“When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, 
And the bat in the moonlight flies,
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, 
Sail over the midnight skies –
When the footpads quail at the night-bird’s wail, 
And black dogs bay at the moon,
Then is the spectres’ holiday – then is the Ghosts’ High-Noon!”

What's your stake in this, cowboy?