Twas the night before NaNo, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except for my mouse.
The outlines were written and plotted with care,
In hopes that a massacre soon would be there.
The children were huddling, scared, in their beds,
With visions of Leatherface sawing off heads.
And mamma in her sweatpants and I in my socks,
Were just rousing our brains for a month with our Glocks.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed just to watch the blood splatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters with a butcher knife's slash.
The moon in the cemetery from which I rave
Cast shadows of ghosts upon headstones and graves.
When, what to my horror, should appear through the fog,
But a skeletal carriage and eight demon dogs.
And, inside, a Grim Reaper, his scythe like a ruse,
I knew in a moment it must be The Muse.
More rapid than vampires his canines they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Killer! Now, Slayer! Now, Strangler! Marauder!
On, Hangman! On, Headsman! On, Hit Man! And Slaughter!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now suffocate! Sacrifice! Execute all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to my window the canines they flew,
With their carriage of mayhem, and The Murderous Muse too.
And then, with a scratching, I heard, like a saw
The scraping and slashing of each little claw.
And the window grew weaker, until, with a bash
In through my window The Muse came with a crash.
He was dressed all in black, his robe flowing like oil,
And his scythe like the death of me made me recoil.
His eyes! How they cauterized! Searing like fire!
His face like a skeleton, bones for the pyre!
A bundle of murders he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Pulling out my next carnage, then he turned with a jerk.
His guillotine mouth was as silent as blood,
But the murders inside him spilled out like a flood.
And I felt my new novel pouring forth from his hand,
And the torch of his vision scorched through like a brand
With the gnash of his teeth and the bones of his skull
He released my new novel, unleashed it in full
And a flash of his evil eye, twist of his head,
Soon filled my poor mind with the story he bled.
And I staggered straight backward and clutched at my breast
As it slammed into me like a demon possessed
The inspiration engulfing me forced me to writhe
And he graced my new story with a flash of his scythe
Then he sprang to his carriage, and called to his dogs,
And away flew the demons, back into the fog
But I heard him exclaim, as he forded the swill,
"Bloody NaNo to all, and to all a good kill!"