In dimmest night, in darkest plight, In time called "Witching Hour," Strange things emerge; strange beasts and birds, That make a brave man cower. With lidless eyes and evil cries, They rove the land, a-haunting. And - ending life, creating strife - Are what you might call daunting. But villagers hate pillagers, And so thought that they'd succeed: Those silly fools tracked down the ghouls --A truly witless deed. Their plan was foiled, when flesh - long spoilt, Emerged from nearby trees. Then, attacking - swiping, hacking- Killed the men with ease. A twist of fate - these men of late Into Death's clutches sank, And now, at last, once midnight's past, They join their quarry's ranks.