Halloween.
Kids with tummy aches from too many sweets.
Sliced fingers courtesy of Jack-O-Lanterns.
Plus... drugs. And not the edibles hidden in trick-or-treaters' treasures like the news claimed.
When the cops hauled in a patient on meth dressed as a werewolf, I adjusted my devil horns and grabbed my stethoscope.
"Found him in the graveyard baying at the moon."
"Of course," I muttered.
His costume? Pristine. Yellowed eyes, bushy fur.
I peered in his mouth, my what teeth!
CHOMP!
Fangs ripped flesh.
I shrieked.
Fire coursed through me and the pregnant moon beckoned.
I howled.
Not a costume after all.
About the Creator
N.J. Gallegos
Howdy! I’m an horror-loving ER doc/author. Voted most witty in high school so I’m like, super funny. Author of The Broken Heart and The Fatal Mind! Follow me on Twitter @DrSpooky_ER.
Check me out: https://njgallegos.com
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Comments (3)
love this poem
Yay! Werewolves! I love this.
Yikes! A nice turn here... 🐺