Rag & Reed

A frolic through the black arts...

 

John lived down in Haywood Lane

Beside the wood, the river's course

And walked each day to see Bernice

His dark-haired lady, for discourse.

 

She had a melancholy air

A sad and gloomy way with her

And questioned why life wasn't fair,

John never had much sway with her.

 

He'd argue through the early hours

And speak his love, implicitly,

But she would snap in anger then,

'Your love won't buy the bread for me.'

 

For seven years they'd to and fro'd

For she would leave, then ask him back,

While he would sit alone and grieve

At every trait that she'd attack.

 

She always spoke of breaking up

Of taking time out, making space,

Until the day he called on her

To find that he had been displaced.

 

A woman answered at the door,

And barred his entry as she spoke,

He'd never seen her face before

She wore a witches hat, and cloak.

 

'She doesn't want to see you now

She said it's over, go away!

Now we'll be looking after her,

You're finished, done! You've had your day!'

 

'We've been together seven years,'

He tried to say, but she was gone,

Had slammed the door right in his face

And of Bernice there was no sign.

 

He phoned her then, when he got back,

The voice that answered wasn't hers,

A grating, rasping voice had said,

'Stop phoning, you have been her curse!'

 

John asked around the village then

Just who this woman was, and more,

He found out there were two of them

Had moved in just the day before.

 

The locals said they were well known

Two women from an evil seed,

They played with witchcraft, set their spells,

One called Rag and one called Reed.

 

They would batten on to weakness

Use their spells to hypnotize,

Said that they'd look after them, then

Move on in and rule their lives.

 

John sat grieving in his cottage,

Wandered aimless through the wood,

Stalked Bernice's house at night

To try to fathom what he could.

 

Then one night he saw them, dancing,

In a clearing in the wood,

Chanting spells and laughing, prancing

Calling on old Beelzebub.

 

'We have brought another convert,

Satan, you must be well pleased!

Send your devils down to take her...'

There was Bernice, on her knees.

 

On her knees there in the clearing,

Looking dazed, or drugged somehow,

'Send your cohorts down to take her,

See, we make her naked now.'

 

Then the one called Rag had turned

And torn the gown from off Bernice,

Under it she knelt stark naked,

On all fours, amongst the trees.

 

John had seen enough, and ran

The tears of grief welled at his eyes,

Pacing in his cottage then

He schemed and planned for their demise.

 

Cast about and found the items

That would even up the score,

Scoured Junk Shops, bought some hardware,

Saw the farmer Ron Trezore.

 

Checked the Almanac for April

Marked in red the next full Moon,

Modified his Ghetto Blaster,

Tried recording in his room.

 

On the night the Moon was rising

Once again he sought the wood,

Hid behind an old oak tree

Beside the clearing, in his hood.

 

Then at midnight, they came prancing,

They came dancing through the trees,

Dragged along with chains behind them

There he saw his love, Bernice.

 

Soon they stripped themselves in fervour,

Dancing naked on the green,

Calling on the wily Satan,

Shouting things that were unclean.

 

Then from out the bushes, roaring,

Came a figure, caked in blood,

Head of sheep and horns of goat,

Satan - in his glory stood!

 

Rag had yelped and Reed had screamed

And tried to hide their naked forms,

'On all fours,' the demon growled,

And they had dropped before his horns.

 

Then he showered them with offal,

Then he poked them, with a stick,

Rag had wailed and Reed threw up

The ghetto blaster did its bit.

 

Chains and moans and clanking noises

Issued from the speakers there,

Flames burst out from both his hands

And left them both bereft of hair.

 

Soon the devil walked a circle

Traced them round a ring of fire,

'Should you move before the dawn

I'll take you to your funeral pyre!'

 

Then he left them, took Bernice

Who came back to his world again,

Marveled at the love he'd shown

And thanked the devil for good men.

 

The last I heard of Rag and Reed

They worked in some old Nunnery,

Washing dishes, being pious,

Bald on top where hair should be.

 

John moved in with his Bernice

They never seem to argue now,

Hung right on the mantelpiece

A pair of horns reminds them how.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[An Ordinary Woman]

It started out as something I almost recalled as a past relationship in a strange way, only in reverse. And like Bernice, he told me to go away. I recovered over time and no witches were needed. lol This is well thought out and richly written, a delight to read. Thanks for sharing your great stories, friend.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

For many, seven is a lucky number; and it most definitely was for Bernice. I adore your imaginative storytelling abilities. "Rag & Reed" --- the title, the context --- both are brilliant. As always, you never cease to amaze.

[Valentine]

My Master Aussie story teller..This is different but so vengeful I had to laugh at his tricks to get her back..Too bad she was blind for that first 7 years to his good traits..Some people on this earth remain blind..Others like you add to the spice in my life..loved your tale..God bless..Valentine