Let us walk this evening
Together we two
And embark on a journey which can do no good.
Cutting through the mist of foggy moorland
Stepping over peat and marsh,
we walk into the deadest of night.
We are not occult figures.
No.
Our pale, ashen skins light the way against a darkened sky
The fog grows dense
We are overcome by a sudden strangeness.
An impending gloom that rises
like a carefully graduated crescendo.
We know that something evil is in the distance.
Our nighttime journey has taken us far,
too far in fact as we come upon a wood,
a thick wood of beech and oak.
Without a moment’s respite we hear footsteps.
They grow steadily louder as someone, or something, draws nigh.
Emerging from the distance is a man on a steed
A black horse of splendid bearing.
The fellow is clad in dark cape and
Victorian top hat turned up slightly at the brim.
His lips are an unusual shade of crimson,
painted on like a splattering of blood.
Lucy and I hold one another tightly.
Two Goths without fear of the night
trembling at this sinister presence.
The stranger stands before us.
He offers no salutation nor reason for his approach.
Gently, almost pleadingly, he takes Lucy by the hand
which he kisses in the most delicate manner.
She is mesmerized by the man, as if in a trance.
The gentleman speaks his first words,
telling her it is time to go.
Acquiescing to his genteel but firm command,
it is as if this is something she expects,
something it is her duty to abide.
Lucy ascends the horse without objection, without hesitation.
Together they ride off, leaving me alone in the wood
on this deadest of Gothic nights.
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