vision floating through the halls,
a voice heard in anguished calls,
Broken grim fingers pointing at your face.
As your heart wants to stay still and not race,
not betray the fact that you are awake.
Is it too much to just want a peaceful sleep?
Without these beings that creep,
that steep the air with their pungent scent.
Is it too much to want to close my eyes?
Not see this vision, this wretched sight
of a ghoulish woman all crooked and bent
showing me terrors in the dead of night.
Thanks for reading
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