Sitting round the camp fire
the men told each other tales
as the night went on each one
became more elaborate by turn

Tales of whoppers that got away
a few night time bed stories
of this and that very lush ladies
they swopped some hunting stories

As the fire started to die down
thoughts turned to spooky things
headless horsemen and the like
chilling in the dead of night

A sharp crack of a branch heard
making them all jump a mile
torchlight shone through the tent
the last of their company now here

He was a born narrator as he told
of the grey wolf that prowled
how the Native Americans said
to hear or see it meant death

Just then as if on cue, a howl
then they realized the narrator
was no longer there, just vanished
into the night air leaving nothing

Spooked they settled for the night
next day in a hurry they packed up
when they got back to the town
they learned the narrator had passed

On his way to join their camp out
he had been hit head on by a truck
and had died at the scene of the crash
his ghost narrated the story last night

joining them for one last time
before departing for the after life
now when ever they hear the howl
a shudder runs down their spines