| Vincent Malloy siete años tiene,
Es siempre cortés y obediente.
Para su edad gentil y amable resulta ser,
Pero a Vincent Price se quiere parecer.
No le importa vivir con su hermana, perro y gatos,
Aunque preferiría compartir la casa con arañas y murciélagos.
Allí podría reflexionar sobre los horrores por él inventados,
Y deambular por oscuros corredores, sólo y atormentado.
Vincent es amable cuando lo visita su tía,
Pero, para su museo, en una estatua de cera la convertiría
Le gusta experimentar con su perro Abercrombie,
con la esperanza de crear un horrible zombie.
Así con su horripilante zombie-perro,
pueda en la bruma de Londres sus victimas buscar
No sólo sobre macabros crímenes son sus pensamientos,
Le gusta pintar y leer para pasar el tiempo.
Mientras otro niños leen a Robinson Crusoe,
El autor favorito de Vincent es Edgar Allan Poe.
Una noche cuando un macabro cuento se puso a leer,
Encontró un párrafo que lo hizo palidecer.
Noticias tan horribles sobrevivir no podría,
pues su bella esposa había sido sepultada viva.
Excavó su tumba para testimoniar que estaba muerta,
Sin saber que su madre en la tumba… tenía la huerta.
Su madre mandó a Vincent a la habitación,
Se supo desterrado a la torre de perdición.
Donde fue sentenciado a pasar el resto de sus días,
Sólo, con un retrato de su bella esposa desaparecida.
Solo y loco, confinado a su panteón,
La madre de Vincent irrumpió en la habitación.
“Si quieres puedes salir a jugar.
Esta soleado afuera y es un día espectacular.”
Vincent trató de hablar pero ni un sonido pudo articular,
Los años de destierro lo habían hecho marchitar.
Con una pluma garabateó sobre un cuaderno,
“por esta casa estoy poseído, jamás podré salir de nuevo”
Su madre dijo, “No estás poseído ni casi muerto,
Esos juegos los tienes todos adentro.
No eres Vincent Price, eres Vincent Malloy.
No estás atormentado ni loco, solamente un niño.”
“Siete años tienes y mi hijo eres,
Quiero ver como sales y te diviertes”.
Su enojo así calmado, por el hall salió,
Mientras Vincent hasta la pared lentamente retrocedió.
El cuarto comenzó a balancearse, a temblar y crujir
Su horrorosa locura comenzaba a surgir.
Vio a Abercrombie su zombie esclavo,
Y escuchó a su esposa desde la tumba llamarlo.
Desde su ataúd habló y realizó macabras demandas.
Mientras manos de esqueleto por las agrietadas paredes lo buscaban
Cada horror en sueños jamás visto,
Transformó en gritos aterrados sus alienadas carcajadas.
Para escapar de la locura, la puerta buscó,
Pero, débil y sin vida al piso cayó.
Su voz era suave y calmada,
Mientras citaba ‘El Cuervo’, de Edgar Allan Poe,
“And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted – Nevermore!
|
Vincent Malloy is seven years old,
He’s always polite and does what he’s told.
For a boy his age he’s considerate and nice,
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price.
He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cats,
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats.
There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented,
And wander dark hallways alone and tormented.
Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him,
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum.
He likes to experiment on his dog Abercrombie,
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie.
So he and his horrible zombie dog,
Could go searching for victims in the London fog.
His thoughts aren’t only of ghoulish crime,
He likes to paint and read to pass the time.
While other kids read books like Go Jane Go,
Vincent’s favorite author is Edgar Allan Poe.
One night while reading a gruesome tale,
He read a passage that made him turn pale.
Such horrible news he could not survive,
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive.
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead,
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed.
His mother sent Vincent off to his room,
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom.
Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life,
Alone with a portrait of his beautiful wife.
While alone and insane, encased in his tomb,
Vincent’s mother suddenly burst into the room.
“If you want to you can go outside and play.
It’s sunny outside and a beautiful day.”
Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak,
The years of isolation had made him quite weak.
So he took out some paper, and scrawled with a pen,
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again.”
His mother said, “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead.
These games that you play are all in your head.
You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy.
You’re not tormented or insane, you’re just a young boy.”
“You’re seven years old, and you’re my son,
I want you to get outside and have some real fun.”
Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall,
While Vincent backed slowly against the wall.
The room started to sway, to shiver and creak.
His horrid insanity had reached its peak.
He saw Abercrombie his zombie slave,
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave.
She spoke from her coffin, and made ghoulish demands.
While through cracking walls reached skeleton hands.
Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams,
Swept his mad laugh to terrified screams.
To escape the madness, he reached for the door,
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor.
His voice was soft and very slow,
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allan Poe,
“And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted – Nevermore! |
