The Story Tellers Tale of Horror
The old haunted mansion was open for guests now.
I talked my man into it. “It will be a wow!”
He was not convinced but agreed if he could bring a TV.
Of course, you can, I said. Whoop Dee Dee Dee Dee.
We were met by a butler with a long hard face.
He said, “Welcome to this annoyingly haunted place.”
His attitude had much to be desired.
But his participation was not truly required.
The ambiance was scary and strange.
There was a touch of hostility, a bit of derange.
I was getting ready to fold myself into my excited Halloween head.
Until I noted the insanity of our Dracula’s bed.
Oh, heck no, I immediately told my man.
I ran away as fast as a mother of six can fill a garbage can.
He stayed there, in that crushed velvet bed.
But never came home, the frightened storyteller said.
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