A quick note: This poem was written for fun. I wrote it with a horror movie/classic Halloween vibe in mind. It in no way is meant to offend nor is it a commentary on religion. All one needs to do is read and enjoy. Also, I know there may be some historical inaccuracies about the history of Halloween. That's okay. I'm claiming poetic license😁
On All Hallow's Eve, Sixteen Eighty-three
Occurred the Oakwood Falls Massacree
This God-fearing town of fifty head
Fought valiantly against hordes of undead
As the full moon shone through storm grey clouds
The deceased rose up forming jangly-boned crowds
From areas allocated for eternal slumber
Corpses climbed out in countless numbers
They lurched in rank down the dusty dirt path
Toward the church where people sang of God’s wrath
Worshipping The Lord on Satan’s night
The residents oblivious to the impending plight
Choruses of Hallelujahs filled the air
Drawing the dead to congregate there
They surrounded the town’s House of God
Dripping with rain, rotting flesh, and sod
As Praise to the Almighty came to a close
The Reverend James Prescott from his chair arose
And asked the people for silence to pray
On this, the most, unholy of days
The parishioners as one bowed their heads
To pray to their God for mercy ahead
Yet before the Reverend could utter a word
A noise from outside was suddenly heard
It was the barking of the Sullivan’s hound
From next to the church where the hound was bound
Then all of the dogs in the town sang out
Warning Oakwood Falls of things about
Ignatius Blacksmith on Prescott’s right
Took upon himself to search the night
He strode to the window, looked through the pane
When he turned around his face was wane
His wife, Polly, ran to his side
Asked what he seen when he looked outside
He sunk to his knees before he said,
“All I see is a sea of dead”
“Of what do you speak?”, asked Andrew Rawls
“What did you see outside these walls?”
Ignatius Blacksmith rose to his feet
“If you open the door, the dead you’ll meet.”
Murmurs sprang up around the nave
Until Reverend Prescott’s hand did wave
When he spoke, his voice was stoic
His flock looked to him as one heroic
He looked to Ignatius and said, “Explain.
“And be precise when you tell us again.”
Ignatius spoke - “It is as I said
“Our ancestors live that we buried for dead.”
“I don’t believe you!” cried Francis Gill
And he looked out, his hands on the sill
He leaned in close, forehead to glass
Preceding an unexpected crash
Hands broke through and grabbed Gill’s neck
Pulling his feet clear off the deck
His body was dragged through jagged shards
Into the evil out in the yard
Gill screamed for the Almighty Lord
To pluck him from this Devil’s horde
But his pleas were drowned by grisly sounds
Far worse than the baying of Hell’s own hounds
For the smell of blood was in the night
Causing each of the dead to want a bite
Growls and groans, howls and moans
Filled the air with frightening tones
Only then did the people begin
To succumb to the panic they felt within
Families ran for the church house door
While others wailed upon the floor
But the Reverend called his flock to halt
Opening the trap to the underground vault
Quickly he ushered the young below
As well as their teacher, the widow Stowe
Everyone else was to form a wall
To keep the undead outside the hall
Then, in unison, all who were there
Recited the Lord’s Prayer with righteous flair
They repeated it over and over again
Even as the death toll rose to ten
The Logan brothers were the next to go
Then Mary Gadsen and her father Joe
Then the butcher’s son, Albert Sprague
Was torn to pieces by the walking plague
After that the church door was breached
And the Dades were taken while Prescott preached
With the Dades gone - all Hell broke loose
Colm Kelly reached for a bench to use
And the first being that lurched his way
Was given back its eternal stay
For the being’s head was separated from
The shoulders and body from which it’d come
Without its head, the body humbled
Into a harmless mass of bones it crumbled
Colm cried out to all who could
“Pick up the benches made of wood
“Take off their heads, even if they be
“The bodies of your own family”
With thwacks, whacks, and brain busting cracks
They began to beat the zombies back
But just when things started going their way
Daniel Johnson got caught in the fray
Rachel, his wife, who’d been battling along
Tried to rescue him from the throng
She reached for his shirt to pull him free
Yet grabbed the hand of an enemy
As the wedded Johnsons were torn asunder
Flashes of lightning and claps of thunder
Filled the darkness with sound and light
Causing the villagers to renew their fright
Many panicked and tried to run
And were nearly dead before they’d begun
With the number of living quickly dwindling
And the benches becoming nothing but kindling
All hope began to fade
A number of sacrifices were now being made
When a corpse came for Rawls and his son
Andrew did what could be done
He pushed his son into its arms
Himself dashing from the harm
Yet there wasn’t time for Rawls’s shame
Because right quick his time came
As he ran he tripped on the head
Of one of the decapitated now deceased undead
He stumbled into the loving embrace
Of his long ago buried Great Aunt Grace
She smiled at him with faint recognition
Then bit off his face without remission
His screams were drowned in the panic all round
Things were grim for this tiny, little town
That’s when Hazel Good blew in
Hovering above the visceral din
One by one the zombies fell
With a point of her hand and an unspoken spell
Within minutes all that remained
Were those still living and a pile of slain
The frightened children and the widow Stowe
Were given release from the keep below
Tears still ran and embraces were shared
All while Hazel hung in the air
Once calmed the Oakwood folk
Listened to the words Miss Good spoke
“My name has carried on your whispers
“You’ve spoken it often during vespers
“You’ve made accusations you could not prove
“About the circles in which I move”
“Now on this night you know they be true
“So I will make this promise to you
“It was not I who brought forth the dead
“It was not I for whom they fed”
“Yet, it was I who came to your aid
“Saved you from the walking decayed
“Of this night we will never speak
“You will no longer utter ‘Hazel the freak’”
“For if you do upon you I’ll wreak
“Events that would be far more bleak
“If this pact is kept with fervor
“I’ll remain your loving neighbor”
With that Hazel flew out the door
Never once touching feet to floor
The Reverend Prescott while everyone kneeled
Prayed that all the injured be healed
From that day forward it was never broached
How the once dead had once approached
This God-fearing town out in the wood
The one with a resident named Hazel Good
It’s up to you whether or not to believe
This tale about All Hallow’s Eve
Back in the year Sixteen Eighty-three
Of the Oakwood Falls Massacree
