Here's my Halloween Showcase story for 2007.. I have used the the tale.. "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe.. so sit back, turn off all the lights and prepared to be scared!
Scary wishes.. from Emily.. mwahahaha!

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten Lore-- while I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my camber door. "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow from my book surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore-- for the rare and radient madien whom the angels name Lenore-- nameless here forevermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; so that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-- some late visitor entreating enterance at my chamber door-- this it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer, "sir" said I, "or madam, truely your forgiveness I implore; but the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, that I scarce was sure I heard you"

-- here I opened wide the door,- darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering , long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmered back the word, "Lenore!" merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "surely," I said "surely that is something at my window lattice; let me see, then, what threat is, and this mystery explore-- let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-- 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and a flutter, in there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; but, with the mein of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-- perched upon a bust of pallas just above my chamber door-- perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "through thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore-- tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!" quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, through its answer little meaning-- little relevancy bore; for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-- bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, with such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only that one word, as if his soul in that one word did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered-- not a feather then he fluttered-- till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-- on the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by the reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is only stock and store caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-- till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore of 'Never-nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird or yore meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; this and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining on the cushions velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, but whose velvet-violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, she shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer swung by sersphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufled floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God has lent thee-- by these angels he hath sent thee respite-- respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quath the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-- prophet still, if bird or devil!-- whether temper sent, or weather tempest tossed thee here ashore, desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted on this home by horror hunted-- tell me truely, I implore-- is there-- is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!" Quath the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-- prophet still, if bird or devil!-- By that heaven bends above us-- by that God we both adore-- tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- clasp a rare and radient maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quath the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--"get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonion shore! Leave no black plume as a token of the lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out thy heart, and take thy form from off my door! Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on the pallid bust of pallace just above my chamber door, and his eyes have all the seeming of a deamon's that is dreaming, and the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor; shall be lifted-- nevermore!

*******************************THE END*******************************
Are you scared yet? I sure hope so! mwahaha......
..HAPPY HALLOWEEN..
From Emily -xxx-