Nighmares: Poems to Trouble your Sleep
By Jack Prelutsky
The Troll
Be wary of the loathsome troll
That slyly lies in wait,
To drag you to his dingy hole
And put you on his plate.
His blood is black and boiling hot.
He gurgles ghastly groans.
He’ll cook you in his dinner pot
Your skin, your flesh, your bones.
He’ll catch your arms and clutch you legs
And grind you to a pulp,
The swallow you like scrambled eggs,
Gobble, gobble, gulp.
So watch your step when next
You go upon a pleasant stroll,
Or you might end in the pit below,
As supper for the troll.
The Witch
She comes by night, In fearsome flight,
In garments black as pitch,
The queen of doom Upon her broom
The wild and wicked witch.
A cackling crone with brittle bones
And decicated limbs,
Two evil eyes with warts and sties
And bags about the rims.
A dangling nose, 10 twisted toes
And folds of shriveled skin,
Cracked and chipped and crackled lips
That frame a toothless grin.
She hurtles by, she sweeps the sky
And hurls a piercing screech,
As she swoops past, a spell is cast
On all her curses reach.
Take care to hide when the wild witch rides
To shriek her evil spell,
What she may do with a word or two
Is much to grim to tell.
The Ogre
In a foul and filthy cavern
Where the sun has never shown,
A one-eyed ogre calmly gnaws
A cold and moldy bone.
He sits in silence in the slime
That fills his fetid home,
And notes the nearing footsteps
In the monstrous catacombs.
The one-eyed ogre drools with joy
His stony heart beats fast,
He knows that for some girl or boy,
This day shall be their last.
He wheels his ugly cudgel
In a wide and viscous ark,
It swiftly finds his victim
In the deep and deadly dark.
Then down, and down, and down again
The ogre’s blows descend,
To rend, and rend the senseless,
To speed his victim’s end.
So pity those who stumble upon
The one-eyed ogre’s cave,
That dark abode he calls his home
Shall surely be their grave.
The Werewolf
The full moon glows, foreboding,
And I quake from head to feet.
For this night I know, in the town below,
A werewolf prowls the street.
He stalks with stealth and cunning
In his search for a soul to eat.
With matted hair, and jaws that tear,
A werewolf prowls the street.
His face is filled with fury
As his brain cries out for meat.
And, oh, his prey shall not see day
For the werewolf prowls the street.
So I shake beneath my covers
And I shiver in my sheets,
And I cower in my bed, with a pillow on my head,
As the werewolf prowls the street.
The Wizard
The wizard, watchful, waits alone
Within his tower of cold, gray stone.
And ponders in his wicked way
What evil deeds he’ll do this day.
He’s tall and thin, with wrinkled skin.
A tangled beard hangs from his chin.
His cheeks are gaunt, his eyes set deep,
He scarcely eats, he needs no sleep.
His fingers wave arcane commands.
Ten boney sticks on withered hands.
His flowing cloak is smirched with grime.
He’s wanted since the dawn of time.
Upon his hat, in silver lines,
Are pictured necromantic signs.
Symbols of the awesome power of the wizard,
Alone in his cold stone tower.
He scans his mystic stalk in trade,
Charms to fetch a demon’s aid.
Seething stews of purplish potions,
Throbbing, pometergic lotions.
Supernatural tracks and tomes
Complete with lore of elves and gnomes.
Talismans, Amulets, willowy wands
To summon sprits from beyond.
He spies a bullfrog by the door
And stooping, scoops it off the floor.
He flicks his wand, the frog’s a flea
Through elemental sorcery.
The flea hops once, the flea hops twice,
The flea becomes a pair of mice.
That dive into a bubbling brew
Emerging as one cockatoo.
The wizard laughs a hallow laugh,
The soaking bird’s reduced by half.
And when, perplexed, it starts to squawk,
The wizard turns it into chalk
With witch he deafly writes a spell
That makes the chalk a silver bell
Which tinkles in the ash and air
Till flash! A fire burns brightly there.
He gestures with an ancient knack
To try to bring the bullfrog back.
Another Flash! No flame now burns
As once again the frog returns.
But when it bounds about in fear,
The wizard shouts, “Begone from here!”
And midway through a frightened croak
It vanishes in clouds of smoke.
The wizard smirks a fiendish smirk
Reflecting on the woes he’ll work
As he consults a dusty text
And checks which hex he’ll conjure next.
