A lone Man Walks A Dark Road

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A Lone Man Walks a Dark Road

A lone man walks a dark road into the town they called Lorraine
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.

He wears a cloak of black bears hide about his neck hang its lethal claws.
He holds contempt for all mans' courts and all of their dainty laws.
Chaotic are his wayward locks about a stern forbidding face.
What knows this man of pity? None, no not the slightest trace.

His name is Gregory Hardboughs. When last he heard it called?
It must have been quite long ago for he hardly knows of it at all.
His bearskin boots have traveled many a frightful land of dread
wandered forbidden pathways no others' boots have dared to tread.
What frightful Norn in vengeance cold set his feet upon that cobbled way?
No one knows now or none will dare to say.

King Vladimir proclaimed a land grant and thus he hoped to tame
this lonely twisted land of rumor-haunted fame.
So many forlorn yet eager souls went forth to cast their doubtful lot
along a narrow twisted cobbled road to farm a sunlight-strangled plot.
But the earth was rich and ebon black and full of wormy life
and from it came a harvest dear of tears and bitter strife.

A lone man walks a dark road into the town they called Lorraine
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.

So with bold steps Gregory made his way at last up to the high seat
and said this to the magistrate, "Ah, what a pleasure sir to meet."
He searched the county map for the most remote of spots
and when he saw what he wanted, he thought, "Ah, this is the perfect plot."

"Oh no!" Exclaimed the Magistrate. "Oh no!" Spoke the wigged Judge.”

"Surely you jest good sir, please do compromise.
Pick out some other plot, be very, very wise."

"I am no prancing jester and this be not a lark.
Where do I sign my weighty pledge and leave my lawful runic mark."

Now all this Father Rainer heard and foreboding filled his pious soul
and begged the man be reasonable and therefore not to go.
He took the burly man aside and led him to his humble door
and showed him hidden documents beneath the altar floor.
"Forgive me if I have to laugh but I must make myself quite plain
I never saw a creature yet that with cold iron be not quickly slain.
If you are quite finished sir, my own counsel I must still attend.
Father Ranier sighed, "This will turn out dreadful and have bitter end."

"Oh no!" Exclaimed the Nursemaid. "Oh no!" Spoke the wigged Governess.

"Now we shall all be cursed and cast into the lashing fire
we are all in danger, dreadful and most dire."

So they gathered round to wag their sharpened tongues
and bellow forth dire warnings at the top of their lungs.

"Listen to us common folk and thereby save your skin
to go beyond the Hanging Oak is every bit a sin.
For there beyond an evil waits with sharp and deadly eyes
to fill the heart with wickedness, to mislead the soul with lies."

"You listen closely to each others' lofty toned speech
but no time will I waste on you knaves who do so love to preach."

"We shall not be responsible and from you we'll turn away.
If you don't listen closely to the advice we give this day."

Now many years went rolling past since last he passed this way.
But there was something different in the bundle he held tenderly today.
For from this cradled bundle came a small and lonely cry
"Oh, please! Give me some milk so the lad will not have to die!"

"Oh no!" Exclaimed the Nursemaid. "Oh no!" Spoke the wigged Governess."

"For I thought we made it clear to you upon that fateful day
and did we not warn you that from you we'd turn away?"

"Who was this child's mother from whence did it arrive?
I'll have naught to do with it as long as I'm alive!
It's unnatural, a child of dark descent,
born of the spirit world and full of foul intent."

Now life went on and all the pious town folk nearly had forgot
about Gregory Hardboughs and his rumored misbegot.
The livestock were found their corpses torn and rent,
their precious lifeblood had every drop been spent.

It started out just one or two, then three or four, then ten.
No one knew what was happening and so they hired men.
To track and kill this wanton beast that left destruction in its’ wake
and every night in their beds the town folk would quake.

To hear some news the villagers all gathered close around
and when the town crier began no one made the slightest sound.
"The dead men's bones where found bleaching beneath the noonday sun
stinging gnats and black flies swarming over every blessed one.
Black carrion birds enjoyed a dreadful feast, so to say,
and that marauding killer beastie has gotten clean away."

"Oh no!" Exclaimed the Magistrate. "Oh no!" Spoke the wigged Judge.

Then from the wood sprang a man with rashness in his stride
with a blazing look of lunacy that no one could abide.
"A Lad we sent to hunt and kill that dreadful thing!
I wonder what news the lad will have to bring?"
But from the Lad's blood-caked lips never came a sound
unless to spout gibberish as if no one were around.

