#66: June 28, 2006

Young Charles Laveuax would babble on for hours
As a child, conversing in a nonsense tongue
With unseen playmates. His folks said, "He's young,
And not yet master of his verbal powers."

But midnights in his lonely attic room
As the years passed, morose and solitary
Charles practiced his strange vocabulary
In heated arguments with God knows whom.

Till finally, at the age of seventeen,
One night the young man wakened everyone
With awful screams--his parents rushed upstairs
To find the room in shambles, bed undone
As if a frightful fight had happened there,
And bloody bedclothes where Charles should have been.