He might pluck someone off the spot
And turn him into who knows what.
Should you encounter a toad or lizard,
Look closely, it may be the work of the wizard.
The ghoul,
The gruesome ghoul, the grizzly ghoul,
Without the slightest noise,
Waits patiently beside the school
To feast on girls and boys.
He lunges fiercely through the air
As they come out to play,
Then grabs a couple by the hair
And drags them far away.
He cracks their bones, and snaps their backs,
And squeezes out their lungs.
He chews their thumbs like candy snacks,
And pulls apart their tongues.
He slices their stomachs and bites their hearts and
Tears their flesh to shreds.
He swallows their toes like toasted tarts,
And gobbles down their heads.
Fingers, elbows, hands and knees,
And arms and legs and feet.
He eats them with delight and ease,
For every part’s a treat.
And when the gruesome, grizzly ghoul
Has nothing left to chew,
He hurries to another school,
And waits, perhaps, for you.
The Dance of the Thirteen Skeletons
In a snow enshrouded graveyard
Gripped by winter’s bitter chill,
Not a single soul is stirring,
All is silent, all is still.
Till a distant bell tolls midnight,
And the spirits work their will.
For emerging from their coffins
Buried deep beneath the snow,
13 boney apparitions
Now commence their spectral show.
And they gather in the moonlight,
Undulating as they go.
And they’ll dance in their bones,
In their bare, bare bones,
With the click, and the clack,
And the chitter and the chat,
And the clatter and the chatter of
Their bare, bare bones.
They shake their flimsy shoulders
And they flex their fleshless knees
And they nod their skulls in greeting
In the penetrating breeze,
As they form an eerie circle
Near the gnarled and twisted trees.
They link their spindly fingers,
As they promenade around,
Casting otherworldly shadows
In the silver mantled ground,
And their footfalls in the snowdrifts
Make a soft, sulfurous, sound.
And they dance in their bones,
In their bare, bare bones,
With the click, and the clack,
And the chitter and the chat,
And the clatter and the chatter
Of their bare, bare bones.
The thirteen grinning skeletons
Continue on their way,
As too strains of soundless music
They begin to swing and sway,
And they circle ever faster
In their ghastly roundelay.
Faster, faster, ever faster,
And yet faster now they race,
Winding, whirling, ever swirling
In the frenzy of their pace.
And they shimmer in the moonlight
As they spin themselves through space.
And they dance in their bones,
In their bare, bare bones,
With the click, and the clack,
And the chitter and the chat,
And the clatter and the chatter
Of their bare, bare bones.
Then, as quickly as it started,
Their nocturnal dance is done,
For the bell that is their signal
Loudly tolls the hour of one.
And they bow to one another
In their boney unison.
Then they vanish to their coffins
By there ghostly thoroughfare,
And the emptiness of silence once more
Fills the frosted air.
And the snow that masked their footprints,
Show no sign that they were there.
But they danced in their bones,
In their bare, bare bones,
With the click, and the clack,
And the chitter and the chat,
And the clatter and the chatter
Of their bare, bare bones.
The Mummy
In the darkness of a sephlecur
Beneath the shifting sands,
The mummy stirs within it’s sheath
Of rotten linen bands.
Inside it’s stone sarcophagus
Beneath the pyramids,
It moves it’s cloth enshrouded hands
And pushes back the lid.
It arises in that chamber
Where no living thing has stepped,
In that chamber chill and airless
Where for centuries it has slept.
Then it stumbles through the mazes
Of the labyrinthine halls,
And with powers supernatural
Beats down the earthen walls.
Now it walks the scorching desert
All it’s being filled with rage,
Ancient rage it’s born for eons
Since a dim, primordial age.
And it stagers blindly onward,
Mud encrusted, caked with clay,
And it permeates the desert with
The stench of foul decay.
Now it must unleash it’s fury,
Spew the venom of it’s wrath,
And woe to those poor soles who cross
The mummy’s mindless path.
For the mummy will destroy them,
They will perish, racked with pain,
There is terror in the desert
For the mummy walks again.
The Specter on the Moore
In the ghostly, ghastly silence
Of the misty, misty moore,
A phosphorescent specter sets
Upon it’s twilight tour.
Searching for some hapless victim,
It will find one, oh, be sure.
It swirls about the vapors of
The luminescent mist,
With it’s tendrils slowly writhing,
Deadly purpose in each twist.
