THE FORBIDDEN MANOR.

By

David Calvert

The moon hung near its zenith in a star strewn winter’s sky.
An aureole encompassed it as slowly, by and by, a stranger
Came upon the scene and with unlawful intent, strode up the
Craggy hillside on his destination bent.

The brassy tones of the old church clock tolled out against the
Night and swept across the valley on their distant, wingless flight.
Few thoughts of his surroundings invaded the vagrants mind,
Nor warning of his destiny as on the church bell chimed.

The silver-grey peak of the Horsham stoned roof rose plainly

Into view as across the twin squared chimney stacks a predatory
Barn owl flew. A dark, oppressive silence seemed to hug the
Lichened wall, whereby the stranger stood in thought and gazed
Upon the Hall.

From behind the shuttered windows there escaped no stirrings of life,

Nor light to penetrate their clefts to split the jet of night.
Recessed between two pilasters, stood an entrance with a bell.
Though innocuous looking and entry, ’twas a threshold into Hell

With a gentle thrust of his shoulder and a turn of the iron ring
The door submitted, surprisingly, and allowed the intruder in.
A cold, dank smell assailed him, an odour of decay, as he stepped
Beyond the threshold into a world of yesteryears.

As the diffused shafts of moonlight spewed in the celestial haze,

An unwelcoming dereliction was the sight that met his gaze.
Extreme and exacting destruction had been wrought within the room,
Accentuated by passage of time in the all-enveloping gloom.

A pervading sense of loneliness embraced the intruder’s mind as

Door after door he peered through, but no vestige of life could he
Find. An environment, frosty and dismal, greeted the trespasser’s every
Turn, but as for the horror awaiting him he very soon would learn.

The cracks around the window screen let in the lunar light, as along a
Sombre corridor he walked that fateful night.
To gaze upon the outside world he paused, but for a moment, and watched
A solitary cloud distort, as though in physical torment.

Then, by some numinous power, he sensed he was no longer alone,

When an icy breath brushed over his neck and chilled him to the bone.
With an action swift and decisive he turned to look ahead and saw a
Movement in the dark that filled his heart with dread.

A nebulous mist began to rise, and glowed with an inner light, that
Froze the blood within his veins and turned him ashen white.
The space between them diminished as on the spectre did glide,
But for its hapless victim all motion was denied.

Impending death was close at hand, and crowded in on his mind,

But to that fate the trembling wretch had yet to be resigned.
Born of desperation, his litany filled the air as from within the soundless
Domain of his soul sprang forth a tearful prayer.

The moon-bathed spectral cloud forms on a sudden wind were tossed,

As it howled an inauspicious melody to the souls of the damned and the lost.
To late came his plea for deliverance, by the wind it was carried on high.
And then arose a ghastly scream - ‘twas the stranger’s final cry.

© David Calvert 1995, 2010.