Twas the Night before Christmas - Urban Fantasy Style
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the grave
Every creature was stirring, invited to a rave.
The stockings were fish net, they had mighty flare,
In hopes that Laurell Hamilton soon would be there.
The vampires were stylin’, dressed mostly in reds,
While visions of blood donors danced in their heads.
Only one lonely zombie, a strange little chap,
Alongside the Werewolves who paced, ready to snap.
When one of the tombstones fell with a clatter,
All Supes sprang into action to see what was the matter.
The moved in a dark horde, quick as The Flash,
Surrounded the gravestone, fists ready to bash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to their blood lusting eyes should appear,
But a sharp wooden stake, and a note they all feared.
The words penned were harsh, they cut to the quick,
Even the vampires felt mildly sick.
A new Huntress was prowling, she sought only their pain,
She fully wrote her intentions, even signed with her name!
"I know what you are, that none in this cemetery are fake!
This Christmas Eve you die - by gun, flame or stake!
The invites I wrote, signed LKH so no Supe would stall.
Now I’ll kill you all surely, I’ll watch you all fall."
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
The Supes they all scattered – ran for their lives,
For the Huntress they feared was soon to arrive.
And then, in a twinkling, they heard a soft click
The sound of a gun loading smooth and real slick.
The zombie tucked its rotted head, and was turning around,
When the whistle of death, took said zombie down.
Next came the Were’s in fur, from their heads to their feet,
They dodged the bullets that came on like sleet.
But it was to no avail, the Huntress was trained well,
In moments the whole pack was sent off to Hell.
The vamps were now pissed and turned Huntress to prey.
They found her crouched amid tombstones, her eyes feral and fae.
Her mouth tightened hard as she drew up her crossbow,
And the first vamp to die was as white as the snow.
The stump of another soon littered the ground,
And the smoke from the flame thrower began to circle around.
The Huntress she laughed while she ran vamps through the belly,
That shook when she twisted the blade, like a bowlful of jelly!
The last vampire held in his teeth a cheroot,
He bowed to the Huntress, a mocking salute,
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave the impression of nothing but dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the battle,
And even the Huntress was soon feeling rattled.
With one last mighty effort she laid him to rest,
Knowing she’d done all she could to give humans the best.
She sprang to her hummer, gave a sharp piercing whistle,
And away the remains flew like the down of a thistle.
In the night air she exclaimed, ‘ere she drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all humans, and to all Supes a good-night!"
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the grave
Every creature was stirring, invited to a rave.
The stockings were fish net, they had mighty flare,
In hopes that Laurell Hamilton soon would be there.
The vampires were stylin’, dressed mostly in reds,
While visions of blood donors danced in their heads.
Only one lonely zombie, a strange little chap,
Alongside the Werewolves who paced, ready to snap.
When one of the tombstones fell with a clatter,
All Supes sprang into action to see what was the matter.
The moved in a dark horde, quick as The Flash,
Surrounded the gravestone, fists ready to bash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to their blood lusting eyes should appear,
But a sharp wooden stake, and a note they all feared.
The words penned were harsh, they cut to the quick,
Even the vampires felt mildly sick.
A new Huntress was prowling, she sought only their pain,
She fully wrote her intentions, even signed with her name!
"I know what you are, that none in this cemetery are fake!
This Christmas Eve you die - by gun, flame or stake!
The invites I wrote, signed LKH so no Supe would stall.
Now I’ll kill you all surely, I’ll watch you all fall."
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
The Supes they all scattered – ran for their lives,
For the Huntress they feared was soon to arrive.
And then, in a twinkling, they heard a soft click
The sound of a gun loading smooth and real slick.
The zombie tucked its rotted head, and was turning around,
When the whistle of death, took said zombie down.
Next came the Were’s in fur, from their heads to their feet,
They dodged the bullets that came on like sleet.
But it was to no avail, the Huntress was trained well,
In moments the whole pack was sent off to Hell.
The vamps were now pissed and turned Huntress to prey.
They found her crouched amid tombstones, her eyes feral and fae.
Her mouth tightened hard as she drew up her crossbow,
And the first vamp to die was as white as the snow.
The stump of another soon littered the ground,
And the smoke from the flame thrower began to circle around.
The Huntress she laughed while she ran vamps through the belly,
That shook when she twisted the blade, like a bowlful of jelly!
The last vampire held in his teeth a cheroot,
He bowed to the Huntress, a mocking salute,
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave the impression of nothing but dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the battle,
And even the Huntress was soon feeling rattled.
With one last mighty effort she laid him to rest,
Knowing she’d done all she could to give humans the best.
She sprang to her hummer, gave a sharp piercing whistle,
And away the remains flew like the down of a thistle.
In the night air she exclaimed, ‘ere she drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all humans, and to all Supes a good-night!"
