LITTLE HOUSE ON THE LAKE Keith Garrett

Down on the lake lives a very unusual little old man,

He lives in his little house that sits near the water.

He possesses a strange power and a hobby,

Dolls are his passion as he makes them every year for Halloween.

He chooses the faces of those that live here and of those who might pass on through,

He seems friendly enough as he works around his little house,

Goes into town with a smile and a hello.

He’s not known very well, but he likes it that way,

There’s something hidden behind this little old man’s show of pleasantry,

Evil and black magic is a game for him.

One night a year these little dolls with faces of many live,

They walk the night, these monsters of doom.

They hunt for the one whose face they now wear; they steal from them,

What is needed for themselves to become human.

They will no longer be a doll but not of good,

Each Halloween they become more and more.

Beware the little old man who lives in his little house on the lake.

            WELCOME TO GRANDMA'S

High upon a hill sits this house of darkness,

Hiding beyond hundred-year-old trees that sway in the wind.

To stumble upon it is a deadly thing, but to enter will be a
House of hell.
Out of gas in the dead of night, clouds cover the moon.

A group of friends with no idea what waits,

This house cannot be seen from below, as nothing else is around.

Their curiosity to walk up the path has no reason,

Fear of being stranded or of what may lie ahead.

Picture grandma dressed in clothes of comfort, an apron,

Her hair up in a bun, baking cookies, pies, and other treats.

There may be a warm hello at the door, but grandma has a surprise for you,

You’re staying the night, one hell of a night!

The door opens, and there’s an excited greeting for these poor stranded
Strangers,
She welcomes them and invites them to have dinner and stay the night.

What a night it will be; the wind is howling as a storm settles over this town,

After dinner, Grandma shows them to their rooms; there’s a warm fire glowing.

As everyone gets ready for bed and a stormy night,

An echo of a scream is heard through the darkened house.

Nothing to be found as all search around,

A light from the kitchen for those to see.

There stands the sweet old lady preparing tomorrow’s feast,

Through the rain-driven night, behind the thunder that hides the hellish screams.

It is she who is called Grandma, who smiles with delight,

No longer are they here at this old house; Grandma likes to feast on Halloween.

                  Keith Garrett

        SEASON OF THE WITCH

Late October, the days grow short and the nights even longer,

There’s a chill that falls over the land this season; fear lives.

A small town in Massachusetts where the winds of cold grow,

An evil hides here in this quiet place, the woods of darkness.

An old house, hundreds of years standing, death to those who wonder,

What lives here, who lives here, if at all human is black magic, so evil.

The people of this town are well aware of the strange night happenings,

Now it’s October, it’s that time of year again, they conjure witches.

The owls are heard at night, they wait in the trees, they can see,

Bats fly through the fog-filled skies searching for blood on this night.

On Halloween night all the doors in this unusual little town will be locked,

For they draw you into their hell; be not the weak, they feel and hear.

Spells on poor souls that take the life from them, evil grows stronger,

Cauldron’s filled with a power, substance of magical force, a potion.

Season of the witch, season of doom for the mortal man,

He cannot resist temptation; he cannot pull himself away from the witch.

Deep in the woods where trees so tall cover a house of satanic ritual,

Tonight they ready themselves in this place made of wood and brick so old.

The moon rises, a full moon of orange and yellow, night of the witch,

through a window is seen to an eye fear as they have faces, many years.

On a Fall night, spells are cast out into the wind; they take bodies and minds,

Old and ugly are these daughters of the devil, tenants of hell.

Season of the witch comes to life in dark woods in a town of fear,

Twelve o’clock becomes the hour of the witch, from the light of the moon.

They appear in the sky, they fly hunting for the breath of life so that they

May again live to haunt Halloween.

                        Keith Garrett

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         WHAT'S IN THE DARK?

Don’t open the door! Don’t turn off the lights, not tonight,

It comes from anywhere and everywhere, it comes without light.

It sees you, it can hear you breathe, afraid! So afraid on this night,

For a long time, it was what was hiding under your bed in the dark.

Peeking in your window as you covered your face, shaking in your bed,

You thought you could hide, foolish as you started to cry; it’s alive!

The thing that worried you, thoughts from your mind, in your closet, hiding,

So young as it overpowered that childish Imagination locked inside.

Can you hear it, do you feel it as you’re certain it watches with eyes,

Forget did you to close that closet door, do you believe it opens more.?\par

Down the hall, what do you hear? Yours is the only open door near,

Has it followed you into today, are you afraid from yesterday?

What’s in the dark, does it stay under your bed, is it in your window,

Does it hide in the closet? Could it be coming for you down the hall?

What’s in the dark as you remember, has it followed you from yesterday,

Will it ever, ever leave your Halloween, will it ever, ever leave your today?

                                      Keith Garrett

             porfinifigus

Where he comes from nobody knows, he does live,

A myth, a fable, only a child believes, one who has seen.

Along the river bank of a small Eastern town in Maine,

A place of play for a boy named Luke, this is no dream.

Many fantastic tales he does tell; who will listen this time?

Described to others as a type of elf, an ugly troll.

Many late afternoons are when Luke visits the river,

Today it is a bit windy; he will appear once more.

He speaks to Luke in whispers: I am Porfinifigus,

I am created from your thoughts and fear.

