Horrors, Terrors, Errors

The darkness waits beyond the door,

With slasher's blade and werewolf's claw,

With vampire's fang and ancient curse,

Two dozen horrors trapped in verse,

In sonnets, terzanelle, a blitz,

An Irish form that shreds one's wits,

And new inventions, wrought to thrill,

So step inside, there's blood to spill