Gothic Fantasy

On a dare full well knowing its reputation the evils lurking up there I took a small tent on my back a bottle of whiskey cheese and meats in my pack And just before sundown with handshakes from friends laughter safe wishes all round Ascended Climbing steadily the way quite long quite steep a fall would be deadly Then at very summit tired sweaty bent unpacked my small canvas tent on the rock-smooth ground And even at that early hour thought I heard in the distance the howl of a wolf or a Baskerville hound Growing dark now Oh how black this night might be a night with no moon no rocks to give shelter no trees Alone in that gloom I built a fire a small fire with what few twigs I could find Now again that distant howl and in my mind see blazing red orbs in the midnight mist looking out at me adding doubt mounting fear cold sweat to my misery Energy nearly spent I found it impossible in sheer rock to drive wooden stakes for my tent So I sat by my small blaze on that bare mountain wrapped in a blanket now too midnight-dark to try a descent Just at the witching hour a strange wind came up and though I hovered o'er put out my fire Then this smell (aroma is far too nice a word) on the wind stench from the pit of HELL! All Satan's demons in circle appeared the night lit up by my smoldering fear They shrieked laughed belched hot lava Hear those hounds of Hell and by winds-eerie music dance their drunken bacchanal Pierced by searing pitchforks body on fire smoking pleading scorched down to an ember It was the DEVIL'S voice close to my ear cursing me the last I remember But HARK now! My rooster crows from my hovel's dirt floor I'm in my bed In poverty's room far removed from the horrors the mountainous gloom and safe from red SATAN'S eternal doom