• The wind tore across the hill,
    Yet all the trees stood still.
    For all was quiet in the land,
    As if under a stern tyrant's hand.

    In a house across a river,
    A single child woke with a shiver.
    Tears ran down his face,
    His heart beating as if in a race.

    Trying to remember his dream,
    His skin turned as pale as fresh cream.
    For at the end of his bed,
    He saw something that filled him with dread.

    A dark form lay sleeping there,
    In a blanket of it's own long hair.
    The boy's breathing got faster,
    As if he expected the thing to fester.

    With a groan the figure rose,
    The boy shook from his head to his toes.
    It turned to look, it's bones did creak,
    The poor boy let out a shriek.

    Jumping out of bed,
    He tried to escape the dead.
    For the face he had seen,
    Only dead it could have been.

    Running down the hall,
    The boy let out his fear in a silent call.
    Behind him came the clatter of bones,
    Unheard by other homes.

    Racing through the rooms,
    He spotted two girls on flying brooms.
    A scream escaped the frightened boy,
    He ran away like a broken toy.

    Hiding in a warm dark closet,
    The small boy decided to fight it.
    Closing his eyes he covered his ears,
    And in his mind began the gears.

    Thinking quickly the boy smiled,
    And soon he quickly decided.
    This was his house, his home,
    Not a place for creepers to roam!

    Grabbing a stick he ran out yelling,
    Everything in the house jumping.
    "Get out!" he screamed,
    "Soon my honor shall be redeemed!"

    Chasing the monsters through the house,
    The boy laughed as they became the mouse.
    Through the door the creatures ran,
    Never to return again.