Halloween Dance

Edgar Allen Poe and H. P. Lovecraft

were caught smoking in the parlor

and Edgar kept yelling, “Nevermore”

as he was escorted from the floor.

H. P. vanished into thin air,

reciting an incantation from

his pocket Necronomicon,

leaving more smoke on Edgar to blame.

The Chaperones were diligent

in keeping this rowdy bunch

away from the spiked punch,

which of course had a real spike in it.

Mary Shelley was telling tales again

with Bram Stoker  as they danced

in the high school gym.  They swayed

and swooned in a spot light dance of gloom.

Stephen King and Dean Koontz stared

at each other, devising each others

untimely, yet mildly entertaining demise,

through gore and subtle social commentary.

The Proctor separated them to keep

the calm but Neil Gaiman couldn’t resist

poking the bear and arrived with a bucket

of pig’s blood to share.

“Out, out, out! Damn spot”, shouted the

Proctor, “We’ll have none of that Neil!”

A quick fist bump between Stephen and

Neil, before they were shown the exit.

“No Carrie re-enactments, it was posted on the

door,” said the Proctor. “Now outside with you

both, leave poor Dean alone.”

They were hustled out into the night. 

They ran into Edgar, still crying, “Nevermore”,

in the parking lot, on the hood a hearse.

Ann Rice spoke from the car, “He won’t move,

the sad sack, keeps pining for his date, Annabel Lee.”

“This Halloween party blows,” said Edgar,

wiping the snot from his nose,

“Let’s go to my place, Sheridan Le Fanu,

and Daphne du Maurier will be there.”

The band in the gym played a

cover of The Monster Mash

and the writer's agreed, going to Edgar’s

was better than this.

“Where’s your place,” asked Ann

as they drove.

“Sepulchre Drive, there by the sea,” said Edgar.

“Of course it is,” said Stephen, “of course.”