There was a crooked man
And he had a crooked smile
He had all crooked teeth
they'd been crooked for a while

He had a crooked house
on a crooked little road
with a crooked little garden
with a crooked little toad

He had a crooked dog
with a crooked little tail
he had a crooked mailbox
for his crooked little mail

he had some crooked dreams
in his crooked little bed
he saw crooked little monsters
in his crooked little head

he had two crooked children
with his crooked little spouse
they weren't with the crooked man
he was a crooked little louse

he ate his crooked dinner
off of crooked little plates
he lived in crooked silence
behind his crooked little gate

this crooked little man
and his crooked little self
is in a crooked urn
up on a crooked little shelf

his crooked heart attacked him
on a crooked little ride
his crooked body gave on out
and the crooked man...just died

The dream last night had seemed so real… But it was just a dream, right? Those shadows, the messages on the mirror, the walls, all the groaning and the shuffling of feet… That was all just a dream, right?
     This is all just a dream, right?
     Fairly ridiculous question to be asking yourself as you’re being chased through the halls by this… this, this thing. Whatever this is. Its neck is limp, head resting on its shoulder. Its grin is huge, its face coated in blood.
     Have you ever heard the children’s rhyme about the Crooked Man?
There was a crooked man,
Who walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence
Upon a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat,
Which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together,
In a little crooked house.
     This… thing, you’re being chased by, that you’re fighting off with a fruit knife, that you’re setting on fire and pushing into holes and still won’t die…
    This is the Crooked Man.
     I wonder if this is all the Crooked Man knew?
     His crooked house, his crooked relationships, his crooked… crooked body…
     His body’s only crooked because of the rope, though.
     Maybe he couldn’t handle being crooked anymore? All he knew was a crooked life, all he owned were crooked things.
     I wonder why he’s chasing you.
     It could be to drag you down, to slaughter you, to make you feel his pain… More than you already have… To make you end up like him.
     Your pasts are so similar…
     Or maybe it’s to warn you. To say, “Don’t end up like me.” To make sure that you don’t die the way he died. The way he staggers, his limp neck, head hanging loosely, his unrealistically large grin…
     Why did he make you put that gun to your head, then? Why is he trying to drag you down?
That’s a problem for you to figure out on your own. But you’d better hurry.
     By the way, I noticed earlier… Your neck is a little crooked.

(This one was based off the video game, The Crooked Man. Yaay, video games.)

I met a man along the road
And crooked was his smile
Crooked were the steps he took
Along his crooked miles

His arms were long, his fingers too
Though neither pointed straight
His legs were like two twisted ropes
And cause his crooked gait

He flashed a crooked grin at me
And bared his crooked teeth
He wore a crooked coat of black
and no shirt underneath

His body was a twisted mess
Jutting all around
His crooked bones rattled and cracked
As he shuffled ‘cross the ground

“And to where do you go?” His crooked voice rasped
I pretended not to hear
“Answer me my new young friend,
There’s nothing for you to fear.”

“I do not know,” I whispered back
“I know not where I roam.
but I know life lies ahead,
and behind me lies my home.”

“And where are your friends?” he asked of me
A crooked gleam in his eye.
“They did not want to come,” I said.
“I never did learn why.”

“My boy that’s cause they do not care,
You’re not worth caring for!
Look at you; useless, dumb
Weak, ugly, and poor.”

“Well how far have you come?” he asked.
“13 years,” I said
“Only 13?!” his broken voice creaked
“Oh, you’re sure to end up dead.”

“Better men have walked here than you,
More experienced, and with more help.
They died here alone, and so too will you.
You’re an insignificant whelp.”
_____________

I tried to ignore him, really I did
I fought back against all his lies.
But one cruel blow, on one cruel night
I looked straight in the Crooked Man’s eyes.

Then before I could scream
My heart broke at the seem
And I felt an unyielding pain

My insides were hollow
Mouth too dry to swallow
I begged, “Please, make it stop!”

So he took out a brand
And placed it in my hand
“Burn it out of your skin.”

Then he watched with a smile
Relaxed for a while
As my agony tickled his ears

Though I did as he bade
He took out a blade
“Not enough, try harder my boy!”

But the blade and the brand
One in each hand
Could not purge the sorrow within

So covered in scars
Beneath all the stars
The rest of my life began

I fell to my knees as the crooked man laughed
He placed a crooked hand on my head
“Ignorant boy,” he said with some joy

“You’re mine until you’re dead.”
____________


For five long years we walked together
Every night a repeat of the first
And when others would pass, I’d smile and laugh
They never knew I was cursed

Then one fateful night the Crooked Man said
“You’ve grown so dull and so dry!”
He gave me the knife and said, “End your life.”
“I believe its past time that you die.”

I placed the knife against my neck
And felt the familiar blade
Just one more cut, like all the rest
And my tortured life would fade

I closed my eyes then took a breath
And felt myself let go
But right before I did the deed
My broken heart said…”no”

“no” I said, then “No” I growled
Then “NO!” I screamed and screamed!
I threw the knife into the dirt
And doused the brand that gleamed

I turned toward the Crooked Man
His smile had withered away
“Pick that up you worthless cur!”
He tried his best to say

I charged at him with all I had
We fell hard into the mud
“You’ll never win,” he grunted, “You’re weak!
You’ve lost far too much blood!”

“I have a home you wicked thing!
Some friends and a family too!
And I’ll never die, nor even try
If it means they’re left with you!”
_____________

I still wrestle with the crooked man
And sometimes he almost wins
But I refuse to lose to him
nor surrender to his whims

“I’ll never let you go,” I say,
“Or let you get ahead.
Because you filthy sack of sin

You’re mine until you’re dead.