by on

On the twisting paths where red and brown leaves lie,

The tranquil setting merely fools the eye—

For just beyond the peaceful veil, foul demons lurk,

Full of lusting hunger, keen to go berserk.

 

The babbling brooks between the trees conceal

Undreamt of horrors, hellish and surreal.

Festering, infected wounds in Nature’s orders

That seep across the day-to-day world’s  borders.

 

Like charming vampires, and alluring succubi,

Horror true conspires to fool the mortal eye. 

What sorcerous chicanery the monsters do employ

As they produce their grand trompe l’oeil!

 

Ere in search of fun you take your leave,

Recall that “Devils practice always to deceive”,

And entice you in to something worse than dying.

Recall all this, but know: I may be lying.

by on

[Lyrics by Berthold Gambrel and Maxwell’s_Maximums]

Here’s the tale of Steve the Pumpkin–

Steve the Pumpkin was my friend.

But on October 31st,

Steve the Pumpkin met his end.

Steve was sitting in the field that evening,

In silent thought, as oft he did,

When he was foully apprehended

By a passing neighbor’s kid.

Then they took ol’ Steve the Pumpkin

And they carved ’em up real good.

And put a candle in his noggin

Just because the bastards could.

I swore that I’d avenge him;

So I dressed up like a ghost

And barged in on my neighbors

Demanding candy, tea and toast.

And that’s the honest story

Of trick-or-treating’s youth.

Others may say different

But Steve the Pumpkin knows the truth.

by on

The trees are blue beneath the autumn moon;
The witches and the devils all cavort–
The creatures of the dark awake, and soon,
The King of Night shall hold his Court.

Whether in the gloom of lonely countryside,
Or on the garish neon city streets;
The Spell is felt by people far and wide,
And finds expression in saying “tricks or treats”.

‘Tis not merely some carnival of lights,
Nor yet a complicated costume ball;
‘Tis the exaltation of those magic nights
When all the world is held in Other Forces’ thrall.

The changing of the seasons brings along
A touch of the mysterious and weird.
As we acknowledge, in story and in song,
The spirit world that men have glimpsed and feared.

Be thou not afraid, my pious friend;
To hearken back to old beliefs of yore.
It would be utter folly to pretend
Such things were not here long before.

(more…)

by on

In the gloomy, grim Midwest

One dark October day,

I rode along a hilltop crest,

Past a quarry cold and grey.

It was late that afternoon

And I turned to head for home;

When across the barren dune

I saw a figure roam.

I called to him, but no reply

From that figure reached my ear.

And I could not believe my eye

But then he seemed to disappear!

I started, then, upon the path

Down into the dark ravine,

Shuddering to think what hath

Lain long therein, unseen.

When once I reached the floor

The afternoon to night was turning,

But in the dark, I heard a roar

As of a massive fire burning.

And from the distance came a cry

That left me feeling sickened.

And feeling Duty bade me try

To help, my pace I quickened.

The night wind tore my cloak

As I passed trees all dead and rotten.

The smoky, stony place bespoke

A time long since forgotten.

The wolfpacks bayed and howled

From distant, lonely places,

The tree trunks leered and scowled

With twisted moonlit faces.

When that last fatal bend I rounded

I saw the mighty fire, and the rings

By which it was surrounded

Of leaping, grinning, cackling THINGS.

And at the center of the blaze

I saw that at which they chanted,

A sight I’ll not forget for all my days

And on my deathbed shall be haunted.

I turned and ran, in mindless fear,

My faith and reason torn in half.

As I plunged on, I nigh could hear

Those awful creatures laugh.

Now I try to live what life I can

On my lonely country farm;

A broken, shattered, frightened man

Who lies awake for fear of harm.

I will only go out in the day;

And sometimes, in my room at night,

I think that I can hear them, far away,

As they chant their Diabolic rite.