“To hear a knock
At 9 o’ clock
Is death to surely come,
For those who mock
His gruesome stock
Will hear his deathly hum.”

“It happens ev’ry misty night, upon the town of Grendil’s Moor.
Waves crashing, crows cawing, no one roams the streets or shore.
No one roams the place at all, save the sickly and the poor,
But nothing plain, and nothing more.

Daniel Knock is his name, whose name is feared and abhorred.
He never steals from the sick, and never, ever from the poor,
But from the plain, and all the more.

To speak of such a dark man’s lore
And of his precious Eleanor,
Will have his knock thrust on thy door
And have thee carve into thy pores.

But since I have come quite of age
His story is my final wage,
To teach the youth from this torn page
A tale complete with love and rage.

Daniel Knock was a poor lad,
His father a butcher, and quite mad.
And even though this made him sad
He had a girl who made him glad.

A girl by the name of Eleanor,
A girl whose skin was of most fair,
With precious eyes and golden hair,
Who gave to him a friendly air
Through a tame yet wild stare.

And ev’ry night at 9 o’clock
Upon her door did Daniel knock
In hopes that once again they’d talk,
But soon young Daniel fell in shock.

For her father scorned a son,
Whose class was low with wealth of none,
And as so did her father’s words
Make the poor young Daniel run.
So then this made young Daniel ponder,
Thoughts amuck, and left to wonder
If he could change the tides of fate
To save him from his own name’s squander.

“I’ll be a doctor,” Daniel said,
To practice amongst the meat of the dead
From which his father cut and bled,
So he can partake in another’s stead.

And once his work was then complete
He return’d to where they’d meet,
But time had passed, and Eleanor wed,
Leaving Daniel in defeat.

His heart was broken, but not gone
For only a battle had he not won.
This war of love loomed in his mind,
And so he thought, “I will get what is mine.”

With nervous hands, he continued to knock
Upon her door at 9 o’clock
To take her hand from a wealthy man,
Who treated her with a sadistic hand.

Her husband grew tired as knocks pursued,
Leaving him in a violent mood,
An ember that sparked a vicious flame,
Thinking Eleanor was to blame.

So on a dark and misty night
Out of mean and hateful spite,
Eleanor’s husband strangled her neck,
Believing death would make things right.

For love she never came to show
This man that she was forc’d to bestow
Her love and life, but ‘twas a scandal,
For who she truly loved was Daniel.

And when the public came to hear
The one that Daniel held so dear
Was killed, they thought he’d be a griever,
But instead he grabbed his cleaver.

And on a night at 9 o’clock
There came a very similar knock
Where Eleanor’s husband stood in her place
As Daniel stood with a wicked face.

Then Eleanor’s husband came to cry
As his face was skinned alive
For vengeance did Daniel arrive
And for pain did he so strive.

A faceless body lay on the ground
As Daniel thought without a sound,
“I will bring her back to life
With the magic of this knife.”

For when he found Eleanor’s remains
Her neck and face held countless strains
From a mean and violent man,
The husband which she could not stand.

So Daniel beheaded and stole her rot,
And took along with him a pot
And carv’d into faces, including his own
To make the face that he had known.

So he vowed to find what he had lost:
Skin of which that was most fair,
Precious eyes and golden hair,
Things that gave a friendly air,
And a tame yet wild stare.
It is said that he roams the streets,
To find finest bits of meats
From the plain and everything more,
To bring back his own Eleanor.

But if you wish to stay astray
From this bad man’s wicked ways
Respect your girls and push off greed
If you not wish your skin to bleed.

But I must mention one thing more:
To speak his name brings gruesome gore,
And if you not trust in this man’s lore
Listen close: ‘tis a knock at my door.