Scary Stories: Continued

14

The sound of a breeze woke me from slumber,

Curtains swaying in the cold dark umber,

Visions of villains swam through my head,

As a tall grey figure shadowed my bed.

His eyes were circles that pierced the night,

Filling my room with an uncanny pale light.

"I am a collector of many things," he whispered,

With teeth so twisted and tongue that blistered,

"Wolves teeth and goblin horns,

Fairy wings and mandrake thorns,

Little things from here or there,

A fathers lament or a child's last prayer."

"Many things are willing to pay,

For a human boy, who will not obey."

And with the suddenness of a sly city cat,

He whisked me underneath his black stove-pipe hat,

A void hath opened into which I now fell,

The scholars were right, there are fates worse than hell.