When dark descends the mighty werewolves howl.

And specters float from their crypts in the night.

Take care and listen for the demon’s growl

As vampires perform an ancient blood rite.

One dares not step into the mummy’s tomb,

And should not walk on zombies’ vacant graves.

For these things surely can mean a man’s doom,

No solace found at the mouths of bats’ caves.

A letter in blood sent by raven’s claw,

Received with shaking hands and bated breath,

Only to be snatched by the Hell hound’s jaw,

Or the cold grip of the one we call Death.

To some, a terrible nightmare it seems,

To me, it makes for most romantic dreams.

By Devon L. Miller ©2013, featured in 13 Morbid Tales