The Visitant

‘Since ever we came to this grey old house

You’ve been muttering under your breath,

When I come running you always stop,

You’re as pale and as grey as death;

You stand, arms crossed, with your back to me

And you stare from the attic windows,

Looking on down at the cemetery

And the cairn by the ancient crossroads.’

 

‘You shouldn’t have listened to Picketty Kate

With her stories to frighten your soul,

You know that she wanted us out of this house

As the drink, and her brother told,

I’ve seen no proof there was ever a man

That she knew as Mordecai Vart,

No proof that he’s buried under that cairn

With a stake through his wicked heart.’

 

She shivered and shook in the morning chill

And her eyes had glittered with hate,

‘She said that this house was a vampire’s nest,

With blood running under the grate.’

I shook my head and I went to speak

But Drusilla ran into the hall,

‘There’s an evil presence in here today,

I’m going to fetch my shawl.’

 

I’d purchased the place on the merest whim

As the cheapest house in the town,

It stood quite close to the crossroads there

But was set on an acre of ground,

Drusilla had always been fanciful

And she’d listened to Picketty Kate,

The sad old witch of the neighbourhood

Who peddled her reams of hate.

 

‘She said that there was a gibbet there

Where they hung old Archie Banes,

He’d cut the throat of his mother-in-law

So they hung him there, in chains,’

I said, ‘there’s not a skerrick of proof,

Don’t listen to what they say,

They’ll give you a nervous breakdown, girl

If you keep going on this way!’

 

That night, the light of the moon went out

So I took a lantern and went,

Down with a pick and a shovel there

To see what the old cairn meant,

A wind blew up and it soughed and sighed

As I bent my back to the task,

Uncovered the thing that lay down there

What it was, you’d better not ask!

 

The stake was bloodied and rusty, was

A foot or so in the ground,

The ribs were shattered, the corpse down there

Stared up as I stared on down.

I pulled the stake from the tragic form

Then I wondered: ‘What have I done?’

Piled the stones back onto the cairn

With a sickening urge to run.

 

The sky turned red on the following night

In a fitful, evil glow,

The wood in the eaves was creaking with

The strain of the wind below,

The timber door on the crossroads side

Flew open and leaves blew in,

Drusilla screamed from the top of the stairs:

‘This house is a pit of sin!’

 

I heard her tumble, I heard her fall

‘Til she lay on the bottom stair,

Her eyes were open, her throat was cut

There was blood flowing everywhere.

Then somewhere deep in the house I heard

In an echo of times gone by,

‘You’ll not be rid of me, stake or not,

I’ll watch each one of you die!’

 

They said Drusilla had slashed her throat

With the state of her mind disturbed,

I went along with the verdict then

I felt that my tongue was curbed.

I lock my door as it roams the house

When the Moon is full and high,

I haven’t been able to sell the place

But I keep a stake nearby!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Valentine]

I think I would feel safer sleeping up a tree or at the far end of the grave yard..Spooky things supposedly do exist, things that can't be explained by a human..this was pretty neat and eerie..where you come up with this stuff makes me wonder what kind of books you read..Katihe

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

Well as you have noticed I've been reading you for a while now and I seem to notice your obsession with perfect wording, well done.

[JM Russell]

A great story as only you could tell.

[TPK Stories]

Spooky and eerie .... great story.

[mikl paul]

you tell wonderful stories in your writing. well done.

[Mark]

Historical fiction? Ballades? And pure-a*s, full-on shiver-givers! I can still, over a year later, remember* the ones about the jilted railroad switchman, the lover sealed within the twin hulls of the Great Eastern, and another within an ice crevasse, Father time abandoned in a lighthouse...Is there anything you cannot do, and exquisitely?? Another coup for the Paget trophy wall...Honestly, Dave, what am I gonna do when you run me slap out of superlative descriptors??

(*split infinitive?)

[Marie]

Anybody that would ppull up a steake clearly driven in for a purpose deserves what happens.But Drusilla didn't.

[spiritwind]

That was a shiver of a read. Argh!
f all the scary stories and movies,
it is the vampire lore that disturbs my sleep the most.
hatever dd I do to you to deserve to be put into this state
of shivers and unease.
Excellent write as usual!

[David Scott]

The Vampire stories have always held the immagination's breath...
A chilling story and a reminder to guard well the mind and heart.
Well done again.

[quinfinn]

time to bloody well move, mate! if you entered this one into the scary poetry contests it would win easily. it definitely has all the elements of a good chilling "ghost" story, even though it is really a vampire tale. another terrific write, my friend!

[Dalia]

this is amazing!
thanks for sharing.