And it’s grasp is cold and final,
Not a creature can resist.
Do not go there in the twilight.
Do not head it’s dread allure.
It will hold you and enfold you
In such ways you can’t endure,
Till you never leave the specter
On the misty, misty moore.
The Towering Giant
In a darksome dominion
Remorseless and cold
Stands the Towering Giant
Grotesque to behold.
He hulks like a mountain
His head in the sky,
And all who approach him
Will certainly die.
The Towering Giant,
By stretching his hand,
Turns trees into sawdust
And rocks into sand.
One stamp of his foot
And the mountain top shakes,
And the winds turn to tempests
With each breath he takes.
Should you land in his clutches
He’ll grind you to crumbs,
Or crush you to powder
Beneath his great thumbs.
The Towering Giant
A thousand feet tall
Will reduce you to nothing!
To nothing at all.
The Zombie
Upon your bed you sleep in pain,
For nightmares swirl within your brain.
You waken with a fearful start
As horror grips your heart.
You sense a presence standing there,
And all at once it meets your stare,
A zombie waits within your room,
And with it dwells your doom.
And you shiver, and you scream!
And you hope it’s all a dream as the Zombie nears your bed.
The Zombie, spawn of voodoo’s charms,
Has come to take you in it’s arms.
It longs to crush, it yearns to clutch,
And lethal is it’s touch.
It does not live, yet is not dead.
Two sockets burn within it’s head.
It does not see, it does not hear,
It does not head you fear.
And you shiver, and you scream!
And you hope it’s all a dream as the Zombie nears your bed.
Closer, Closer to your bed,
Closer comes this thing undead,
It nears you at a steady pace,
And oh, it’s awful face.
Closer, Closer, Closer still
The Zombie nears with icy will.
It’s face remains expressionless,
As you feel it’s cold caress.
And you shiver, and you scream!
For you know, it’s not a dream, as the Zombie nears your bed.
The Kraken
Deep beneath the foaming billows
Something suddenly amiss,
As a creature wakes from slumber
In the bottomless abyss.
And a panic fills the ocean,
Every fish and frenzied flea,
For the Kraken has awakened at the bottom of the seas.
It rises to the surface
With an overwhelming noise,
And it hunts for mighty vessels
Which it crushes and destroys.
Then it chokes a great leviathan
With one stupendous squeeze!
Oh, the Kraken has awakened at the bottom of the seas.
How it lashes, how it thrashes,
How it flashes, how it flails,
How it dwarfs the greatest fishes,
Even dwarfs the mighty Wales.
Nothing living in the ocean
Can enjoy a moment’s ease,
For the Kraken has awakened at the bottom of the seas.
The Darkling Elves
In wildest woods,
On treetop shelves,
Sit evil beings
With evil selves.
They are the dreaded
Darkling Elves,
And they are always hungry.
In garish garb
Of capes and hoods
They wait and watch
Within their woods
To peel your flesh
And steal your goods.
For they are always hungry.
Through brightest days
And darkest nights
These terrifying
Tiny sprites
Await to strike
And take their bites.
For they are always hungry.
Watch every leaf
Of every tree.
For once they pounce,
You cannot flee.
Their teeth are sharp
As sharp can be.
And they are always hungry.
The Sorceress
In flowing dress the sorceress
Begins her evil toil
She stirs her vat of filth and fat
And sees it seethe and boil.
With hellish smells she whispers spells,
And does a deadly dance,
With words of death upon her breath
She slips into a trance.
Higher, higher burns her fire,
Distant is her voice.
And Hades’ hole takes one more soul
As demons their rejoice.
In flowing dress the sorceress
Falls swooning to the floor.
Her brew grows cold, her tale is told.
Her victim lives no more.
The Invisible Beast
The beast that is invisible
Is stalking through the park.
But you cannot see it coming
Though it isn’t very dark.
Oh, you know it’s out there somewhere
Though just why you cannot tell.
For although you cannot see it,
It can see you very well.
You sense it’s frightful features
And it’s great ungainly form,
And you wish that you were home now,
Where it’s cozy, safe, and warm.
And you know it’s coming closer
For you smell it’s awful smell.
And although you cannot see it,
It can see you very well.
Oh, your heart is beating faster,
Beating louder than a drum,
For you hear it’s footsteps falling
And your body’s froze and numb.
