Hallowe’en was a favorite holiday where I grew up in the midwest. One tradition of my grade school days was the telling, or reading of scary stories and spooky poetry.
An old favorite was written by James Whitcomb Riley. It is a regional favorite, written in a local speech/dialect pattern. Here is a verse:
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,-
An when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all!
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout;_
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
Read out loud around a fire outside at night, we looked twice before we scurried off to bed!