The screams of children fill the night,

So hold yours tight.

He sniffs you out.

Try not to shout.


Insane recluse, he thirsts for blood.

Treks through the mud,

Beyond the trees.

Crouch on your knees.


There is a poison in his stare:

It’s you, he’ll snare.

What was that sound?

Don’t turn around.


© All Rights Reserved Caroline Adele O’Brien