The sands of time are running down,
The hands of death inch closer to midnight.
It’s time, dear.
Shadows move alone in the night
Spirits inch closer, entwining along vines.
When plants cover their eyes and shrink under their leaves,
When animals look for cover and try to go to sleep.
A scrawny hand, knocking on the window pane,
Surrounded by ghouls bound by chains.
The door creaks in deathly silence,
The light flashes, amidst sounds of violence.
Your blanket shifts in the dark,
The roaring, metronomic beats of your heart.
A hand slithers from under the bed,
arouse, arouse or soon you’ll be dead.
You flail around in your blanket, your mind, in a haze,
Sweat profusely, confused and dazed.
It’s time to scream.