Now Father Ranier arose and told them of a plan to undertake.
"You must send for the witch hunter of that make no mistake.
Send a message to the Church and tell them of our plight
we must let them know now, it would only be right."
The magistrate loudly proclaimed that he did agree
and so they sent a formal letter with a dire plea.

A lone man travels a dark road into the town they called Lorraine
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.

He wears a broad brim hat. His cape is long and dark.
His dire face has brought forth more than one hushed remark.
A pilgrim's soul he hides beneath that grim and steely mask
and if you need the sword of god he's equal to the task.
He holds respect for all mans' courts and all their justly laws.
Do not hope for any mercy, not if he looks you in the face.
What knows this man of pity? None, no not the slightest trace.

His name is Loren Blackwell and he often hears it called
in times of dark despair when no joy is allowed.
His high black boots have traveled many a grim and moonlit mile
set forth in righteousness to bring wicked souls to trial.
He has wandered long on this lonely road of pain.
The man is tormented and an obsession wracks his brain.
What angel bright in righteousness set his feet upon that cobbled way.
No one knows now or none will dare to say.

Now as the carriage pulls into the little town
the villagers joyful gathered all around.
They dance and sing and all do loudly shout,
"At last! Someone has come to stomp that foul demon out."
They rush about and fling their hats into the air.
All their cares forgotten along with their despair.

"Oh yes!" Exclaimed the Magistrate. "Oh yes!" Spoke the wigged Judge.

"Good sir we are so honored by your presence. I don't know what to say.
I feel so very joyful. I should get down on bended knees and pray."

"I have not come to hear your speeches just give it to me plain.
I have come to do the Lord's work and from fawning please refrain.
Now if you please, what evidence do you have to show
that justifies my presence here for that is what I must know."

They showed him all the bodies. They showed him all the signs
and when they’d finished he told them his designs.
"I must inform the local folk of the dangers that await
so bring them all to the church before it is too late."
Upon the rough-hewn benches they sat and did not even stir
and waited in anticipation for they knew not what would occur.

Loren Blackwell took the podium and all were silent, indeed,
for he spoke loudly of the creatures’ hungry need.
"He will devour you, you and all your precious kin.
So beware! Beware the changing of his skin.
Now here are all the signs, exceeding long fingers, slanted almond eyes
and if you notice these you may see through its’ disguise.

It feeds beneath the moonlight and will not show itself under the sun.
We'll put the fear of God in it, and make it turn tail and run.
So let the church bell ring out its’ holy tolling sound
and then we’ll kill that dreadful demon hound!"

Pierre was in the crowd that night and thought, "I am a man.
I'm big enough and strong enough to do what any other can."
"Please father! Let me go on the hunt and fight by thy side."
"Ah, Son, now you fill your fathers' old bones with pride!"

They swept through the woods for mile after mile
all were deadly serious and none of them would smile.
Suddenly they heard a tremendous earth quaking sound
and each one stopped and trembling, stared all around.

"Oh no!" Exclaimed the Magistrate. "Oh no!" Spoke the wigged Judge.

They saw Loren Blackwell raise his musket on high
and when the beast lashed out how the man did fly.
Half a bloody corpse went crashing through the trees.
The other half fell down on its’ bended knees.

The Magistrate's sword swung for the demon's dreadful gut
but the blade was not of silver and so it would not cut.
The demon's teeth crunched heavily into his startled head.
and now the brave Magistrate lies so still, so very, very dead.

As the blood spattered into Pierres' startled eyes
the warm urine ran down the young man's thighs.
Then he turned in abject fear and ran quickly away
an act he would regret until his last dying day.

A lone man runs along a dark road into the town they called Lorraine
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.

Beneath a velvet jerkin he wears a golden chain with an ivory locket.
It’s hidden close to his heart so no one will see it there and mock it.
He holds respect for all men and affirms their upstanding ways.
So gentle are his boyish curls that sway about his handsome face.
What knows this man of pity? Much, if you enter into his embrace.

His name is Pierre Lavec. When last he heard that name?
Why just tonight, now he bows his head in everlasting shame.
His doeskin boots haven't traveled over many rough and rocky paths
and he's so deathly afraid of scorn and other men’s wraths.
What fickle sprite in flights of fancy saved him on that day
and set his feet to running all along that cobbled way?
No one knows now or none will dare to say.

