Twas the night before Christmas, and all

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the castle not a creature was stirring, not even the shackled; the skeletons wre hung, by the chimney with care, in the hopes that

Satan Claus soon would be there. The orphans were huddled for warmth in their beds, while visions of maniacs danced in their heads. And Mummy in her tatters, and I in my hood, had

just settled our brains for a long winter's nap. When down in the cellar there arose such a shriek, I sprang from my coffin to snatch a quick peek! Away to the stairwell, I flew

like a bat, and splatted against the wall like a gnat. The people upstairs were trying the door. I gathered myself on the stairs for their horror. The stairwell's dim bulb did sput

nik impressions & I screamed in demented Russian to the people upstairs that I swore on Rasputin's pickled penis I was not a bat murderer. Au contraire, that my fraternal love for

Count Dracula and at least 2/3 of the Cullen family would prevent me from ever committing a violent crime against anything with fangs and the ability to echolocate. Therefore,

I can clearly not go down that path. Learning Battish was my only alternative. That was not an alternative I wished to consider further but every way I figured I always wound up th

At way. Expect the unexpected, this was my motto. Battish had an interesting alphabet and punctuation. Plus accent marks similar to Vietnamese. I had a notebook ready to practise.

My Battish improved daily. soon I would be able to communicate with bats everywhere and then balls. One day a stray bat and ball combo clobbered me for learning the secrets of

the game. "Balls are so re-tarred. And any fan knows that balls get a mud bath and massage beforehand." I wondered why the ball was all up in my face. Suddenly it hit me.