© 2019 Jon Corres Pirate Poet
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
A shadows touch
In the eve’s first cooling touch
By the moon’s gentle smile
Through the hills, fields and cobblestone byways
The roar of silence fills the travellers ears
In copse and grove a stirring rumbles
The hunger of the night beckons and grumbles
For the weary, the kiss of the widows poison
Will most beg
A manner beats the heart of the living death
Shall the siren prevail ere the day comes in earnest?
Edgar read this twice, incredulous. No one spoke of a hidden village, let alone a deserted great house. No signs, banners or other announcements of declaration stating the name of the place. It was as if everything simply appeared out of thin air – just as he arrived.
Edgar Roberts was a man of business. He received an email about a retreat provided by his company, Elton Groves Hotel, in the north. Spas, equestrian activities and out of town catering were the big features.
He looked up to notice the lights coming on in a tavern to his left. It was like watching fireflies awaken, the buildings nearby following suit as noise began soon after. People, for lack of a better term, could be seen behind curtains, heard speaking low, in whispers.
He tried to walk over and see who was there, but as he did, he found himself by his car and no closer to the abodes. Slowly, eerily, a song rose from the muttered speech assailing him. A woman’s voice, clear as a bell and sounding distant, but coming closer.
She seemed to be floating on air. Her dark locks were moon bright, eyes like a cats – flitting here and there before coming to a rest on him. A face that looked both etheric and haunting at the same time. He was frozen like a deer in the lights of an on coming lorrie….
More to come. If the responses on twitter or here are good…
Till next time
~ The Pirate Poet