"Oh no!" Exclaimed the Servants. "Oh no!" Spoke his wigged Mother.

"Oh God! You're bleeding son and exhausted from an over-panicked run.
What brought you to our door before the cock has crowed the rising of the sun?
Now you servants, Leave us. I must speak to my only boy alone."
And Pierre began to speak of things for which he could never atone.

"Oh, Mother, Father lies in yonder wood headless and dead
and in my fear I left him and like a coward fled."

"Calm down boy and tell it to me straight
where are all the other men and what might be their fate?"
Choking and then gasping he found this very hard to state.
"Oh, Mother the demon thing caught us all by surprise.
I do believe it was sent by the foul black lord of lies."

"Come here son and I will bath your wounds and bring you cups of tea
and we shall speak of a plan, upon which you and I might agree.
You must avenge me son. Both our lives are now at stake.
The spirit of anger that lies dormant in you now must awake.
Kill this thing that slew my man with your own vengeful hand
and you will be a hero in this rumor-haunted land."

Now as if in a dream he saw Harboughs’ swaddling son
and bethought to himself of Loren Blackwell's musket gun.

When the morning sun came crawling up that cobbled lane
Pierre set out toward his goal. His object was all to plain.
For the site of the massacre he made his lonesome way
and when he came to the spot he began to pray.
Then from his Father's corpse angrily swatted crows away.

As Pierre began to walk about trying hard not to make a sound
he found Loren Blackwell's musket lying there upon the ground.
But as he bent to retrieve it he felt eyes upon his back.
So he turned and crouched quickly, prepared to attack.

When he saw Hardboughs' son his first instinct was to run.
Then he steeled himself. Determined to finish what he had begun.
Victor Harboughs spoke out suddenly in shock.
"What happened here? And whose is that flintlock?"

"These men set out to kill the dreadful demon hound
and here they found it. Now their lifeblood soaks the very ground.
I must end this curse and bury all of them with haste.
I must return to Lorraine. I have no time to waste."

A lone man walks a dark road into the town they called Lorraine
below the jagged snowy mountain along that cobbled lane.

A deathly quiet could everywhere be heard.
There was no sound not even the chirping of a bird.
As Pierre walked slowly through the lonely village square
he began to realize that there was no one there.
Then from their forlorn errands the worried women folk arrived
for they began to wonder if their men folk had survived.


"Oh no!" Exclaimed the Nursemaid. "Oh no!" Spoke his wigged Governess.

Now Pierre had to tell them all that happened in the wood
and he tried to explain it to them. He did the best he could.
The women started weeping and pulling out their hair
falling to their knees and throwing handfuls of dirt into the air.

The elders agreed to help him bury all the mourned dead
and so within the ancient wood along the path they sped
and Loren Blackwell’s words were ringing in young Pierre’s head.
"He will devour you, you and all your precious kin.
So beware! Beware the changing of his skin.
Now here are the signs, creepy long fingers, slanted almond eyes
and if you know notice all of these you may see through its’ disguise.

Now Pierre watched Victor like a sharp-eyed hawk
and everywhere that Victor went Pierre was there to stalk.
He pretended to be his friend; all the better to spy
and to everything that Victor did he bent a prying eye.

Now one night as the lonely orb of the moon was set to rise
he heard Victor and his sweetheart making lovesick sighs.
Victor said, "I love you dear, you are my very heart
and I would surely die if we should ever part."

Pierre began to question all he once had thought
and wondered how Victor could ever be the evil demon misbegot
and perhaps now at last his vengeance should be forgot."

Pierre stood for a moment and then silently turned away.
Something happened then he would not forget until his dying day.
Victor’s fingers elongated, transforming to feral claws
and his face became a horror, a drooling sharp-toothed maw.

Where once there was a boy a frightful beast now did stand.
A baying nightmare more than a match for any mortal man.
Pierre boldly raised his musket and fired into the hateful beast
and with that silver musket ball Victor's soul was released.
Now Victor's sweetheart kissed him and drew him into her embrace
and the image of a young man returned to Victor's face.

But none knew then what this act of Pierre's would portend
and Father Ranier's words were fulfilled of a dreadful bitter end.
For what the townsfolk of Lorraine could never have known
the demon entered Pierre and oh my, how his fangs have grown.


The End

Winner-2nd place, Darkness at Dusk, wk March 20th,2007
Poetry Merit Badge March 26th, 2007