Midnight: The Bewitching Hour
It is almost the bewitching hour.
The house is silent except for the throb of two clocks ticking in rhythmic, discordant, off-beat, countering patterns.
Midnight will come as the sandman visits those who are slipping into the land of nod, lost in slumbering bliss where Wynken and Blyken reside.
Ever so gently the moon rises into the ethereal starlight to grace the night sky with its eerie face-likeness; its gaze is cold, wise, and ghostly.