Have you ever crept to the witch’s lair,
and spied upon her raven hair,
that twists and curls ‘round her red lipped grin,
and travels far below her pointed chin?
Her chin and nose with warts of green,
Her nails stained an aubergine.
And speaking of the color of puke
Her pincer’s name is Ralph, he plays the flute.
The flute that accompanies the organ so well,
That plays a haunting tune to fill the spell,
Of the autumn eve and the witch’s lair
And the other creepy sounds that are there.
The creepy sounds of the eerie howl,
Of the packing wolves and the hooting owl,
That live in the woods and among the twining branches
Of the old oak tree and the avalanches,
Of locusts with their wings a strumming,
Buzzing by your ears, Oh No! That feeling’s coming!
That feeling that the little hairs
On the back of your neck and inside your ears
Are standing straight, your heart is pumping,
Your breathing is shallow, your sweat is clumping.
Clumping, on your brow it’s dripping.
You take to running, this is no time for skipping.
You make it to the cellar door
To find it’s been locked forever more.
Forever more, the clanging of chains
Coming from inside, but the door remains,
Locked, by iron embellishments without keys.
You’re knocking and knocking
You hear yourself scream out “PLEASE!”
“OH PLEASE, OPEN DOOR!”,
you hear the rustling of black taffeta.
Footsteps are closer, you know you just hafta,
Find refuge from the darkening night,
The hovering bats and the shivering fright.
Shivering from fright and shivering from cold,
You lay your hand on some slimy mold,
Growing outside the cellar door,
As you slip and stumble trying to escape to the shore.
The shore that you run to from the cellar door,
That borders the witch’s estate and the deserted moors,
Where grasses blow in the increasing breezes,
waves crash on the rocks as you skin your kneezes
Your knees are bloodied, your energy decreasing,
Even though the adrenaline is not ceasing.
The organ encased inside your ribs,
Is thumping louder than the music in a rapper’s crib.
A rapper’s tune is playing inside your head.
A strange thing, you ponder, when you’re feeling so much dread.
But it’s keeping beat with your pounding heart.
You’ve rested too long , you know you must start.
Start to run along the winding path,
Desperate to escape the witch’s wrath,
Thugging along over moss and stone,
This is one time you wish you weren’t alone.
Alone you wander on, to where you don’t know.
Tall trees all around, it’s so cold it could snow.
Your lips are turning blue, now your temples are throbbing,
You wish you wouldn’t have taken that dare from Bobby.
Bobby , your classmate, your friend, your “bud,”
The one who laughed when you fell in the mud.
Thinking, “how could he put you in such danger?”
Your face flushes red hot with anger.
The anger boils up inside,
Giving you new strength to fill your stride.
You’re leaping and bounding through the forest dark,
Red eyes glaring at you and the vulture’s hark.
The vulture’s hark follows you through the night,
As you troddle along on your ceaseless plight.
You hear the sails on the ghost ship’s mast,
Clanging and clanging along with the fog horn’s blasts.
The fog horn’s blasts and the mists that rise,
Lead you to a dreadful surprise,
You’ve traveled in a circular motion,
Now you’re sure to fall victim to the witch’s potion.
The potion bubbling and brewing with spiders and snakes,
The caldron propped up against the garden rake,
Below the black pot is the red and blue fire,
Beyond, you spy the witch’s pyre.
The pyre that was built for your demise,
The flames flaring up so hot it burns your eyes,
You gasp as you leap towards the cellar door,
To find keys in the pad, it’s not locked anymore.
Anymore you can’t think straight, “what’s going on?” you wonder
Lightening cracks the sky and the roar of thunder.
You’re heart’s in your throat , as you push the door in
Cobwebs falling down, you catch sight of her grin.
Her grin behind you as the haunts groan,
A skeleton rattles his chains and you wish you were home.
The maddening tunes from inside making no sense at all,
The next thing you know, you hear yourself call.
Calling “Mom! Mom! I need you right now,
I’ve gotta get out of here, please tell me how!”
Scrambling up the stairs, you’re desperate to get in,
Tears falling, you’re bawling, and something touches your skin.
