Nicholas Thorburn: Open my door, thought I was alone, but—
Clement Clarke Moore: And he whistled, and shouted.
Thorburn: And something didn’t feel right. Someone was hiding.
Moore: Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash—his droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.
Thorburn: In the dark room in my home.
Moore: He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.
Thorburn: Hum it, you will remember some of it.
Moore: When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Thorburn: Crawled in through the window.
Moore: And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
Thorburn: Shining in the moonlight.
Moore: As I drew in my head, and was turning around—
Thorburn: I grabbed the kitchen knife.