A Lovecraftian "Night Before Christmas" by Michael Ebertz, from the HPLHS page on Facebook
Twas the eve of the morning, all cultists do dread When the yammering, vile young ones all climb out of bed
Their fat little faces shining red with delight,
As they swarm for their presents, a reprehensible sight.
Alone with my thoughts re: Cthulhu asleep,
Somewhere in the ocean, and buried quite deep.
A smidgeon of slobber oozed down from my chin,
As I considered R’lyeh, and what lay within.
I drifted off slowly in Morphean bliss,,
And sank ‘neath the waves to that stygian abyss.
And just as the tendrils reached up to embrace,
The illusion was shattered as snow touched my face
To be awakened from slumber, oh what a fell blow!
But adding insult to injury a thrown ball of snow?
So some shrieking child tossed this in from outside,
Christmas is one thing, but this? This I cannot abide
.
I went to the window where the snow had come through,
And searched for the culprit as I shook with ague
This loathsome miscreant would pay for his sin,
I’d give him a thrashing…and upon exposed skin
I put on my slippers, took my robe from the door,
And proceeded to bellow a stentorian roar,
Withered and gone was my lovely sleep-dreaming,
Yet replaced it would be with prodigious child-screaming
Often one’s machinations go wildly awry,
And we’re left in ruination despite a fair try,
Cyclopean stones we once sought to erect,
Become mired in stagnation, decay through neglect,
And so fared my plans on this cold winter night,
To garner revenge upon this young unseen wight,
As I strode purposefully, down stairs and through door,
I halted abruptly at something etched into the floor,
There in front of the snowmelt, and the rug soaking wet,
An unutterable glyph, I can never forget,
It was saffron in colour, a deep golden hue,
It moved and pulsated, common sense to eschew
Yet though twas viperous in its own uncouth way,
What happened thereafter made me kneel down and pray:
“Oh Great One who slumbers.” I plaintively wailed,
“Cthulhu fhtagn!” I cried. Yet I failed.
This indescribable symbol, though crass it appeared,
Was as nothing compared to the thing I now feared,
There at the door stood a terrible man,
Robed also in saffron, with skin pale and wan
The tattered, seared cloth in which he chose to be clad,
Was foetid and dank and seemed the definition of bad,
But what was the worst was the face I now viewed,
Its pallid terse movements with madness imbued
Averting my eyes, I searched… a question to ask.
“You are wondering why I wear such a mask?”
I nodded quite quickly, for he’d read my true mind,
His answer, “I wear none.” Caused my eyes to go blind.
“You answered another.” He said. “When I sought.
Yet, now I am here and whether you like it or not.
My paying a visit was an unexpected result,
Of course now you realize, you joined the wrong cult.”
Their fat little faces shining red with delight,
As they swarm for their presents, a reprehensible sight.
Alone with my thoughts re: Cthulhu asleep,
Somewhere in the ocean, and buried quite deep.
A smidgeon of slobber oozed down from my chin,
As I considered R’lyeh, and what lay within.
I drifted off slowly in Morphean bliss,,
And sank ‘neath the waves to that stygian abyss.
And just as the tendrils reached up to embrace,
The illusion was shattered as snow touched my face
To be awakened from slumber, oh what a fell blow!
But adding insult to injury a thrown ball of snow?
So some shrieking child tossed this in from outside,
Christmas is one thing, but this? This I cannot abide
.
I went to the window where the snow had come through,
And searched for the culprit as I shook with ague
This loathsome miscreant would pay for his sin,
I’d give him a thrashing…and upon exposed skin
I put on my slippers, took my robe from the door,
And proceeded to bellow a stentorian roar,
Withered and gone was my lovely sleep-dreaming,
Yet replaced it would be with prodigious child-screaming
Often one’s machinations go wildly awry,
And we’re left in ruination despite a fair try,
Cyclopean stones we once sought to erect,
Become mired in stagnation, decay through neglect,
And so fared my plans on this cold winter night,
To garner revenge upon this young unseen wight,
As I strode purposefully, down stairs and through door,
I halted abruptly at something etched into the floor,
There in front of the snowmelt, and the rug soaking wet,
An unutterable glyph, I can never forget,
It was saffron in colour, a deep golden hue,
It moved and pulsated, common sense to eschew
Yet though twas viperous in its own uncouth way,
What happened thereafter made me kneel down and pray:
“Oh Great One who slumbers.” I plaintively wailed,
“Cthulhu fhtagn!” I cried. Yet I failed.
This indescribable symbol, though crass it appeared,
Was as nothing compared to the thing I now feared,
There at the door stood a terrible man,
Robed also in saffron, with skin pale and wan
The tattered, seared cloth in which he chose to be clad,
Was foetid and dank and seemed the definition of bad,
But what was the worst was the face I now viewed,
Its pallid terse movements with madness imbued
Averting my eyes, I searched… a question to ask.
“You are wondering why I wear such a mask?”
I nodded quite quickly, for he’d read my true mind,
His answer, “I wear none.” Caused my eyes to go blind.
“You answered another.” He said. “When I sought.
Yet, now I am here and whether you like it or not.
My paying a visit was an unexpected result,
Of course now you realize, you joined the wrong cult.”