Scary Stories and Poems

Midnight Dancers

Midnight Dancers

At midnight, we think
It’s the strike of the clock
Hitting twelve, but it’s not.

Instead it’s the tap, of
The midnight dancers.
Sneakily creeping on the blackened grass.

Pale blue fingers
Grip the branches
Pull their owners up.

Tiny nutshells bob and dance
In the moonbeams
At midnight.

Tiny top hats
Sit atop those small
Walnut sized heads, watching.

They are what swish your curtains
And gleefully drop
So you look out your window and see just sky.

They are the ones that softly find
A loose shingle on your roof
And creep inside your nice warm house.

They gently grab your pipes, and then
They count to three and all together twist.
They make the creaks in the middle of the night.

Midnight dancers
Are what they’re
Called.

Fragile bodies dressed in leather
Black top hats that never fall.
Thin, fake smiles frozen on their faces.

Pale blue skin, and bony fingers
Grab and pulse and twist and squeeze.
Pointy noses, skinny ears.

Always listening
Always watching.
Beady black eyes darting here, then there.

No one knows when a midnight dancer
Is behind their curtains,
Waiting, watching.

Beckoning with those
Light blue fingers
Calling in their small hoarse whispers.

And when they see the sun start to peek
Over the horizon and the hills, they
Quickly hoist themselves up to the moon.

Midnight dancers take the night
Always, always, there to
Spy, watch, and listen.

It is never certain when they are gone, for
All that have seen, staked out, hid out
‘Till the morn when the creatures are gone…

All that have tried to see the departure
Of the ghastly, vile creatures…
Have never returned.

We find their bodies
Many years later
In marshes, trees, wells.

You never know when in the middle of the night
You’ll hear a rap on your window.
Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch.

Or maybe they won’t tap, just come right in
Make themselves at home, but
Not for long.

Duty calls, and so they must
Creep on their toes, looking for you.
And when they find you, finish searching-

They grab your neck with their devilish hands,
Twist and squeeze ‘till your heart stops breathing.
Then they drag you out, out to the moon.

They wait and watch for any heartbeats.
When they hear none, they take your soul
And eat it with your blood.

When you don’t notice any signs of spying, creeping, watching
That means the beasts have recently killed
To feast on fresh blood.

For when they murder, take a life
They hide deep in the moon
So no one finds them, kills them, catches them.

Lock your windows, hurry, hurry
Before the dancers come a’knocking.
Before they sneak into your home, seeking souls.

These days people talk of the devil
As if he were the worst
Beast around.

They’re lucky, they’ve never seen
The midnight dancers.
They are far, far worse.

Now I’ve scared you very much.
I know you’re hiding, in a corner
Waiting, watching for midnight to come.

Don’t fear, child, they only arrive
When the clock strikes 12 and sleep is here.
You’ll be sleeping, dozing off.

Their twists will come without much pain, but
You won’t wake up again, except
Maybe once, during the process.

But even then, you’ll only have time
To scream a blood-curdling scream before
Your world turns black and the damage is done.

Midnight dancers come at night.
They’re always there, waiting, watching…
To feast on fresh blood.