The Devil rides out on a sensible bike, lunchbox under one arm. The weather is vile and he’s going to be late but he stays remarkably calm.

Read nothing into this show of restraint, what you see is what you receive. He’s decent and thoughtful, a model for all, a ghoul with his heart on his sleeve.


Don’t believe myths. Dispute the fable. Open your eyes. See the cards on the table. 

Never ingest what they’d have you accept. Don’t swallow lies, whether slick or inept.

A monster to someone is friend to another.

A sister of mercy and loyal blood brother.

Look past the teeth and the hair and the gore.

See the core of the entity, not the folklore.

Something you know of in terms of its vice,

Can often turn out to be actually nice.

The demon is friendly and wants to get close. If he slips through your psyche don’t think it too gross.

A wraith has a purpose, a message, moreover; it’s trying to say you’re about to pass over.

The shattered bone-china you found just last Friday, is the poltergeist’s genuine effort to tidy.

The vampire is brazen with really odd jointing, but crawls up your wall just to check on your pointing …

( … you’ll thank him when it rains … )

The Devil rides out on a second-hand bike, freecycled and saved from the tip. He’s polished the wheels and refurbished the brakes and the tyres are new and non-slip.

He indicates left as he knows he’s required, in tabard, hi-vis and hard hat. His speed is sedate and his spirit is blithe and he’s ready to stop for a chat.

Here he is at the food bank, replenishing stocks, shielding the helpless from life’s little knocks.

He’s offering to listen to everyone’s woes, he’s patient, he’s thoughtful, he’s wise.

He comes at your problems with no preconceptions, imagining life through your eyes.


Don’t believe myths and dispute the fable. Open your eyes. See the cards on the table. 

Never ingest what they’d have you accept. Don’t swallow lies, whether slick or inept.

The horror supposed in the dark of the night,

Is probably, actually, total delight.

Conditioning makes us consider the worst,

A balloon of assumption we really should burst.

Something that scares you half out of your wits,

In return almost certainly loves you to bits.

The banshee’s night screeching sounds terribly stern, but is actually wishing you Happy Returns.

The hand in your bed you find clamped to your face, is the boggart’s attempt at a gentle embrace.

The Golem runs errands, the bogeyman knits, Candyman’s full of good mindfulness tips.

Blair Witch bakes good cookies and offers them free. The Vanishing Hitchhiker lends his CD …

( … with some really good stuff on it, made the journey much quicker … ) 

The Devil rides out on rechargeable scooter, alert to the laws of the road. He’s saving the planet and keeping down noise, but declining the plaudits he’s owed. 

There’s no need to thank him, the pleasure is his, it’s the least that he feels he can do. We all share a lump of circling rock made of green and of white and of blue.

He’s put down his trident, extinguished his flames, decommissioned his thumb-screws, retired his chains.

He’s picking up litter from random hedgerows, and saving small fauna from harm.

He’s shovelling shit and scattering seed, down on the community farm.

Don’t believe myths, just dispute the fable. Open your eyes. See the cards on the table. 

Never ingest what they’d have you accept. Don’t swallow lies, whether slick or inept.

The shriek in the attic, the growl from the lawn,

The roar from the cupboard, the bellowing storm,

The howl in the mist and the wail from the moor,

The scratch, scrape and scrabble, behind the door.

Your assumption is wrong, they’re not filled with hate.

All they want from your life is to participate.

The big cat of Bodmin is hardly demonic. Her affectionate purring is quite polyphonic.

Black Shuck wants to run and to chase and do tricks. If he gnashes and howls then just throw him a stick.

The Yeti makes snowmen, Sasquatch pitches camp. She’ll build you a fire to keep out the damp.

Zombies have issues, they’re first to admit. Not least of them looking like absolute …

(Well. Yes. Sure. But then no-one’s at their best when they’ve been unexpectedly brought back from the … anyway … )

The Devil rides out on carrier trike, with child-seats and basket and bell.  A hessian bag and re-usable cup put him many long miles from Hell.

He’s a list of good deeds, wants to give up his time; eternity if it’s required. He’s honour personified, humble and mild, forbearance and love now hardwired. 

He’s tucked in his tail, he’s filed down his horns, he’s hospital-visiting, petting new-borns. 

He’s different in every conceivable way, surprising and charming. Complete.

It’s not that he’s turned over any new leaves; he was always incredibly sweet.

Don’t believe myths. Dispute the fable. Open your eyes. See the cards on the table. 

Never ingest what they’d have you accept. Don’t swallow lies, whether slick or inept.

Our eyes should be open, our hearts should be pure.

Our outlook on life should be broad and mature.

Time to refute all the stories we’ve spun.

Time to repair all the hurt that we’ve done.

Know that these creatures are misunderstood,

And actually, always, inherently good.

(Except the flying, red-eyed Mothman of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. He’s an absolute bastard. And he knows it … )