In the cold, barren, North York Moors, where 'it never rains but it pours', the mist was thick and low.
As far as the eye could see, all the way to the bleak North Sea, the place seemed full of woe.
It was a two-tone landscape, and there seemed to be no escape, from the desolate terrain.
The endless rocky moors were grey, the same color as the day, and then it began to rain.
though it was more of a 'hollow'.
In this valley was a stone house, the front of which faced the south; from inside there was a glow.
The valley was covered in heath; a small stream existed beneath,
and an icy wind blew.
T'was a pitiless place to live, your life you would happily give,
if the devil asked you to.
It was the day of All Hallows, and in this valley of shadows, evening came early.
But inside a man was waking, much time he seemed to be taking, his expression rather surly.
His eyes were yellow, his skin was white, and he lived his daily life by night; he didn't like the sun.
Some said he had 'anemia', he filled the children with fear; they called him 'the strange one'.
His teeth were even scarier, were no dentists in the area, and his 'canines' were like fangs.
His tall body looked rather thin, like it were only bones and skin, and he suffered hunger pangs.
A window banged against its sill, and he was fixing it until, his ears caught a cry for help.
He discerned a foreign accent, his nose picked up a female scent; then he heard a kind of yelp.