And you cannot scream for terror,
And your fear you cannot quell.
For although you cannot see it,
It can see you very well.
The Abominable Snowman
In the shadows of a mountain
Where the light is ever dim
And the snows are ever blowing
Stalks a visage great and grim.
Through the bone-benumbing wilderness
He travels on alone
The Abominable Snowman is
The name by which he’s known.
He wanders through the vastness
Of the cold and lonely slopes
And he watches as he wanders
And he hungers, and he hopes.
And he searches for his quarry
Luckless mortal, small and frail.
In that unrelenting whiteness
Where the winds of winter wail.
Those who stray into the compass
Of that unforgiving place
Vanish from this earth forever
Evermore without a trace.
There are none to see them suffer,
There are none to hear them moan,
As he tears them into pieces
And devours them to the bone.
The Abominable Snowman,
That few eyes have ever seen,
Trudges homeward through the mountains
Where that home has ever been.
Homeward to his hidden stronghold
That a mortal may not know,
The Abominable Snowman
Disappears within the snow.
The Banshee
The Baleful banshee, pale and warn,
Frail and haggard, long forlorn,
Wails from midnight until morn.
And her eyes are red with weeping.
She combs her foul and filthy hair
And shrieks into the midnight air,
And, oh, my child, you’d best beware.
She’ll rouse you from your sleeping.
She calls from near the river side,
And calling, she’ll not be denied.
It does no good to run and hide.
It’s death she is forecasting.
When she sings out a mortal’s name,
That life eternity shall claim,
To substitute for earthly flame
The slumber everlasting.
Upon the night that she appears
To send her song into your ears
She’ll not abide your please and tears.
The Banshee scorns your sorrow.
So pray she does not come this night
If you would see the morning’s light.
Sleep well, my child, sleep fast and tight.
And dream of sweet tomorrow.
The Poltergeist
Something strange is flitting through your hair,
But when you try to find it, nothing’s there.
You know, though, when it gives your cheek a bite:
A poltergeist is in your house tonight.
Your rocking chair is rocking by itself,
And all your books have tumbled from the shelf,
And something keeps on flicking out the light.
A poltergeist is in your house tonight.
The chandelier has shattered on the floor,
And things unseen are rapping on the door.
But when you look, no creature meets your sight.
A poltergeist is in your house tonight.
Within the kitchen, cups and saucers shake,
And there before your eyes the windows brake.
And when at last, you scream with all your might.
A poltergeist is in your house tonight.
The Headless Horseman
The Headless Horseman rides tonight
Through stark and starless skies,
Shattering the silence with
His otherworldly cries.
He races through the darkness
On his alabaster steed,
The Headless Horseman rides tonight,
Wherever the fates would lead.
And he rides upon the wind tonight,
He rides upon the wind,
Galloping, galloping, galloping on
Out of the great oblivion,
Galloping till the night is gone.
He rides upon the wind, tonight,
He rides upon the wind.
The Headless Horseman rides tonight
Beggared in robes of black,
To bear a being from the earth,
Never to bring him back.
He’s evil, foul, and bottoming,
With laughter on his breath.
The Headless Horseman rides tonight,
The minister of death.
And he rides upon the wind tonight,
He rides upon the wind,
Galloping, galloping, galloping on
Out of the great oblivion,
Galloping till the night is gone.
He rides upon the wind, tonight,
He rides upon the wind.
The Headless Horseman rides tonight,
He rides the wind alone.
Beneath his arm he tightly tucks
His head of gleaming bone.
His voice is harsh and hollow,
It is horrible to hear.
The Headless Horseman rides tonight
To fill the earth with fear!
And he rides upon the wind tonight,
He rides upon the wind,
Galloping, galloping, galloping on
Out of the great oblivion,
Galloping till the night is gone.
He rides upon the wind, tonight,
He rides upon the wind.
The Headless Horseman rides tonight
Upon his fateful trip,
With silvery stiles of steely death
Held fast in boney grip.
He sweeps it swiftly forth and back
As over the earth he glides,
And none in the world is safe tonight,
For the Headless Horseman rides.
And he rides upon the wind tonight,
He rides upon the wind,
Galloping, galloping, galloping on
Out of the great oblivion,
Galloping till the night is gone.
He rides upon the wind, tonight,
He rides upon the wind.
The Haunted House
On a hilltop, bleak and bare
Looms the castle of despair.