Why do you find me here each day? Are you real?

I told you that I live in you; you gave me a name.

There are wishes that you ask for; I can hear you,

With every wish there comes a curse.

I have many things to wish for; will they be mine?

For everything you receive, something I will take.

I wish for all things in this town to be mine,

Foolish boy, everything in this town be no more.

Keith Garrett

        I HAUNT YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD

              ON HALLOWEEN

Waiting for the light of day to come to its end, watching,

I’m there in the shadows, behind the trees I lurk.

This is my night, but you may think it’s yours; let’s find out,

Celebrate the faces you wear; I wear only one face: darkness.

Inside your houses, hide you should, but there is no Intelligence in you,

You’ll walk the night with your children hunting for a chocolate or treat.

Up in the trees as the wind blows is where you might find me, maybe,

The moon is full as it sits in the wide open night sky.

I move as you move through your neighborhood streets,

Seeing what you see awaiting you, waiting for a different treat.

Something is stalking, hunting without a trace, quietly there,

By morning, I’ll be gone, but with me will be some of those who wear masks.

Am I like you or do you pretend to resemble what I am,

What I am has a face that changes with each season; tonight no face.

I haunt your neighborhood on Halloween; I am this nightmare

That you will never dream; I am in your neighborhood.

                               Keith Garrett 

       WHEN THE PHONE RINGS

A dark,  stormy night; I can hear the wind howl in the distance,

The rain pounds against the rooftop; there’s no one home, I’m alone.

A glow from the fireplace; the fire is warm as the shadows dance on the wall,

It would appear so peaceful to be safe and warm on this night; who is alright?

A random ring of the phone echoes throughout this quiet,  empty home,

I answer as any routine call,  a little static as a voice says a most fearful hello.

When the phone rings, anything can become real; tonight he speaks of tales,

He lets you know he’s still alive; your night is now of horror,  a nightmare tonight.

He has your number; he knows you’re quite alone in your out in the country home,

What does he say when he calls?  Does he whisper such fear into your ear?

Will this be your last call?  Will you ever again hear the phone ring?

Keith Garrett

               DUNGEON

It wasn’t a dream, a nightmare could be, a horrible reality,

I recall that I was only a child when it took me away to stay.

Walls so tall that there was no way to fall, no way to climb,

Darkness was my only companion in this made-for-me home.

Not a door that opens, cold in the night as it is hot all day,

Where it rests I have not a guess, why I am here with much fear.

Older than I once was with parents who have not a clue,

What happened to their little boy, a constant nightmare without joy.

Did I say it? A monster of a woman whose face I have known from youth,

I can never get away as she laughs at me when she passes each day,

She does not speak of why this evil has been placed upon me,

On a cold October night, I was taken away, why, Aunt Penelope! why!

                                Keith Garrett

         A SMALL TOWN'S CURSE

In this small town, only children could see an evil that lives,

For adults who stopped believing, there was no reality.

A group of kids who became best friends stood together strong,

They would fight the bad that came to dwell in a forgotten town.

A simpler time when an afternoon Saturday movie was just fine,

To build a dam, to swim in a pool created by those who would dream.

A dancing clown with promises of balloons and never-ending fun,

Dressed up in colors and wearing a face that only the young could see.

From hell it seems he came, as he is something other than appears to be,

He’s a monster dressed to kill; he comes to feed for eternity.

These children of Innocence become each scarred by a curse,

Brave as they battle a force, as no child should live a nightmare.

Not defeated as they grow to become adults and hide this haunting pain,

Go their own separate ways into the world with what they hold hidden.

Each successful in business, money is theirs, although happiness is not,

Emotional scars deep inside forgotten until the past rings loud in ears.

Return to this small Maine town they do, seven people, thirty years lost,

Bring it to an end this evil, this dancing curse that brings fear.

Lucky seven, their faith and love for one another keeps them together,

It’s back, and these once children, misfits of horrible family memories

Sacrifice all they have, their lives, and destroy this clown, but a monster.

A small town curse is destroyed as finally these friends may have peace,

They now learn of laughter, love, and happiness, though seven are now five.

The dancing clown, Pennywise, IT.

                                   Keith Garrett  

      FACES OF FEAR,

          MASKS

There is no big top, for the children they do not entertain,

They do not run around with smiles of delight, not tonight.

They wear expressions of emotion, what is felt inside,

Tonight, faces of fear, they come out, come out from wherever they are.

Halloween, when many unusual and terrifying events take place,

You look at them with smiles and frowns; are they clowns,

Perhaps their masks hide the evil terror waiting for you.

They sing and dance, but not this night; they wear your fright,

As daylight disappears and the dark of night settles, they stir.

Faces of fear are alive tonight as they come for you, just you,

Masks are worn, these are their pictures of doom tonight.

A clown is a clown, but for them it’s all turned upside down,

Claws for hands here in this Halloween land, now they dance.

Teeth are shown sharp and full by misfits always laughed at,

With a touch, with a haunting laugh you will be what they are,

Your mask will be real, it will show all that you feel, your clown.

Tonight these are the demons who wear the face you hide,

They follow you wherever you go, their gift to you is torment.

To you the gift of hell and pain is from them, their mask is you,

Your nightmare is a clown; you awake a nightmare.

                 Keith Garrett