Something’s moving in the dark.
I’m sure I saw a shadow there.
Why does the dog refuse to bark
and cower there behind the chair?
There’s someone outside near the tree:
a trespasser, it seems to me.
His outline is misshapen, grim,
inhuman almost, to my mind.
Won’t you go out and challenge him?
No, stay, I won’t be left behind.
Lord help us now, I hear you groan:
no signal on the telephone.
The door is strong, the windows too
and yet I cannot help but scream
when his warped face comes into view:
a creature from an ugly dream
He glares in at us through the glass
We find ourselves at an impasse.
The door is smashed. He’s broken in.
He’s fury-faced and murder-eyed
We cannot flee to save our skin
for we are frail and terrified.
He snarls. I see his fangs and snout.
I feel his breath. The lights go out ...
Edgar Allan Poet
