Footsteps!

I set out on a filthy evening

Jogged the stream and under the bridge,

Headed into the pouring rain

And over St. Alban’s Ridge,

I heard some footsteps running behind

But never could turn to see,

For who would venture out in the rain

Just to be following me?

 

I’d heard the following steps before,

Had stopped, and I’d turned around,

Scanned the bushes and hedgerows

There was no-one there to be found,

I thought I could hear some breathing

From a bush, or hid in a tree,

Though nothing stirred but a restless bird,

Nothing that I could see.

 

I’d always travelled the leaf strewn path

By the early sun of the day,

But sometimes ran when the darkness fell

By the light of a moonlight ray,

I loved the scent of the pine fresh air

It made me alive, and free,

It wasn’t until I courted Claire

That the footsteps followed me.

 

They’d stop whenever I stopped, and then

Would start again when I jogged,

I thought at first it was just a trick,

An echo, bounced off a log,

But sometimes, there in the silence when

I stopped while catching my breath,

I’d feel the hairs beginning to stir

Way up on the back of my neck.

 

I turned to run by a farmer’s field

That was stacked with new mown hay,

Reflecting light from the pale moonlight,

Awaiting the farmer’s dray,

I heard the footsteps behind me squelch

In the mud from the driving rain,

I called, ‘You’d better come out tonight,

By God, or I’ll cause you pain!’

 

I pulled a glittering knife blade out

I’d hidden, deep in its sheath,

Scanned the track by the farmer’s field

And the heather, down on the heath,

But nothing stirred in the pale moonlight

Though I saw its tracks in the mud,

And as I watched in a gathering fright,

They seemed to be filling with blood.

 

I turned and ran in a panic then

And weaved my way through the trees,

My heart was beating, my mind was numb

I slipped, and fell to my knees,

I finally found the giant oak

Where I knew that a corpse would lie,

The moon was sending a single beam

And lighting the dead man’s eye.

 

I’d propped him there when I’d slashed his throat

To free up the hand of Claire,

She’d been bereft when he disappeared,

Would never have found him there.

I’d meant to come back, bury the bones

But still he sat by the tree,

And now the footsteps joined with him there,

His eye was glaring at me.

 

They followed a trail of blood, they said,

The searchers said, when they came,

And I was cowering by the corpse,

They said that I was to blame.

They’ve put me here in a darkened cell

Where I sit and stare at the floor,

And hear the shuffle of footsteps there

On the other side of the door.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Claire in VA]

What an engaging tale! This poem has a hint of creepiness. Beautifully written piece of art,
David. Did it have to be MY lover that the narrator kills?! Is it a real character haunting him, or
is it his conscience? Perhaps that's for the reader to decide. Thank you for posting your poems
on this site. Don't stop because I'm just getting a chance to read and review.
~~~Claire~~~ (Did you write this before or after I met you??!!!)

[BlackRose]

A gripping tale this sure was. I was hooked wanting to know who was behind him. I thought from those footsteps that was going to be his demise. Thanks ever so much for another REELly superb read. :o)

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Another good tale David, as always.

[Marie]

I'm thinking it was his own guilt that was following him...and finally led him to justice.

[Glen Yumang Manese]

Again -- this develops slowly and endures...
the reader can cue in on the entirety of the write...
the suspense builds in this narrative...
all the pieces are presented in each stanza...
you tell it from a cell in the end...