Below is a poem, with comments beneath by RLS about his childhood fears.
As children we used to sing this to appropriately spooky music by Charles Stanford, but I can't find a recording to play here.

Robert Louis Stevenson
Windy Nights

Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.

"I had an extreme terror of Hell, implanted in me, I suppose, by my good nurse, which used to haunt me terribly on stormy nights, when the wind had broken loose and was going about the town like a bedlamite. I remember that the noises on such occasions always grouped themselves for me into the sound of a horseman, or rather a succession of horsemen, riding furiously past the bottom of the street and away up the hill into town; I think even now that I hear the terrible howl of his passage, and the clinking that I used to attribute to his bit and stirrups. On such nights I would lie awake and pray and cry, until I prayed and cried myself asleep"

          Flannan Isle

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson (1878-1962)

  "THOUGH three men dwell on Flannan Isle
  To keep the lamp alight,
  As we steered under the lee, we caught
  No glimmer through the night."

  A passing ship at dawn had brought
  The news; and quickly we set sail,
  To find out what strange thing might ail
  The keepers of the deep-sea light.

  The Winter day broke blue and bright,
  With glancing sun and glancing spray,
  As o'er the swell our boat made way,
  As gallant as a gull in flight.

  But, as we neared the lonely Isle;
  And looked up at the naked height;
  And saw the lighthouse towering white,
  With blinded lantern, that all night
  Had never shot a spark
  Of comfort through the dark,
  So ghostly in the cold sunlight
  It seemed, that we were struck the while
  With wonder all too dread for words.
  And, as into the tiny creek
  We stole beneath the hanging crag,
  We saw three queer, black, ugly birdsÂ
  Too big, by far, in my belief,
  For guillemot or shagÂ
  Like seamen sitting bolt-upright
  Upon a half-tide reef:
  But, as we neared, they plunged from sight,
  Without a sound, or spurt of white.

  And still to mazed to speak,
  We landed; and made fast the boat;
  And climbed the track in single file,
  Each wishing he was safe afloat,
  On any sea, however far,
  So it be far from Flannan Isle:
  And still we seemed to climb, and climb,
  As though we'd lost all count of time,
  And so must climb for evermore.
  Yet, all too soon, we reached the doorÂ
  The black, sun-blistered lighthouse-door,
  That gaped for us ajar.

  As, on the threshold, for a spell,
  We paused, we seemed to breathe the smell
  Of limewash and of tar,
  Familiar as our daily breath,
  As though 't were some strange scent of death:
  And so, yet wondering, side by side,
  We stood a moment, still tongue-tied:
  And each with black foreboding eyed
  The door, ere we should fling it wide,
  To leave the sunlight for the gloom:
  Till, plucking courage up, at last,
  Hard on each other's heels we passed,
  Into the living-room.

  Yet, as we crowded through the door,
  We only saw a table, spread
  For dinner, meat and cheese and bread;
  But, all untouched; and no one there:
  As though, when they sat down to eat,
  Ere they could even taste,
  Alarm had come; and they in haste
 ...

Theme in Yello
by Carl Sandburg

I Spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October
When dusk is fallen
Children join hands
And circle round me
Singing ghost songs
And love to the harvest moon;
I am a jack-o'-lantern
With terrible teeth
And the children know
I am fooling.

Not exactly spooky, but I feel it could easily have happened on a dark evening at the end of October....

Porphyria's Lover

The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
and did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me--she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

Robert Browning

"The Death Poem"

Have you ever thought as the hearse goes by
that you may be the next to die?
They wrap you in a big white sheet
that's from your head down to your feet.
They put you in a big black box
and cover you up with dirt and rocks.
All goes well for about a week,
but then your coffin begins to leak.
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
the worms play pinochle on your snout!
Writhing maggots, baby flies
crawl in your stomach and out your eyes.
Your stomach turns a slimy green
and pus pours out like whipping cream.
You spread it on a slice of bread
And that's what you eat when you are dead.

Oh, gross! elliottb, I hadn't thought of that little ditty in years and years.

My favorite poem for Hallowe'en will always be:
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

INSCRIBED WITH ALL FAITH AND AFFECTION

To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.

LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em, an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

I love these - I'm going to read them to my 10 year old grandson this evening and really try to frighten him!

I'm emailing these to all my children and grandchildren. At one time in my life, I could recite Little Orphan Annie. Our second grade teacher had read it to us every day in October, and by the end of the month, we were reciting it right along with her! Thank you all, for your contributions, and for the memories that some of them have revived.

Not quite sure that Porphyria's Lover is suitable for children....