Download An eyeball in my garden: and other spine-tingling poems by Laura Wynkoop PDF
By Laura Wynkoop
"For all who bravely dare
To learn this haunted sonnet,
May you be made aware
A spell’s been forged upon it."
From spiders to mummies to the elusive Boogeyman, those pages carry a bit of every little thing creepy, crawly, and simply simple spooky. With a pinch of terror and a splash of humor, readers might be solid right into a shadowy international, the place creatures lurk and nightmares live. Surprises abound on each web page, ready to tug in readers...sometimes literally...
Read or Download An eyeball in my garden: and other spine-tingling poems PDF
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Additional resources for An eyeball in my garden: and other spine-tingling poems
And every night, she tries my lock, Then gives my door a hollow knock. She calls my name, then thumps the wall. My bedroom quakes and pictures fall. I close my eyes and plug my ears, For she’s been dead for seven years. 50 October 31st By William Shakespeery “I’ll grease my hair,” said Frankenstein, “And comb a little curl. ” “That curls my blood,” the vampire hissed. “You might make someone faint. ” The werewolf barked, “I’ve got a cap, And boots to hide my paws. ” “That’s truly chilling,” cried the witch.
The tension in the room— It thickens. The air is cold, the lights are dim. He looks at me, I look at him. With crusty eyes, a vacant stare, Mangy, matted, messy hair, A puffy face and scruffy chin, Zit-infested, pallid skin, Teeth encased in grime and gunk, Breath that smells of rotting skunk. Despite near paralyzing fright From such a nasty, wretched sight, I bravely take a few steps nearer, Where things become a whole lot clearer. . I am looking in a mirror. 62 Coming Home from Trick-or-Treating By Jennifer Cole Judd Did I just hear a whispering Behind those swaying trees?
Poor Greta was a lonely child— She had no friends, she never smiled. In school I called her shameful things— I shouted cruel and painful things. Now every night at twelve o’clock, I hear her shuffling up the block. And every night, she tries my lock, Then gives my door a hollow knock. She calls my name, then thumps the wall. My bedroom quakes and pictures fall. I close my eyes and plug my ears, For she’s been dead for seven years. 50 October 31st By William Shakespeery “I’ll grease my hair,” said Frankenstein, “And comb a little curl.