When I was twelve and at the park,
I met the strangest thing.
It sat behind a big oak tree,
And smelt of garbage bins.

I peeked at it behind the oak.
It saw me straight away.
It smirked and spoke (or did he growl?),
“So how are you today?”

I’d never seen a thing like this;
Its form was not quite right.
To see it made me shudder,
Though I stared more than polite.

His eyes had pierced right through me,
Two red and scalding coals
He pulled his coat around him,
As he sat amongst the shoals.

“You can call me Mr. Vine,”
He continued on to say.
“I know your name already.”
He sniffed, then turned away.

“Do you want to know a secret?”
He stared out to the lake.
“It really is a good one,
No better one to take.”

“You see, I have been sitting here
For such a child as you,
To tell this perfect secret…
I think that you will do.”

“Come closer, dear,” he looked at me,,
Once more with gleaming eyes.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to whisper it,
To shy from prying minds.”

I took a few steps closer…
The last thing I recall,
His feet, all clawed and scaly,
As I hit the mossy floor.

Five years go by and here am I
Not quite sure what has changed
Since the day I met a demon
That took my soul away.