Crouching atop a Cumbrian moorland bleak
  Like a wild beast at bay, is Croglin Hall.
  That is no pleasant place!  Winter winds shriek
  Like witches' cats that wail and caterwaul.
  Yet Croglin seems not desolate to all,
  And one was Edward Cranswell.  He moved in
  Unknowing of the fate that would befall
  His house, himself and his beloved kin:
Michael and Amelia, his beautiful cousin.

  It happened on a sultry Summer's night
  When Amelia was too hot to get to sleep.
  She saw outside two wierd points of light -
  Not lights - but eyes.  The creature seemed to creep
  Towards her window.  She began to weep
  And rushed, with trembling hands, to unlock her door -
  But dropped the key! She heard the horror leap,
  Crashing through glass. It grabbed her, then it tore
Her tender throat and left her red with blood and gore.

  Into her room dashed Michael with his gun
  While Edward ran outside into the night.
  He saw a skeleton-shaped figure run:
  A silhouette against the moon's pale light.
  He chased it, though in truth he feared a fight -
  Those knife-like claws, those fangs, filled him with dread -
  But it outran him in its frantic flight,
  And so he stopped, and shot at it instead,
Though doubting he could kill a thing already dead.

Whether he missed, or guns have no effect
  On cryptal creatures, Edward could not tell.
  He went home wondering what to expect-
  Was the attack Amelia's death-knell?
  There was no need to worry; all was well:
  Though weak with bleeding, tremulous with fear,
  Amelia could her nightmare tale retell.
  Edward could not help but shed a tear,
And vowed to take the battle to the monster's bier.

  Next morning, early, armed with guns and knives,
  Across the misty moor the brothers crept,
  Bent on revenge, though fearful of their lives,
  Following the trail to where the creature slept.
  Could they have heard how poor Amelia wept
  To think of how they risked their lives for her,
  They would have stiffened their resolve and kept
  Their fears for nightmares. Nonetheless, they were
Determined to be the creature's judge and executioner.

  The trail of blood led o'er the churchyard wall
  Straight to a door which led down to the crypt.
  Surprisingly, it was not locked at all:
  The chains were burst, the padlocks and been ripped
  By brute force from the wood, and blood had dripped
  From the door handle.  Fearful of his doom,
  Yet still determined, Edward boldly gripped
  The iron ring and stepped into the gloom;
And there they were at last inside the creature's tomb!