In the darkest of evenings, in the dankest of towns
a call went out quickly, a call went out loud
to the nearest police station — any would do! —
for a murder had happened
next door to the zoo.
Next door to the zoo, a body was found
drained of its blood, in a state most profound.
Drained of its blood,
utterly dry!
This was the reason for that night-time cry.
From the nearby-est station, a detective was sent
to ascertain the where, the when, and the went.
Where did the crime happen?
Next to the zoo!
When did it happen?
At a quarter past two!
Yet “went” was the hardest answer to trawl:
where went the killer
after doing it all?
The dour detective stood near to the zoo,
while lights all around bathed the scene red and blue,
and he frowned down upon the desiccated, dry husk
of the victim who had fallen
prey after dusk.
This detective had whiskers that fell past his knees,
And two yellow eyes that blinked wolfishly,
and a mind like a dagger — like a whip or a knife —
and he thought he suspected who had taken this life.
In the streets of the city, as the darkling night lowered
the detective took off,
pursuing the doer;
pursuing the one who had dried out that husk,
who had left that dead body by the zoo after dusk!
Down alleys, down streets, over cobbles and stone
through archways and courtyards, across graveyards of bone
he ran,
he ran on, panting hot on the trail,
that policeman with whiskers as thick as a veil.
Under a bridge,
then over again.
He sniffed with his sniffer,
nose covered in fur,
seeking the smell he had smelled earlier,
and, suddenly, there, the trail came to an end!
The scent of his quarry
round the very next bend.
The detective shed shirt
shed trousers and all,
left them discarded by an old red brick wall.
His body was growing
sharp and twisting and huge
a detective with monstrous features imbued!
With fangs of long ivory that dripped
drizzled, and drooled
with eyes that flamed yellow
beneath the full moon.
And there, in the street, in the deep darkling night
two figures met fast in a furious fight.
One huge and ferocious and covered in hair,
one thin as a wisp but with claws like a bear.
They bit
and they scratched,
they lit up the eve.
With howls and snarls
they made quite a scene.
But then
it was over,
the race was quite run,
and the detective with whiskers
(now back in his skin)
pulled on his shirt and his trousers again.
Behind him, the streets glowed red
and then blue
and then red again faster
and blue again, too,
as dozens of cars swiftly pulled into view.
A little while after they took it away, that
thin, violent creature who had entered the fray,
that thin, violent creature with two teeth like long dowls
who needed to hunt in the hours of owls;
that creature most ancient
who sucked the blood dry
from unwary victims beneath the night sky.
And that is why, children, in all darkling towns
it pays to pay monsters
to stroll past sundown.
When vampires, ghoulies, and ghosts walk at night
a werewolf in uniform is a most welcome sight.
