The Pact

Hollow’s Eve, The Devil’s night

they are doomed to feed his appetite.

Thus to remain another year

11 months and one for fear.


A spotless soul the fiend desires

as to devour in eternal fires.

His meal we dare not to refuse,

the council turns again to Muse.


The streets are filled with Goulish Sprites,

only the pure will stay in room tonight,

such easy marks on which to prey

such a gruesome and unholy buffet.


To the 13th floor, as it is written,

lived a lass and rather smitten

with Tech boys, she sees on Skype.

Holier than thou, you know the type.


Up the stairs the robes ascend

for their sins they must amend.

She flirts unaware of the fact,

of this a most unholy pact.


A deal to keep her earthly power,

the robes must sell this gentle flower.

Taken and bound with little fuss

no time to run, scream, fight or cuss.


Above the clock a circle made,

unbroken and as the candles fade,

the darkness begins to take a shape,

a goats head with the body of an ape.


Greedy eyes beneath her hood,

hardened for it’s for her own good.

A flourish and a twisted knife,

spilling of  blood, an end to life.

A gurgled laugh, a breathless scream

a flash and then an empty scene.

The circle and a pool of blood,

power washes over her like a flood.


The power to rule another year

unchallenged though outmatched as a peer.

Money, the rule of an iron fist

as long as next year isn’t missed.

Pentagram. Photo courtesy of Creative Commons.