fifi’s graffiti and graveyards

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding–riding–riding–up to the old inn-door.

Yesterday the cold came riding in like the highwayman….
It had been warm earlier in the week, almost summer, until the wind came blowing through; a repeat of last weekend. At midnight I thought the steps at the back door were covered in snow, but it was the moon. It was so bright it rivaled the sun’s early glow, but this was a ghostly glow. It would be strange to walk about in such a cold light. It was the moon of the undead, and I shivered. I called Phoebe inside before they made their way from the cemetery to the back yard. I quickly shut the door against them, but it was too late. They were already inside….in my television.

whose bright idea was it to broadcast “Night of the Living Dead” last night?