Tiptoe round the corner,

Or you’ll be sure to mourn her.

Up the stairs, down the hall,

Lightly grazing the patterned wall.

Tick tock, time’s almost up,

Get to going or you’ll be stuck.

Run to the room, silent and steady.

Regardless, you’ll never be ready.

You’ll pant, you’ll huff and you’ll scramble,

But no matter, so hear this preamble:

Wait in your closet till you hear the drum,

Door shut tightly, might the monsters come.