At the Stroke of Midnight

At the stroke of midnight, werewolves come alive sharpening their nails and fangs, so their plans will thrive Witches too dust off their brooms, mount and start to fly their features silhouetted by the moon against the sky Ghouls and ghosts begin to howl, goblins start to shriek underneath my covers, I dare not take a peek… Feh! All of this is childish, of course. I don’t believe in ghosts Yet when I heard my door creak ~ I leaped over my bedpost