As dark consumed sunlight on Mayaween's eve,
I warmed up my doorstep, prepared to receive
Every last trick-or-treater, regardless of age:
A night for fell spirits, escaped from their cage.

Before this ancient house at the end of the lane,
An iron gate barred the way, wrapped in a chain,
But this eve was no time for freaks to be recluse;
The manacle fell and let foul shadows loose.

A flickering candle entices you; come,
Let caution disperse and let sharp senses numb,
Resist your base instincts, your feelings of dread,
Come knock on the door of the House of the Dead.

The brilliant moon tracked its way through the sky,
But no guests came in, only timid young eyes,
Their wonder and innocence shone in the night;
A matter of time 'til one overcame fright.

The hunt neared its apex and drowned out the stars
When a group pushed a boy forth to brave the bizarre,
He pushed the gate open, it creaked and he jumped!
But still he went on, for he was no chump.

I watched from a window as his footsteps neared,
Of his friends from the lane, some were nervous, some cheered,
My heart filled with an indescribable glee,
I was eager to see if he'd stay or he'd flee.

Not a minute passed, now his feet hit the front step,
His gaze on the knocker: unused, wrapped in webs,
The stone door itself filled with grotesque reliefs
Depicted events of great horror and grief.

Trepidation at last shook the boy's heart and nerves
But he bravely kept on, summoning his reserves,
As he gripped the cold handle and readied to knock,
My gnarled knuckles whitened around the axe-stock.

Three times did the knocker resound with a din
As my wide mouth revealed its jack-o-lantern grin,
I opened the door and a scream pierced the night;
Another soul joined to this council of wights.

There is an old town filled with legends and lore,
Where parents tell children the stories of yore,
To trust in their instincts and feelings of dread,
Don't knock on the door of the House of the Dead.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Glacian, in the year 784 AF.