SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS requests something SCARY.
A GRAVE MATTER.
Fred was walking home one night across the old churchyard.
He felt a little nervous and so he was on his guard.
The moon was shining eerily between the fitful clouds
And they wafted up above his head like so many empty shrouds!
The monuments loomed over him, threatening and immense,
And it's putting it very mildly to say that he felt tense!
The leaves were rustling in the trees, like whispers from the grave,
And he shook and shivered in his shoes, for he wasn't very brave.
Suddenly he heard a sound! A chisel-chipping knock,
Like someone working in the night on a piece of stone or rock!
He froze then, feeling terrified! This was no time for toil!
Who could be working in this place, burning the midnight oil?
He glanced to right, he glanced to left, he nervously looked round,
And there he saw a shadowy man, kneeling on the ground.
He was no ghost, that he felt sure, so he strolled right up and said
'This is a funny time to work? Who are you? My name's Fred'.
And a ghostly voice responded in the darkness of the night....
'I'm altering my name' it said 'They didn't spell it right!'