I crept beside the crypt’s decrepit wall,

It crumbled at the slightest touch,

So carefully I crept through the lone hall,

And as such,

I held my candle in the tightest clutch.

My shoulder brushed against damp moss,

I shivered as the moistness seeped,

But I didn’t let myself get cross,

Instead, past the corner I peeped,

For I could feel, I was not the only one in the crypt that

creeped.

I cannot look back for it will know I know,

So I turn the corner,

Not letting my fear show,

I walk past my family former,

Their nails scratch at their coffins, making long nails

shorter.

They mean no harm,

They are undead.

I will not alarm,

Should I see their rotting heads,

Emerge from the grave, having bled and bled, but not be

dead.

They are not what I’m after,

No, a much more menacing ghoul I seek,

And judging by the raspy laughter

Behind me, he heard me sneak,

Through the crypt so bleak.

I whirled around,

Nowhere in sight.

Oh but his laughter wound,

Around my throat tight,

My candle fell to the floor, it hushed out its light.

Now in the darkness, I choked,

The undead endlessly scraped at wood,

Moss clung to my cloak and soaked,

Above me he stood,

And it was all I could-