The Clock Struck Thirteen

The night the clock chimed thirteen it was already feeling chill in the air, And the ghosts that had gathered around midnight had waited there, All expectant faces and the hopeful anticipation huddled on the stair, Only one of them would pass through the veil of death or else it wasn't fair.

On All Hallow's Eve there is a weakness in the barrier dividing our two planes, And if someone willingly dies in the mortal world a ghost comes back again, But only on the strike of thirteen by the grandfather clock if it pours with rain, Such was the nature of magic at a time of Fairy mischief in the age of their reign.

Expectant spectral faces and showers outside surely dampen their mood, The party-goers have retired the night and they seemed like a healthy brood, And though ghosts aren't always malevolent there were some rather rude, Haunting in plain sight hoping to shock and kill for the thrill of living renewed.

Yet none seemed the type to keel over and none in desperation to end it all, Time's running out our phantoms need a miracle now no matter how small, When from the attic a husband grieving for a lost love leapt off the parapet wall, And as he went down with a frown he said a prayer to that love as he did fall.

Ding ding ding.. came the last chimes at the very moment of his sorrowful death, And a ghost was indeed released into the world again as he took a last breath, "My love, my love I've come back to you," she said his own wife Annabeth, Sadly he's the one, in his grief he's gone - always a twist in fairy magic underneath!