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Bemused Muse

A Halloween Tale -- Hank's Story

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Hank's Story

Heed thee, and listen well;
While I tell this Scare Before tale.
Come along if you dare,
Down this spooky dark sided trail.

Once a year comes the visit,
Of past living loving spirits.
After dusk, and 'fore strike of twelve;
Your door they will seek to dwell.

Restless to you they come,
From every graveyard under the sun.
Stay, they wish only to share,
In your life, loves and affairs.

Now Uncle Hank could really fuss.
Over aches and pains he felt he must.
We buried him two years ago.
After a bout of flu you know.

Dress him up, in his best.
Better than he ever would for guests.
His pocket watch in his vest.
Wound it, ticking to its best.

At his grave side words were said.
How we missed him, now he was dead.
Mourned him the best we could.
It was only right we should.

Last year, came the eve.
All Hallow's night of deeds.
Air was crisp in Autumn's flare.
Mist springing from everywhere.

We closed the doors and turned on the lights.
By the fireside we would read that night.
Cosy'd up in a blanket so toasty,
No cares or worries nor festive hosting.

Then came a thump at the door.
Opened it, couldn't see what for.
Nothing there but the misty fog,
With a gentle throating of a frog

Shaking my head, and closing the door.
Back to the fireplace once more.
Settled back in, found the page,
Which I was reading of a mage.

Then out of the corner of my eye.
A chair slid up to my side.
It started to gently rock,
Emitting the sound.. tick-tock.

Hours past while I read.
The chair next to me sounding rhymed fed.
Adding in the kitchen's rounding top,
Water leaking, the sound ... drip-drop

The clock chimed quarter to twelve.
Something flew from the shelves.
Fire leaped in brighter spots,
With the sound of pip-pop

Objects, furniture began to quake.
Shaking, rattling in ever louder wakes.
Floor boards began to pop,
Banging louder sounds of flip-flop

During all this rattling clatter.
The clock began striking the midnight hour.
Ducking flying objects the time long,
I could hear the very first ... bong.

Moaning and groaning in high tenor's fear.
Not outside, from the bathroom's door I hear.
Water was bubbling from under the door.
Light from within brighter than outdoor.

Like stone my body could not be told.
To run, to scram, that room had a hold.
An Explosive sneeze came the sound.
Which seemed to take all others around.

As the clock chimed the sixth tone cold.
The furor of sounds and light did fold.
Creaking slowly the door swung wide,
Revealing an overflowing tub inside.

Laid back in the tub and happy as a dog.
Looking much like an ole wet log.
Sat Hank with his toothless grin.
While all around him the steam did stem.

He cleared this throat, putting on his vest.
He spoke these words I'll never forget.
Since you buried me a year ago.
My nose has been stuffed, with nothing to blow.

If it wouldn't be to much to ask.
Next year could you see about a pack,
Of tissues just right for my nose.
So I don't have to be so bold.

As the clock chimed the last tone.
Image of Hank sitting there alone,
Began to dim and to fade,
Along with him the ticking cascade.

You ask me now if I believe,
In spirits which will visit this eve?
I answer yes, and surprised you might;
What will keep them from haunting this night.
***
If late at night you hear the sounds,
Of gentle tick-tocking all around.
Just hold out a tissue for this one,
For Hank is haunting for one from everyone.
Aine 2008
Categories
Musings , Bemused Muse

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