Your skin crawling, it gives you the spooks,
Those long fingers and nails, the color of puke,
Grabbing at your shoulder, you don’t want to look,
Eyes closed tight, you feel yourself shook.
Shook and shaking, you know you have no choice,
To give up the fight, then you hear your Mom’s voice.
You’re twisting and turning, tying to get away,
Up the darkened stairs creaking, what’s Mom gunna say?
Saying over and over how you tried to say no,
But Bobby just wouldn’t let the thing go.
Mom, as you know her, wouldn’t take that excuse,
She’d say, in the end, you put yourself in the noose.
The noose on your neck, you put up one last fight,
The floor opens beneath, as you struggle with all your might.
The pranks you’ve been playing and sneaking around,
On unsuspecting old ladies and such is bringing you down.
Down you see yourself falling, you’re gunna die,
You feel so ashamed you’re increasing your cry.
Mom said “ never go to the house on the hill,
Bad kids do wild things there, last time one took a spill.”
Spilling your water, you open your eyes,
You can’t believe it, you actually see something nice.
Your mom looking upon you with love and concern,
You’re so awfully thankful, now you know you won’t burn.
Burning with shame, you think about running away,
The meeting with Bobby happens at two o’clock today.
You know you got yourself into this mess,
You didn’t have to agree, you didn’t have to say yes.
Yes the last kid to agree, set a house on fire,
The kids escaped, but the cat expired.
He spent time behind bars with rough guys who are older,
Now he hangs his head and slumps his shoulders.
Shoulders back, your chin up straight,
You’ve decided to take control of your own fate.
The dream you’ve had doesn’t compare,
To standing up to Bobby and his questionable dare.
Dares can be thrilling, but dares can be scary
Hanging with nothing to do can become hauntingly hairy.
You know you should develop some other hobbies,
As you take in a deep breath and lay it on the line to Bobby.
Bobby with the brawny build and spiky hair,
Shrugs and leaves without a care.
Striding with a bop and his big dog with him,
In search, no doubt, for his next prone victim.
and spied upon her raven hair,
that twists and curls ‘round her red lipped grin,
and travels far below her pointed chin?
Her chin and nose with warts of green,
Her nails stained an aubergine.
And speaking of the color of puke
Her pincer’s name is Ralph, he plays the flute.
The flute that accompanies the organ so well,
That plays a haunting tune to fill the spell,
Of the autumn eve and the witch’s lair
And the other creepy sounds that are there.
The creepy sounds of the eerie howl,
Of the packing wolves and the hooting owl,
That live in the woods and among the twining branches
Of the old oak tree and the avalanches,
Of locusts with their wings a strumming,
Buzzing by your ears, Oh No! That feeling’s coming!
That feeling that the little hairs
On the back of your neck and inside your ears
Are standing straight, your heart is pumping,
Your breathing is shallow, your sweat is clumping.
Clumping, on your brow it’s dripping.
You take to running, this is no time for skipping.
You make it to the cellar door
To find it’s been locked forever more.
Forever more, the clanging of chains
Coming from inside, but the door remains,
Locked, by iron embellishments without keys.
You’re knocking and knocking
You hear yourself scream out “PLEASE!”
“OH PLEASE, OPEN DOOR!”,
you hear the rustling of black taffeta.
Footsteps are closer, you know you just hafta,
Find refuge from the darkening night,
The hovering bats and the shivering fright.
Shivering from fright and shivering from cold,
You lay your hand on some slimy mold,
Growing outside the cellar door,
As you slip and stumble trying to escape to the shore.
The shore that you run to from the cellar door,
That borders the witch’s estate and the deserted moors,
Where grasses blow in the increasing breezes,
waves crash on the rocks as you skin your kneezes
Your knees are bloodied, your energy decreasing,
Even though the adrenaline is not ceasing.
The organ encased inside your ribs,
Is thumping louder than the music in a rapper’s crib.
A rapper’s tune is playing inside your head.
A strange thing, you ponder, when you’re feeling so much dread.
But it’s keeping beat with your pounding heart.
