HALLOWEEN
In Chester Holler lives a man, a recluse,
Name's old man Skeiner.
Time slips, and slides in and out,
without a sign, and folks says,
"The old man's probably dead."
But then, Mrs. Pryor
fortells an indication,
a glimpse him a 'standing in de door,
Yessuh he lives fo sho.
Mrs. Macon fries up sweet bacon
for her chilrens, em is four she got,
Holly, Alma, Wheaton and Ian.
Hen-laid eggs on the skillet,
Hot butter a 'pop, pop, and popping.
Not knowing what dem kids is hatching,
theys all just a 'giggling, a 'whispering
clear outta Mamma's hearing
De plans fo tonight's trick-or-treating.
Schemes of frightful thrills . . .
But hear what I says,
"Best beware, cain't never tell
what comes whit dem wishing spells?"
Pillow sacks hang from greedy lil hands,
stuck out from house-to-house
to fill with candy and such snacks.
Running, hooping and hollerin,
Skeeter and Cherry just a 'carrying on,
Don't sees nothing,
that dem Macon kids done up and gone.
Still and lonesome as a pauper's plot,
the chilren tippy toes up the walk.
Taint nothing lit, no lamps in de windahs.
Dem shadow-monsters shapes, dark eyes
and black capes. dance in moonlit fog.
Holly and Wheaton is oldest upfront.
Critters creep, porch steps squeak
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and a'creaking underneath their feet.
They hands tremble . . .
Knock, knock, knocking.
Gloomy is de man at the door,
gray as clay dirt, stiff as a board,
wears a moth-eaten shirt.
Trick or treat they says,
theys all bows de heads.
"What a surprise to see you guys here at my door.
And is y'all ready for what's in store?
Cause on dis here street,
Isa gots all dem beat."
The wrinkly old man again speaks,
"Come on in chilrens, takes you a quick peep."
Bit by bit they steps brave into the crypt . . .
dusty cobwebs drift in the air,
Beneath a moldy cadaver.
Alma shouts, "Ouch!"
The Room sparkly and bright.
a treasure filled with pleasure,
Halloween favors all about.
Stands Mr. Skeiner
in jack-o-lantern's candlelight.
Green eyes retain yesteryear's pain,
masking the sorrow
sho' nuf coming tomorrow.
Impassioned, great tales he spins,
and the chilrens listening polite fascination,
astuffin their faces, drinking festive libations.
The old man claps his hands once, twice and then thrice.
The room now dark, cold as ice.
"Ahhh," scream all de chilrens, looking to get out.
"Y'all taint a 'scared yet,
come now don't fret."
Eyes of fire like roadside flares.
Craziness in his glare, foam oozing
out his mouth, Cujo, don't ya know?
Ooo we gots to get outta this here house,"
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Holly shouts.
"Oh no you must stay
fore we've just begun really play!"
A 'running out de door as fast as they can,
de ran, ran, ran . . .
Now snug in his bed, a pillow o'er his head
"Never no more we goes by that place."
Wheaton says.
And, in turn one-by-one,
"Fo 'sho, never ever no mo,"
de all swears.
And that's the way de story go,
bout Halloween and them
Macon chilrens of Chester Holler.