Only phantoms linger there
Within it’s dismal walls.
Through the dark and creeping, crawling,
Frenzy furies battling, brawling,
Sprawling, calling, caterwauling
Through the dusky halls.
Filmy visions, ever flocking,
Dark through-chambers, crudely mocking,
Rudely rapping, tapping, knocking
On the crumbling doors.
Tortured spirits wine and wail,
They grope and grasp, the wildly flail
Their hollow voices rasp and rail
Beneath the moldering floors.
Shadows from a dim hereafter
Hang from every creaking rafter,
Laughing disembodied laughter
In their ghostly glee.
Shades of evanescent matter
Whisper their unearthly pattern,
Rattle chains that chill and shatter
On their spectral spree.
Revenants on misty perches
Taunt the ghost that lunges, lurches,
As it desperately searches
For it’s vanished head.
Shapeless rates, devoid of feeling,
Hover blindly by the ceiling,
Ranting, chanting, shrieking, squealing,
Promises of dread.
In the corners, eyes are gleaming,
Everywhere a nightmare streaming,
Diabolic horrors screaming
In the sombrous air.
So, shun this place where specters soar.
It’s you, and you, there waiting for.
To haunt your souls forevermore.
In their castle of despair.
The Will of the Wisp
You are lost in the desolate forest
Where the stars give a pitiful light.
But the far-away glow of the Will of the Wisp
Offers hope in the menacing night.
It is lonely and cold in the forest,
And you shiver with fear in the damp,
As you follow the way of the Will of the Wisp
And the dance of it’s flickering lamp.
But know, as you trudge through the forest,
Toward that glistening torch in the gloom,
That the eerie allure of the Will of the Wisp
Summons you down to your doom.
It will lead you astray in the forest,
Over ways never traveled before.
If ever you follow the Will of the Wisp,
You’ll never be seen anymore.
The Bogeyman
In the desolate depths of a sinister place
The Bogeyman lurks with a snarl on his face.
Never dare, never dare
To approach his dark lair,
For he’s waiting, just waiting,
To get you.
He sulks in the shadows, relentless and wild
In his search for a tender, delectable child.
With his steely sharp claws
And his slavering jaws,
Oh, he’s waiting, just waiting,
To get you.
Many have entered his dreary domain,
But not even one has been heard from again.
They no doubt made a feast
For the butchering beast.
And he’s waiting, just waiting,
To get you.
In that sulfurous, sunless, and sinister place
He’ll crumple your bones in his bogey embrace.
Never, never go near
If you hold your life dear,
For, oh, what he’ll do,
When he gets you.
The Vampire
The night is still and somber,
And in the merky gloom
Arisen from his slumber,
The vampire leaves his tomb.
His eyes are pools of fire.
His skin is icy white.
And blood his one desire
This fullbegotten night.
Then through the silent city,
He makes his silent way.
Prepared to take no pity
Upon his hapless prey.
An open window beckons.
He grins a hungry grin,
And pausing not one second
He swiftly climbs within.
And there, beneath her covers,
His victim lies in sleep.
With fangs agleam, he hovers.
And with those fangs, bites deep.
The vampire drinks till sated.
He fills his every pore,
And then, his thirst abated,
Licks clean the dripping gore.
With powers now replenished,
His thirst no longer burns.
His quest this night is finished.
So to his tomb he turns.
And there, awhile in silence,
He’ll rest beneath the mud.
Until, with thoughts of violence,
He wakes, and utters, “Blood.”
The Dragon of Death
In a faraway, faraway forest
Lies a treasure of infinite worth.
But guarding it closely forever
Looms a being as old as the earth.
It’s body’s as big as a boulder,
And armored with shimmering scales.
Even the mountain tops tremble when
It thrashes it’s seven great tails.
It’s eyes tell a story of terror,
They gleam with an angry red flame
As it timelessly watches its riches.
And the Dragon of Death is it’s name.
It’s teeth are far sharper than daggers.
It can tear hardest metal to shreds.
It has seven mouths filled with these weapons,
For it’s neck swells to seven great heads.
Each head is as fierce as the other,
Each head breathes a fiery breath.
And any it touches must perish,
Set ablaze by the Dragon of Death.
All who have foolishly stumbled
On the Dragon of Death’s golden cash
Remain evermore in that forest,
Nothing left of their bodies but ash.