The Fiesie
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Deep in the moorland country stands an abandoned tower, its crumbling summit black against the sky. There’s such a hopeless atmosphere around it that not even bats or crows call it their home. The massive wooden doors with their steel mountings show no signs of decay or rust though and they are tightly shut and locked. Impenetrable or so it would seem.
But during certain stormy, rain lashed nights the doors creak open and spill forth a warm and welcoming light into the wilderness. A beacon for stray wanderers on the marsh or other lost souls. Those out in the bitter cold who see the glowing light are drawn towards it like moths to the flame. They follow it and enter the tower – never to be seen again.
In the morning the doors are shut tight again and the tower looks empty and bar of all life again. There are no signs to show that anybody had been there just the night before and no sound penetrates the still air.
So if you ever happen to find yourself on the moors at such a night and see a warm, flickering light in the distance – turn your back and walk away. And you might find your way out of the marshes unscathed. If your will is strong enough to resist the call of the tower.
Tonight the moon is high
and I feel like flying
Higher and ever higher
till I can touch the stars
I always love the night
and the moon and the stars
Darkness has been my friend
since my earliest childhood
It’s like a worn old cloak
that I put on for comfort
With the stars for buttons
and the moon as a clasp
Silver light on black velvet
cold but oh so beautiful
The moon is my guardian
she watches over me at night
Nothing evil can touch me
I’m safe in the dark
There’s a full moon in the sky
while bats breeze gently by
The palms are softly swaying
though no wind is straying
The sand is glowing silver white
all is still and silent in the night
As if the sky itself held its breath
balanced between life and death
No sound no motion but the waves
touching gently on the oceans graves
Of drowned ships and buried treasures
there can be no earthly measures
Time goes by with stealthy treads
counting lives like shiny beads
But suddenly there’s a whisper up ahead
the dark horizon slowly turning red
Moon hides her face and turns around
while Sun comes up with brazen sound
The silence broken by another day
while night’s bereaved of sway
Till Moon rises from the deep again
nourishing the dreams of men
Hello my dear, don’t fear! It’s just me looking over your shoulder. Don’t be startled, I wouldn’t dream of hurting you. But I’m not dreaming right now, am I? The knife? Oh, it just happened to be there so I picked it up so it doesn’t get lost. Am I lost? Maybe…
Blood? Oh, I must have cut myself but I can’t find a wound… Maybe the knife was already bloody when I found it? Let me wipe it clean. Look how the blade glitters in the moonlight. It looks sharp doesn’t it? But something seems to be missing now that it’s all clean. As if the blood had belonged to it all the time. It’s whispering to me… it says it’s thirsty. Can you hear it? No? Here, listen a bit closer… closer…
Yes, you made the knife happy now. It’s no longer thirsty. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ll hide you where nobody can find you. Somewhere safe. Don’t be afraid, you won’t be alone for long. The knife will soon want to drink again… and again… and again. And then we can all play together in the safe place. Forever.
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