Our story pertains to a peculiar little lad named Paul.
He was a timid young boy, imaginative, but meek and small.
He would race throughout the house by light of day,
and proclaim his fearlessness to all manners of evil, come what may.
He would warn his mother about the monsters she could see if she would just look,
but she was wise enough to credit his tales to his strange preference of books.
King, Koontz, Lovecraft and the Vault of Horror laid strewn about his bedroom floor,
and the little boy with something to prove would always beg her for more.
And so it went day after day for the tiny titan of the macabre.
Facing the fears he created in his mind became a full time job.
He had little patience for the other kids at school.
Those who would point their fingers and laugh at the freaky fool.
His teachers grew tired of the company he preferred to keep,
whether they be monsters or myths or old Gods from the deep.
He was suspended and isolated for scaring the other kids,
but he never could figure out what kind of wrong that he actually did.
His poor mother grew weary and begged him to go outside and play.
She told him monsters couldn't exist within the light of day.
She warned him not to open his eyes at night while he lay in bed,
or a real monster would catch him spying on the other side and lop off his head.
That night brave young Paul closed his eyes to go to sleep,
but alongside the gentle hum of his bedroom fan he began to hear a creep.
He squinted his eyes to catch a glimpse of what could make such a sound,
but despite the creaking in the walls and the wind outside, not a creature could be found.
He would close his eyes and begin to hear the smattering of faint laughter,
but when he peered out into the black room he could only make out small hints of what he was after.
For hours the dance would repeat to no end,
and little Paul could feel his mighty courage start to bend.
He opened and closed his eyes to catch just a peek.
And the last time he did he caught a glimpse of what he did seek.
It was a shadow that darted across the wall,
and it was coming straight for poor young Paul.
Every time he took a peek it would become easier to see,
and he saw the thing peering back at him with a look of devilish glee.
He wanted to cry out for his mom but the scream wouldn't come,
the darkness took his breath and his body became numb.
He shut his eyes tight and prayed the thing would disappear,
but instead felt it's warm breath on his face and heard it whisper in his ear.
“You called for us and now we're here.
Do you really believe you know the true meaning of fear?
Open your eyes so we can begin.”
The thing grew closer to Paul's face and couldn't hide its razor sharp grin.
The next morning his mother came to save Paul from his dread,
and found the brave young monster slayer laying under his bed.
His encounter with the darkness would make the greatest story he would have ever read.
Alas, poor Paul could not tell it.
Paul was dead.