Black Gables

The house had heavy gables that

Had once been painted black,

Though now weathered and distempered

In assaulting time’s attack,

But it had a certain charm that drew me

Up to the front door,

Where a notice said, ‘For Sale or Rent,

Just knock, and ask for more.’

So I reached up for the knocker that

Was dark and oddly shaped,

Like the visage of a goat’s head

That from Hell must have escaped,

For the horns were grim and twisted

And the eyes gleamed in the dark,

Like two beams that saw right through me

Staring out towards the park.

Then I rapped the knocker on the plate

Three times, or maybe more,

Till I heard the sound of shuffling

Two feet behind the door,

And I heard the rasp of rusty bolts

Someone was drawing back,

When the door began to open with

A creak, and then a crack.

Then a woman stood before me

Peering out through tangled hair,

In an old and tattered dust coat

With a look that said, ‘despair’,

But she stood aside to wave me in

Then muttered rather low,

‘You’re here at last, you should have come

Some twenty years ago.’

I stood there quite bewildered in

The shadows of that hall,

And I fancied shades were dancing,

Painting patterns on the wall,

But she led me to a room that glowed

In eerie candlelight,

And she sat me at a table as

The day fled into night.

‘Do you want to rent or buy it?’

Was the next thing that she said,

In a voice that creaked of ages lost

In some almighty dread,

So I said I’d like to rent it if

It wasn’t very dear,

She replied, ‘A golden guinea will

Suffice, for half a year.’

Then she placed the lease before me,

And she brushed away the dust,

For the lease must have been lying while

The knocker turned to rust,

And a feather quill was standing in

A vase, all stained with mud,

‘There’s just one thing,’ she ventured,

‘You must sign the lease in blood.’

I sat back in shock and horror

And I said, that wouldn’t do,

My blood was all accounted for,

‘I’ll not do that for you.’

She took a cut throat razor from

A pocket, with a twist,

Then turned to me and said, ‘you see,’

And swiftly slashed her wrist.

She dipped the quill and twisted it

To soak the tip in blood,

Then thrust it in my open hand

And said, ‘you really should,’

But I shrank back to get away

From this godawful crone,

And screamed, ‘I think I’ve changed my mind,

You must leave me alone.’

I ran back to the passageway

With her hard up behind,

She screamed ‘you mustn't leave me now,

I’ve almost lost my mind.

I’ve waited twenty years for you

To come and rescue me,

This house has owned my very soul,

I just want to be free.’

I took the pathway at a run

Not daring to look back,

But heard a scream like some dark dream

As I ran down that track,

And in the gloom I heard the creak

Of hinges, on that door,

And then it slammed, and she was trapped

In there, forevermore.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

To slake her thirst, she sold her soul to the devil; and it seems the price was too dear to pay. When a bill of sale requires that you separate from your eternal soul, nothing but damnation can ensue. If only she had run … I can't help but to think of the parallel to Adam and Eve. Nicely writ, dear friend, as ever.