The clock just goes on ticking; midnight's coming fast

Branches outside my window keep tapping against the glass

The full moon's rays are ghostly pale, casting shadows in the night

But looking out just scares me more; I can't quell this inner fright

The braying of the hound next door further fills the eerie silence

While I gaze upon my frightful guest, a victim of gruesome violence

His hair is long, his clothes are torn, his face is bruised and bloody

His teeth are stained, his grimace taut, and his overalls are muddy

The sack he carries bulges fat with the bottom seeped in red

And as I gaze upon this man I can't help but think he's dead

His haunted eyes bore into mine as he starts to speak

His message in a grating voice: "Hey, miss. Trick or Treat."