Intermission For Refreshments

Amid solid wall to wall Weirdmonger stories, here's a break. A friend of some years' standing noticed that my real name had gradually disappeared from all these sites and replaced with Weirdmonger. And he sent me this poem:

Pull tight the shutters
Call in the children
Leave out old bones for sharp teeth to gnaw
Don't answer that tap on the door
Something waits there with a thirst and a hunger
It may be only a mouse
But on Midsummer night beware of Weirdmonger


When thanking him for such a great poem and asking if I could post it on one of my sites, he replied:

"By all means, but can't claim it for myself, I came across it while
browsing through Vol XXI Icelandic Folk Legends and Tall Tales, translated by Professor Ernest Nemolthwaite BLit Oxon. (Third revised Edition with Explanatory Footnotes, 1879). Evidently the Weirdmonger was originally a jovial teller of fanciful tales, children would laugh and jostle to hear the kindly Weirdmonger's sunny stories, and beg their mothers to buy his illustrated penny prints. As time passed his tales took on a darker hue until ultimately the Weirdmonger himself became a creature of myth and legend, a night fright whose whispered words could entice his victims to unbolt their doors, and force them to sign up for great value gas and electricity."