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"A Clubhouse Crew (Boo) Halloween"

June 9, 2017

     “Dracula, the Mummy, Werewolf, are near; Franky, the Howler, and all of them clear, oh, clearly out and about.  Boo!”  Scatty cat Cleat yelled and he grinned like a silly gopher.

 

     “Quit!” Putt shrieked.  Shaking, her tiny hands held her long, smooth tail.

 

 

They walked, they were there, and very near

Where tombstones littered the yard

They walked and talked, the buried were near

Where spirits and spooks stood guard

 

 

     Frightening, skies darkened.  Clouds passed by the bright moon.  Lightning flashed, as if hot, white arrows were shot from the thunder-god of pirate and sea-faring lore.

 

     “Who-wee!”  Winds blew.  Trees boughs reached out as fiddle-fuddle fingertips that grasped at friends while hoot owls cried to trespassers, by.

 

     “Hoot!”  The old, bearded men-of-the-woods made spooky talk.

 

 

Eyes peeped from tree holes

Birds in their perch

Great eyes for night skies

They stalk and they search

 

Back, and forth

The old men’s eyes look

Nary a creature

Do they miss from their nook?

 

 

    “A hoot!”  The great, birds of prey called out.

 

     Billy Bullwhip walked and peeped.  He walked and held hands with friends.  Billy’s big eyes bulged when he heard the old, bearded-men-of-the woods, talk. 

 

 

Friends walked and they walked

They walked and listened

Eyes wide open, looking, eyes glistened

Looking for danger—danger was near

Listen closely and you might hear

The old men talk…the old men talk…the old men talk their way

 

 

     Daring friends entered creepy Screepy Cemetery, oh, so, creepy territory.

 

     With eyes, as big as eggs, friend’s faces twisted like sour grapes.

 

     “Chip, can we hurry?”  Putt held her tiny tail.  “Please!  Something tells me we’re not wanted here,” she sniffed and cried.  “It’s so dark.”

 

     “Yes, we’ll hurry, Putt,” Chip said.  “But I…oh, look at that!  Over there!” he yelled; and startled, he pointed, shaking.

 

     Near an old picket fence a spooky figure wavered. 

 

     “Victor Frankenstein.  He’s here at a grave,” Chip went on, “and he’s with his creation, the Monster.”

 

      The stiff, malformed creature lifted the loose lid of a creaking, musty coffin. 

 

     “Who would believe it?” Lippy whispered.

 

     Cleat watched as his tail twitched.  “Yes, and wait.  There’s more.  Yes, see…

 

 

“The bride of the beast deceased is here

Where many walk and tread in fear

Appear, appear and then stay clear

Franky sits with someone dear.”

 

 

     Swaying, Cleat cast green and brown eyes in spooky fashion.   Friends stared as if all monsters of the worst nightmares had jumped from Monster Heaven.  The she-creation, the Bride of Frankenstein, rose from her creaking coffin.  Her tired and bloody eyes peered to visitors.

 

     “Eek!”  She shrieked.  A sharp scream cut through a heavy blanket of night air like a roaring chainsaw might rip when logging timber.

 

 

     Halloween night, it’s filled with such fright

Spooks and kooks real, or a prank, maybe…quite

 

Nearby, set in earth

A box made of pine

Nailed and jailed

A dead body inside

 

See the ground tremble

Hear the wood creak

Nails pop, a hand shows

Oh my—something sneaks

 

Sneaks and sneaks and peeks about

Rising, he stands, “He’s the monster!” some shout

 

Raised from the dead

Sewn with great care

Stuffed with a brain and a heart

He is rare

 

“Frankenstein, see?”  They dared and they stared

“It’s Franky, oh run!”  Dark and damp the night air

Stare, stare, and beware of the night

Halloween, skins crawl—and you’d call, “He’ll grab us he might!”

 

 

      Frankenstein, the Monster, a friendly soul is all he ever wanted to be.

 

     Shank shivered and stomped.  “I don’t know if someone is pulling a prank, or if the graveyard is really haunted,” he said and shook fast fins.  “Halloween night—Shank Shackeroo, Boo Boo, I’m gone.  I’m praying I’m not staying to find out.  Hitch-up your wagons and let’s roll.”        

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