Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was breathing, not even a mouse.
The corpses were hung at the gibbet with care,
In hopes that the Grim Reaper soon would be there.
The goblins were huddled all cold in their den,
With visions of bloodthirst and the dying of men.
And zombies in their torn rags, and He in his suit,
Had just eaten the brains of a wandering brute.
Then out in the 'yard there arose such a sound,
I crawled like a demon from my burial mound.
Away to the tombs I crept like a wight,
Rose up from the barrow and gazed at the sight.
The moon on the corpse of the slow-dying grass
Gave the shadows of sun-set to the thing that passed.
Then what to my decaying eyes should come forth,
But a skeletal coach, and a headless horse.
With an undead, cold driver, with black mist for breath,
I knew in a moment it must be called Death.
More deadly than adders it's coursers did come,
And he howled, and more came, and increased their sum.
"Now Stealer! now, Taker! now, Killer and Hangman!
Here, Musket! Here, Cannon! gather Dagger and Poison!
To the side of the 'yard! to the top of the wall!
Now flee away! Flee away! Flee away all!"
As dry leaves that before the midnight breeze fly,
When they heard that wraith's words, they fled to the sky.
So up to the thin stars the undead they flew,
Left the coach full of Souls, and the Grim Reaper too.
And then, with a twitching, I heard in the tombs
The scratching and clawing of all of the ghouls.
As I gazed with my head, and was staring around,
To the barrow the Grim Reaper came without sound.
It was dressed all in black, from it's head to his toe,
Yet it's clothes were untouched by the dust of the barrow.
A bundle of Skulls it had flung on it's back,
And it looked like a robber, just opening it's pack.
It's eyes-how they glowed! It's sockets so cruel!
It's head was like old bones, it's hands like the ghouls!
It's skeletal mouth was open with a grin,
But the eyes of it's face were as red as great sin.
A small hourglass it held tight in it's hand,
And the fog of the plague rose up from the land.
It brought a cold mist and a lungful of smoke,
That writhed like a snake around it's black cloak!
It was scrawny and thin, a true terrible thing,
And I screamed when I saw it, in spite of my being!
But a glance of it's eye and a twist of it's head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
It spoke not a word, but went straight to it's work,
And revived all the sleeping, then turned with a jerk.
And pointing it's finger away to the moon,
It addressed the graveyard's resurrected commune!
It began slowly to shift, to drain out the fear,
And the headless came back, changed into reindeer.
And I heard Santa exclaim, as he started to hover,
"Happy Christmas to all! And don't judge books by their cover!"
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Originally Posted by Elendra
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