You’ve rested too long , you know you must start.
Start to run along the winding path,
Desperate to escape the witch’s wrath,
Thugging along over moss and stone,
This is one time you wish you weren’t alone.
Alone you wander on, to where you don’t know.
Tall trees all around, it’s so cold it could snow.
Your lips are turning blue, now your temples are throbbing,
You wish you wouldn’t have taken that dare from Bobby.
Bobby , your classmate, your friend, your “bud,”
The one who laughed when you fell in the mud.
Thinking, “how could he put you in such danger?”
Your face flushes red hot with anger.
The anger boils up inside,
Giving you new strength to fill your stride.
You’re leaping and bounding through the forest dark,
Red eyes glaring at you and the vulture’s hark.
The vulture’s hark follows you through the night,
As you troddle along on your ceaseless plight.
You hear the sails on the ghost ship’s mast,
Clanging and clanging along with the fog horn’s blasts.
The fog horn’s blasts and the mists that rise,
Lead you to a dreadful surprise,
You’ve traveled in a circular motion,
Now you’re sure to fall victim to the witch’s potion.
The potion bubbling and brewing with spiders and snakes,
The caldron propped up against the garden rake,
Below the black pot is the red and blue fire,
Beyond, you spy the witch’s pyre.
The pyre that was built for your demise,
The flames flaring up so hot it burns your eyes,
You gasp as you leap towards the cellar door,
To find keys in the pad, it’s not locked anymore.
Anymore you can’t think straight, “what’s going on?” you wonder
Lightening cracks the sky and the roar of thunder.
You’re heart’s in your throat , as you push the door in
Cobwebs falling down, you catch sight of her grin.
Her grin behind you as the haunts groan,
A skeleton rattles his chains and you wish you were home.
The maddening tunes from inside making no sense at all,
The next thing you know, you hear yourself call.
Calling “Mom! Mom! I need you right now,
I’ve gotta get out of here, please tell me how!”
Scrambling up the stairs, you’re desperate to get in,
Tears falling, you’re bawling, and something touches your skin.
Your skin crawling, it gives you the spooks,
Those long fingers and nails, the color of puke,
Grabbing at your shoulder, you don’t want to look,
Eyes closed tight, you feel yourself shook.
Shook and shaking, you know you have no choice,
To give up the fight, then you hear your Mom’s voice.
You’re twisting and turning, tying to get away,
Up the darkened stairs creaking, what’s Mom gunna say?
Saying over and over how you tried to say no,
But Bobby just wouldn’t let the thing go.
Mom, as you know her, wouldn’t take that excuse,
She’d say, in the end, you put yourself in the noose.
The noose on your neck, you put up one last fight,
The floor opens beneath, as you struggle with all your might.
The pranks you’ve been playing and sneaking around,
On unsuspecting old ladies and such is bringing you down.
Down you see yourself falling, you’re gunna die,
You feel so ashamed you’re increasing your cry.
Mom said “ never go to the house on the hill,
Bad kids do wild things there, last time one took a spill.”
Spilling your water, you open your eyes,
You can’t believe it, you actually see something nice.
Your mom looking upon you with love and concern,
You’re so awfully thankful, now you know you won’t burn.
Burning with shame, you think about running away,
The meeting with Bobby happens at two o’clock today.
You know you got yourself into this mess,
You didn’t have to agree, you didn’t have to say yes.
Yes the last kid to agree, set a house on fire,
The kids escaped, but the cat expired.
He spent time behind bars with rough guys who are older,
Now he hangs his head and slumps his shoulders.
Shoulders back, your chin up straight,
You’ve decided to take control of your own fate.
The dream you’ve had doesn’t compare,
To standing up to Bobby and his questionable dare.
Dares can be thrilling, but dares can be scary
Hanging with nothing to do can become hauntingly hairy.
You know you should develop some other hobbies,
As you take in a deep breath and lay it on the line to Bobby.
Bobby with the brawny build and spiky hair,
Shrugs and leaves without a care.
Striding with a bop and his big dog with him,
In search, no doubt, for his next prone victim.
--Karen G., 55
