Now for something completely different!

Sometimes, I just start writing with no real idea of where it’s going or what the narrative is going to be. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes, like this time for example, it takes itself in some truly unforseen directions.

The Ghost Writer

I swore that I would never write,

Again about some ghost.

But there she is and here am I,

Set to compose this post.

You see the spirits know me well,

For some tales I have told.

Find here a sympathetic voice,

For secrets which they hold.

Now those who can will seek me out,

Who cannot send me word.

Some medium or psychic calls,

For one who would be heard.

A young girl sits before me now,

A soft and misty shade.

She gazes at the floor and tugs,

Her faint, translucent braid.

“How can I help?” I ask at length,

Expecting no reply.

“You cannot help for I am dead.”

Her words soft as a sigh.

“Indeed you are, I must agree,

But still you sought me out.”

“To travel here’s no easy thing,

And cost you dear no doubt.”

From out the corner of her eye,

I see her glance at me.

“What would you know of what it cost?

I’ve paid no ticket fee.”

“Your trainfare’s not the price I mean,

a fact you know quite well.”

“For once you leave your place on earth,

You’re one short step from Hell.”

She looks up now and meets my eye,

A sharp and piercing look.

“You are the one. You did not learn,

That fact from any book.”

“There is a book on yonder shelf,

Just left of where you sit.”

“It’s boring true, but truth contains,

If you but dig a bit.”

She glances at the book and smiles,

Then back to me again.

“I see your name upon the spine,

It comes form your own pen.”

“I did not say I did not write,

The truth within that book.”

“But only that you’d find it there,

If you but chose to look.”

Quite suddenly her face is there,

Mere inches from my own.

The malice flows from her in waves,

It chills me to the bone.

“How came you by this knowledge rare?”

“Think well before you speak.”

“For I am not some simple haunt,”

“Some tired thing and weak.”

I meet her gaze, pick up my glass,

Of whiskey take a sip.

I know her then some guardian,

Whom I once gave the slip.

“You’ve got it wrong oh little spawn.”

“You’ve got no claim on me.”

“Your boss is just upset he lost,”

“A little bet you see.”

Black tendrils stream from tattered frock,

Skin black and peeling flakes.

Her hair a mass of roiling smoke,

With eyes like fiery lakes.

The tendrils now coil round my limbs,

Clawed hands on throat so tight.

“Once body’s dead your soul is mine,”

“You’re coming back tonight.”

I feel them come, the ragged souls,

The spirits I have saved.

By coming now to face it’s wrath,

What perils they have braved.

Not one of them is anywhere,

So strong as what they face.

But they are many it is one,

This hoard my secret ace.

The hands upon my throat grow weak,

A gesture stills the throng.

“You thought to take me back with you.”

“See now you were so wrong.”

“A message now I give to you,”

“To take in place of me.”

“Keep what is yours, leave me to mine,”

“Or war there’ll surely be.”

Dark angel gone, my host withdraw,

Once more alone am I.

I sip my whiskey in the dusk,

And write this verse and sigh.

The spirits that I help are those,

With nowhere else to be.

I once was there, where they are now,

Then someone rescued me.

Now those unworthy and unloved,

I do my best to aid.

With kindness, patience and some love,

Help them feel less afraid.

Not gods nor devils cared for them,

Until I freed them all.

Now both sides claim them for their own,

Demand I heed their call.

My spirits are the common folk,

And common lives they’ve had.

Though good folk not so saintly and,

Though sinners not so bad.

Not good enough for heaven nor,

The type to go to hell.

The gods and devils left them here,

Forgot them for a spell.

And then one day a magus died,

Who’d planned it out ahead.

To answer questions but he had,

No plans for staying dead.

He dodged the devils and the gods,

But couldn’t quite get home.

And spent three hundred years stuck in,

A cave outside of Rome.

Then one fine day, someone came by,

Sweet as the morning dew.

They did the work and raised me up,

To start my life anew.

So now I save my stranded flock,

Free them as I was freed.

Free them from devils and from gods,

From their unending need.

And now and then an angel or,

A devil will stop by.

To take me off to my “reward”,

At least that’s what they try.

But those I’ve helped still have my back,

And I have theirs the same.

We are the only home we want,

And Legion is our name.

Cheers, Winston