Eeeeeeek! I'M Scared! Poem by Judith Driscoll Bryan

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Horace P. Maggot, of no fixed address,
Para-sailed thru life Criminally Obsessed.
Fast cash? His prize! Trickery? His game!
Blame? Given to victims - both ill and lame.

His ill-gotten cash was recklessly spent.
Still, he had to cough up November's rent.
''No worry! ''.. he matter-of-factly said.
''There's always a fool, who'll butter MY bread.''

He sat momentarily in deep thought.
''A wily Perfect Scam? ''...is what he sought.
''Aha! I've got it.''said this thief, well taught
In 'How to Con the Overly Distraught! '

*GHOST HUNTER For Hire! Job Guaranteed.*
A sign, he painted and nailed to a tree.
A hoofed man appeared and eerily spoke.
''De-GHOST my manor and you won't go broke! ''

Equipped with a phony Ghost Hunting Kit,
Horace bused to Skull Lane, lickety split.
''I'll roam this manor and pretend to work,
Then, I'll grab my pay from that Spooky Jerk.''

He hid in the darkness from ghosts unseen.
Chewing on nuts and sipping caffeine.
Horribly frightened, he prepared to leave
As demonic tentacles gripped his sleeves.

Madly, he struggled to escape his doom.
Surrounded by ghostly Goblins & Goons.
''Ten crippled Tiny Tims would miss me so.
For the sake of m'sons, please let me GO.''

(Poof!) The hoofed stranger suddenly appeared.
T'was SATAN, himself and he snidely jeered...
''Your tricks have won you...my ADmiration.
Boys! Let's grant him Eternal Damnation! ''

...........................................................................

This Skull Lane Manor, now barren and cold,
...ivied and haunted by a Spook, so bold.
'Tis Horace, the Ghost, of Ghost Hunting Fame.
The Devil tricked him at his own Con Game!

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(I wrote this poem when I was 11 yrs. old.
Hope it wasn't...TOO scary! : -)

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