The previous thread on this sub has been locked, so I'm going to post my story here.

Hello, i'm an Iraq veteran and I've been seeing a lot of posts on here about "night prophets" and how creepy they are, so I guess I'll share my story. So, I've been in the military for 5 years. I've been stationed in Iraq for about 14 months now. Things are kinda loud sometimes here, and it's not uncommon to have to wake up in the middle of the night and suit up to take cover. One night, things were particularly bad. We were getting hit by mortars left and right. While we were taking cover, a voice with a British accent called out. "Oh dear chaps, things seem to be rather the worst they've ever been." A few other soldiers and I looked around. "Where is that coming from?" another guy asked. "I don't know," I said, "but we need to find him and get him to cover." "Right-o." the voice replied. A man crawled over. He was wearing a long coat and a tan pith helmet. He carried an old style lantern. "Hello, old chap." he said. "My name is Reginald Pembly the third, but you may call me Reggie if you like." "Is... Is this guy for real?" another soldier asked. "Of course," Reggie replied. "And I say, old chap, this is quite the pickle you lot have found yourselves in!" "Sir," I said, "you need to take cover. It isn't safe." "Quite right." he replied. "But don't you chaps worry. Things aren't quite as they seem." "Sir," another soldier said, "we need to focus on the situation at hand." "Oh, yes, yes, of course. The situation at hand." He pulled out a small notebook. "You see, I've written out the events of this night. You see, this is what's going to happen." "Sir! We need to focus on the situation!" "Quite right, of course. But first, let me tell you, you chaps are in need of some inspiration. And so, I shall read this." He cleared his throat. "When the sand is red, and the winds do howl Take cover, chaps, for the martyrs' role When the rockets fall, and the bombs do burst Take cover, chaps, for the fight has just begun to stew When the dust gets thick, and the winds do moan Take cover, chaps, the devils are at the gate, all in a row So cover up, chaps, for the fight has just begun" He scribbled in the notebook, blowing on the ink. "You see, I've changed the poem. And with it, the situation." As if on cue, the attacks let up, and an eerie calm set in. "You see, chaps, I am a night prophet." "A...a what?" "A night prophet, of course! I'm afraid the nights are filled with all manner of dark creatures and ne'er-do-wells. But never fear, for the night prophets are always nearby." "Night...night prophets?" another soldier asked. "Why, yes! We've been around since the beginning of time. We roam the nights, seeking out the innocent, and protecting them from harm." "Protecting them?" I asked. "How?" "Why, with our poetry, of course!" "Your poetry?" "Why, yes! You see, the poems we write are imbued with magic. When read aloud, they have the power to alter the course of events. For example, if one were to be speaking to a vampire, and read a poem about the sun coming up, why, the sun would come up, wouldn't it?" "That's amazing!" "Quite, isn't it old chap? But I'm afraid the poems aren't very good at the whole predictive part. But rest assured, the night prophets are always on the lookout for you." Reggie tipped his hat and walked off into the darkness. Since the attack had let up, we decided to get some shut eye. When I woke up the next morning, I wrote this poem: When the sand is red, and the winds do howl Take cover, chaps, for the martyrs' role When the rockets fall, and the bombs do burst Take cover, chaps, for the fight has just begun to stew When the dust gets thick, and the winds do moan Take cover, chaps, the devils are at the gate, all in a row So cover up, chaps, for the fight has just begun And when you can't think, and you've begun to run Take up your pens, and write in the night For in the poems you'll find your only light And if you're lucky, you may just find A night prophet to be your guide He'll be the one running with the lantern in hand Tipping his hat, taking a stand Against the monsters, and the devils in the night With only a book, and a pen to hold the light So listen for him. Listen for his voice For when the situation gets dire, and all else is lost You'll need a night prophet, to make it through the night He'll be your only friend, when the bombs drop like rain And the only light, in an otherwise pitch black world of pain So if you ever meet a Reggie, take a moment to listen For the nights are dark, and the devils are kicking But with a Reggie by your side, you'll make it through the night And the devils at the gate will take flight And the dust will settle, and the sun will shine bright And the Reggies of the world will stand and fight And the night will be filled, with the light of their guiding light. I read the poem aloud, and a man crawled up. "Hello, old chap," he said. "My name is Reginald Pembly the third, but you may call me Reggie if you like." I smiled. "Hello, Reggie." "You see, chaps," he said, "I told you the poems never were very good at the whole prediction part."

The previous thread on this sub has been locked, so I'm going to post my story here.

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