Tap-Tap-Tapping

We were sitting, reminiscing

Of the civil war in Spain,

Where my uncle fought for Franco,

Never saw his home again.

There was Joe, and little Jilly

Adam Sparks and Willie Toole,

When the clock, in striking midnight

Seemed to say: ‘I’ve come for you!’

 

I sat up, and watched the others

Had they heard that whispered tone?

Jilly spoke about her brothers,

Adam smoked his pipe alone.

They were musing, Willie snoozing,

When the oaken door had creaked,

Whispered gently, from the tavern.

‘You’ll be dead within the week!’

 

We were sitting, in the parlour

Of the Coach and Horses Inn,

Wiped my forehead, tweaked my collar,

Tighter now than it had been.

‘Are you ready, for a snifter?’

Joe had grinned and looked at me,

He had always been a drifter,

Nothing like I thought he’d be.

 

Willie woke and sipped his sherry,

Rubbed his eyes and looked at Jill,

‘What d’you think, is Adam ready?’

‘Not just yet, dear, you be still!’

Right outside the sign was swaying,

Creaking on its leather bands,

Suddenly I heard it saying:

‘You have blood upon your hands!’

 

Adam said, ‘I’ve seen you somewhere!’

Looked at Joe with pensive eye,

‘From the bench, sometime last Summer…’

Joe had loosened off his tie.

I cleared my throat to ease the tension,

‘Think it’s going to rain tonight?’

‘By the way, forgot to mention…’

Adam said, ‘Some thing’s not right!’

 

Out beyond the wind was rising,

Lightning flashing from afar,

I could see a shadow moving,

Near the door, out in the bar.

Just about to pour the sherry

Suddenly the lights went down,

I could see the empty chair he’d

Sat in, drifter Joe had gone.

 

‘Funny chap,’ said Adam Sparks,

The magistrate from Wattle Hill,

‘Sleeps out rough in sheds and parks,

He told me,’ said the barmaid Jill.

‘Not too good out there tonight,’

I said, ‘It’s pelting down with rain!’

Then I heard the tap-tap-tapping,

Tapping at the window pane!

 

I stood up and walked across

To check the window, nothing there.

‘Can’t you hear that tapping sound,’

I said, but they just sat and stared.

‘Surely you can hear that tapping,

Tapping at the window pane…’

‘It’s only your imagination,

Just a figment in your brain.’

 

They all retired and I went home

The Coach and Horses burned that night,

And they all died, a lightning strike

Had set the whole damn place alight,

And Joe was frizzled in some field

Beneath a giant fallen oak,

We’d only met the once, but we’d

Decided, ‘You can’t trust the bloke!’

 

I sit here pensive, writing this

Tomorrow it’s a week, it stands,

Since whispers in the Coach and Horses

Said that blood was on my hands.

I’ll not confess my sin to you,

It’s cost too much, a life in pain,

But there I hear it, tap-tap-tapping,

Tapping at my window pane.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Becky C Strukamp]

David, your stories set to rhythm flow fluently from your pen to our eyes, the words so carefully set down to paper, you share them with us all, all the gals and guys, some elicit weeping, some laughter, some joy and sometimes pain, the one thing that remains for sure you've done it so elequently once again. Thank you for sharing your wonderful mind that we may sit a while and get lost in your poetic stories and tales, let them fill us with a smile, its always worth the trip to your page, its always worth our time to read and soak in your unique style. Excellent poem David.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

The last stanza was great. Brought chills down my spine. Another great story.

[Writer *78*]

you made me think of the raven just by the title. tate said you were good with the inspiration of edgar allan poe. i believe he was right. well done.

[Siren]

reminds my a bit of the tale tale heart, this one does. A great write, for sure. Wonderful, my friend!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this is like the Legend of Sleepy Hollow meets Edgar A. Poe...

my friend jim is a poet...like him, you are so clever and amusing with your story poems...i was enthralled from the first line to the last...wonderfully spooky.

jacob

[spiritwind]

My eyes raced from line to line
you'd woven quite a spell
worthy of Poe and Koontz
I cannot imagine anyone being able to tell stories in verse anywhere as well as you
shall read this again and again to enjoy this dread-filled atmosphere

[Tate Morgan]

As if the Reaper had a date with all of them and was about to collect. You cannot out run death or so its been said by all the unlucky souls who in thinking they could became dead

[quinfinn]

this is poetic storytelling at its best! i must confess that i did hearken back to Poe's raven in the depths of my mind, but never was there a glimmer of anything not original in this write...chalk that up to my love of Poe and my appreciation for a story well told. always wonderful and always entertaining are your writes!

[Marie]

Very frightening to hear tapping at your window...especially if you've been warned of death...especially if you know you deserve it...

[David Scott]

The man who hears the tapping has a soul still...
It is those who think they have no sin who only hear the music and the laughter. The haunting need not be ill. Just a reminder that each day brings new opportunities and the choices matter. Like getting the Hell out of the Inn for one.
Ha
Great write and your style is never stale.
Thanks you for the read today.

[Enid Blake]

Very spooky, it reminded me of my something my nan always said to me and used to do. She wouldn't let you answer a knock at the door until you'd checked through the window to be sure somebody was there. She said of you answered a knock and there was noone there, you had let death in.....
Well, I'll leave that with you David, lol ;)
Spooky poem!