Author's Note: This small story came to mind because we're studying poems in my English class. Although I haven't really tried my hand at poetry, I figured I might as well make a story out of these poems. And don't worry; I'm not giving up on my other stories. Happy reading!-AMX

Eddy was sitting at his desk at home, staring at the still blank piece of paper in front of him. What the heck had his English teacher been thinking?! Why did he have to get such a stupid assignment? However, Eddy knew there would be consequences if he didn't do this assignment; his grades were bad enough, and he had already received some severe tongue lashings from his father for it. But how was he supposed to do the assignment if he didn't have any ideas?

So Eddy did the only logical thing he could think of. He picked up his phone and called the smartest person he knew: his friend Edd (aka Double D).

"Still having trouble, Eddy?" the slightly annoyed voice on the other end asked.

"I can't get any good ideas!" said Eddy.

"Well, I have this assignment too, Eddy," said Double D. "And I refuse to give you any more ideas if you're going to keep saying that all my suggestions are 'lame'."

"Well, all your ideas are boring!" said Eddy. "I just need to . . . "

"Good-bye, Eddy."

Click.

"No! Double D! Don't hang . . . " But it was too late. The line was dead.

Eddy sighed and hung up the phone. Man, he wasn't getting a break anywhere today! Well, he obviously couldn't get any help from Double D, that no-good friend!

That's when Eddy's eyes fell on it. The dusty old map kept on his desk. He knew all too well what it was for. It was the map that led him to Halloween Town. Eddy remembered how he, Double D, and their other friend, Ed, followed that map, only to meet a friendly skeleton by the name of Jack Skellington. He remembered how Jack's crazy plan to take over Christmas that year helped him and Eddy realize that they had something in common: they missed Eddy's older brother.

"Man, I wish Jack was here," said Eddy. "He likes this mushy poem stuff . . . "

That's when Eddy's eyes lit up. A small flame of an idea was building. But could he make something out of it. Without thinking, he picked up his pencil, and words began appearing across his paper.

My Night with the King
A poem by Eddy

He is the
Undisputed king
Of moonlit terror.
The bravest tremble
At the sound of his name.
Fear follows him
Wherever he goes,
And his performances
Result in worldwide fame.

He's tall and frail
To the point that
It's unhuman,
To say the least.
His high-pitched shrieks
Make all who hear it
Turn pale;
He's described as
A truly frightening beast.

But like in most cases,
Looks are deceiving.

Here he is:
The Fright Master,
who has it all.
A true king.

But I ask you this:
Have you ever
Met a king
Whose only wish
Was to throw it all away?

It's true;
This legend was
A terror at night,
But an emotional mess
Throughout the day.

Then, one day, by chance,
He found something new.
A truly remarkable sight it was.
It was nothing
Like the things he had
Back home.
He wanted it all
For himself.

And unfortunately . . .
I was brought along
For the ride.

He said I was the expert,
And that I can't deny.
But before anyone knew it
He took the whole thing
To a whole another level.

Before I knew it,
We were both flying
In the starry sky
Unaware of the danger
Happening below us.

And then . . .
It happened.

When we came to,
We realized we had been
Shot down and abandoned.

Rejected.
Failed.
Shattered.

But that didn't stop him.
Not by a long shot.

Before I knew it,
We were at it again
And we were able
To save our friends.

A lot happened that night.
But one thing stood out
Above all the rest.

You see, this new friend
And I
Found something out
That's more important to us
Than anything else.

We both miss someone dearly.

And that someone is . . .
A secret.

But I will tell you this:
That's one night
I will not soon forget.

That was,
and is,
My Night with the King.

Eddy put his pencil down. He stared at the words he had absent-mindedly written on his paper. Had he really written all of that?

He sat back in his chair in disbelief. He had taken one idea and turned it into a full-length poem. And he had hardly even been trying! He looked at his poem again.

"Eddy's Poetry School . . . " he said out loud. "A little feminine, but not a bad idea . . . "