The Hermit & Martha's Well

Near the village of Camberwell

And down a dusty track,

There stood an ancient building

Half in ruin, half intact,

They said that a hermit lived in there

Had done for many years,

But never came out in the light of day

Indeed, quite the reverse.

 

His shadow had often been seen at night

To emerge from the old oak door,

Had wandered into the undergrowth

But no-one knew what for,

Nobody managed to follow

He was cunning, watched his back,

He never came into the open but

Avoided the open track.

 

They said that he must go hunting

After squirrels, rats and voles,

He must have been eating something

Berries, nuts, or even moles!

I must say, I was intrigued and went

To track him down one night,

I hid myself in the undergrowth

When the Moon was up, and bright.

 

At twelve o’clock, I heard a creak

As he slid out through the door,

Stopped and listened and looked about,

Set off for his nightly chore,

I followed him at a distance, he

Could move without a sound,

Except for the crackle of twigs he trod

That lay strewn on the ground.

 

In twenty minutes, following him

I stopped as he took a spell,

I knew that by the direction we

Were headed for Martha’s Well,

And that was the moment a chill began

To creep along my spine,

They said the water from Martha’s Well

Could make you lose your mind!

 

The Well, surrounded by creepers

Gave off a blue, unearthly glow,

Something reflected from water, lying

Deep in the Well below,

The hermit opened a metal flask

And lowered it down on a string,

Filling it up with the water there,

Then carefully reeling it in.

 

He put the stopper back on the flask

Then he turned and walked away,

He seemed to have got what he wanted,

What it was, I couldn’t say,

I waited there ‘til he’d gone for good

And I walked up to the Well,

Looked down into that eerie light

And I saw a sight from Hell.

 

A mist was swirling in pale blue light

Reflecting a pale blue Moon,

A face of horror was caught down there

Stared up at me in the gloom,

‘Come down and talk to your Martha, dear,

Come join me in death’s sweet spell,

I’ll wait forever, how long it takes

Come join me in Martha’s Well!’

 

I turned and ran, and I didn’t stop

‘Til I saw the oaken door,

I walked up quietly in the dark

And I found the door ajar.

The hermit, down on his knees looked up

To the mist that swirled from the flask,

‘Forgive me Martha, I didn’t mean…’

And she sighed, ‘Too late to ask!’

 

‘Too late for sorrow, too late for tears,

Too late for forgiveness now,

Too late for the love I had for you,

For the Devil has marked your brow.

The day you pushed me over the edge

Was the day you sealed the spell,

The only heaven that waits for you

Is the bottom of Martha’s Well!’

 

David Lewis Paget

 

Reviews

[Jake Botha]

I very much enjoyed this piece. The haunting of a man. Not only for love lost, but a fit of rage that has caused the loss. Sadly enough he has never lost her, he will forever seek her out, haunted by his guilt and haunted by her.

There are many small complexities hidden in this wonderfully written piece.

[TL Boehm]

The only heaven that waits for you
Is the bottom of Martha’s Well!’

Wonderful story

[keyvan]

beautiful...

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Another piece of work I rather enjoyed immensely. Good story! :-)

[Simphonia Hale]

the poem was fun! The creepy part was very well-told! Thanks David! :D

[Robert James Parfett]

Your abilty to write so many poems with such an array of stories to be told is awe inspiring. I had a particular well in my mind for this one which does exist and is also said to be haunted by the ghost of an unfortunate victim. Excellent as always.

[Veronica Chandler]

Exquisite! Story telling as fine as it gets; you have a gift which cannot be denied and your abilities shine through brightly in this piece.

[Marie]

I would have thought it was the hermit's own conscience if the narrator hadn't seen and heard it too.

[Michael G.]

Always an adventure and a pleasure to read your work, Mr. Paget.