Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the den
Not a creature was stirring, not even a lycan.
The spiders and wolfsbane were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Vladimir soon would be there.
The monsters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of moonlight danced in their heads.
And Drac in his coffin, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our fangs for a long winter’s nap.
When out in the belfry there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the crypt to see what was the matter.
Away up to the graveyard I flew like a flash,
Tore open the mausoleum and ran into the bash.
The moon shining down on the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of daytime to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a count, and eight of his monster friends that he holds dear.
With following darkness, he was quite something to fear,
I knew in a moment it must be St Vladimir.
More rapid than vultures his followers they came,
And he hissed, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now werewolves! now, witches! now, goblins and ghouls!
Come, vampires! Come, trolls! come zombies and demons! My fools!
To the top of the tomb! to the top of the vault!
Now mash away! Mash away! Mash away never to halt!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they danced away without fear or reason to why.
So whirled they did into the night, and witches crackling over their brew,
With Christmas delight, St Vladimir did too.