Lurking Fear

And who rests up in the attic?
In this house so ancient stands,
amongst its fellows on darkened lane,
weathered, wind beaten, and mildewed from rain.

And why when I rest I hear them so?
Soft steps of children in the dark,
above my head on floorboards creak,
with the soft steps they sag and weep.

Any when did they begin to play?
In this house so ancient stands,
some fifteen years my neighbors say,
the scarlet fever stole the kids lives away.

The dark alley behind the pub
dimly lit
late at night
walk past the butcher and the well
and see the figures shift in the light
they sit well back
from the road
and drink cheap liquor and spirits down
chased from the roads in light of day
scruffy faces, scarred and frowns
but amongst the nameless lot
and older gent rambles on
he tells of creatures under the church
that sits up on the northern empty side of town
he rants and raves, his eyes ablaze, and yells
at all who walk to close
and they just laugh and shrug him off
or treat him like they saw a ghost ( backing away )
but at night when all are asleep
and the moon is obscured by clouds
a distant leathery flapping sound
fills the air.
shadows rising from the abandoned church.
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In the center of our town
down down on N’amark street
houses divide into a circle
and there in the center the well sits

For years its waters ran the town
people gathered to fill their pails
and drank its clear and cooling draught
and washed their feet, hands, and hair

But on one mourn of hallows eve
when Mayor Colmbert took drunken steps
and stumbled to the wells small wall
then threw himself into its darkened depths

Only one can recount the tale
small Mary Pritchart watched it all
and heard the mayors laughing laughing
then distant splash ending his fall

Oh the well sits unused
once so clear, its waters now brown
they say its the body that was never found
the sealed up well in the center of town

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The meat market man
butcher, cleaver in hand
goose down piled behind his door
innards, slabs, and haunches hang
clang as he chops
scrapes as he sharpens
The thin red line of blood trickles
out of his side door to the
small sewer in the center of the street

Whomever he greets, he smiles
bloody hands waving and inviting
everyone to the flesh bounty
A slab of pork
A hunk of lamb
Some ribs of beef
Keeping the choice cuts to himself
And giving the fat laden chunks to bums in the street
Makes them happy

Across town
In a dark house a black shadow hangs
Over the inhabitants
The mother weeps
A missing child
Father drinking in the dank living room
‘Nobody knows what happend’ the police say
A tear drops from the mothers face
Into her stew
As a sinewy bit of meat rises to the top of the bubbling mass
A gift of charity from the butcher

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