A Misadventure with Spriggans

I tell of fairies more ill-natured now,

in this my story - that I, Billy Puck,

heard passed down through my family - of how

a local robbed a tomb - but vengeance struck -

from those that guarded it, whose dreadful wrath

caused these bizarre events and aftermath.

It was a stormy night on Trencrom Hill;

a figure came beneath the downpour's lash -

Jack Bligh was he - alone with spade - his will

faltering in the howling wind and flash

of lightning. Thunder clouds blacked out the moor -

the fortress fragments loomed upon the tor.

He reached a structure made of standing stones,

on top them lay a slab. It was a tomb,

from days of spears and axes - ancient bones

rest undisturbed within. There in the gloom -

Jack halted shivering - then with map he strove -

bent to locate a rumoured treasure trove.

Finding the spot among the crumbled boulders,

he took a deep breath and, after a pause,

began to dig. At times, over his shoulders -

he looked - though lone and desolate it was.

He felt like there was something in the dim -

and peered with an expression fixed and grim.

But not a soul he saw, and - with a shrug -

he shovelled through the soil. His lantern shone

upon his rustic features as he dug -

and dug. Though aching, still he carried on -

but still found nothing. Cursing his bad luck,

he planted down the spade. It something struck.

Scraping the earth away from it revealed

a gilded wooden chest. Jack lifted up

its lid - and gasped. Within, for ages sealed,

were many shiny things - a shield, a cup,

gold coins and weapons - what more could he seek?

Plus bracelets, brooches, rings - he gave a shriek.

Placed in his sack, he covered up the ground,

then gathered up his tools and turned to go.

Hearing - he thought - a horrid hissing sound,

he sought his bearings with his lantern's glow -

when from behind the rocks emerged a swarm

of creatures - with a dwarfish human form.

Form ugly, shrivelled in appearance, thin -

disproportionally large was its head,

with shoulders puny - evil was its grin;

they hissed and spat at Jack, who froze in dread.

He thought - then from his sack produced a sword;

they shrank - he brandished it and fled the horde.

Fast taking to his heels, homeward he ran -

far to his cottage in the countryside.

The night was lifting and as day began

faint stirrings of the birds he heard. He cried

triumphantly when home - Rosen, his wife,

awoke to promise of a better life.

Over the gleaming valuables they poured,

early that morning as they breakfast ate -

both animated. Nearby soundly snored

their baby Jowan in his cot - how great

their pride. Jack slept that night content and snugly -

though haunted by those creatures vile and ugly.

He saw them hissing, spitting - then he woke

suddenly - shuddering - from a troubled dream.

That morning Jack chopped wood outside to stoke

the fire - when out of nowhere came a scream -

Rosen it was - he went - and more distraught

he'd never seen a soul - he had no thought

what it might be. She stood - pointing to where

Jowan slept. Jack approached - moving their cat

away that hissed at it. Something was there -

child still - though a large-headed, ugly brat -

and not their beautiful, endearing boy -

Jowan was nowhere seen - gone was their joy.

All day they searched each nearby path and field,

each hill and vale, each forest, glade and nook,

but found no trace at all - no clue revealed

the infant's whereabouts. Ceasing to look,

they went back home to where that wretched child

instead there lay, whose wails them further riled.

Next morning, Rosen left a plate of food

and bowl of cream out - as she always did -

for local fairies. One had watched her brood

most heavily - and though they mostly hid -

this curious and lively thumb-high chap

appeared - in breeches, buckles, shirt and cap.

'What ails you madam, that you look so lost -

so spiritless, who once was full of cheer?'

Rosen was startled. 'Nothing would it cost

to let me help you.', he continued, 'Here

I've always supped with pleasure.'. Rosen sighed,

composed herself, then to reply she tried:

'Our baby's gone - gone - found not anywhere;

there's something else inside his cradle - while

our child has somehow vanished into air.'

She tightened up a holy water vial.

'Ah - changelings they are called,' - the Piskie said.

'Let me enquire - some light on this I'll shed.'

For hours she waited anxiously - then late

that frosty night, the flitting form returned.

Sensing the urgency, he came out straight

with what he knew. 'Good fortune be - I've learned

your infant's whereabouts. A friendly bird

says Spriggans were at work - and worse I've heard.

They left a suckling of their own - and stole

your boy. Nearby - tomorrow - on the Gump -

when they will revel, feast and dance the whole

night long - up where fantastic things go bump

in the dark - there they plan to sacrifice

your babe - make haste and go there in a trice.'

The night was bitter cold when they arrived,

the air was filled with smell of sea - the moon

was full and bright. Their dwindled hope revived,

they'd come prepared. Silent it was, but soon -

in lines the fiendish Spriggans dancing came,

carousing merrily with feast and game.

Silence was later called. All gathered round,

and strange, unearthly music softly played.

An alter was erected on the mound -

upon it were a cloth and candles laid.

A weird procession came - one held a child -

the rest behind it chanted as they filed.

Armed with the sword and shield he lately stole,

Jack crept across the grass and took his chance.

A Spriggan laid down Jowan - from a scroll

another read a prayer. Jack caught its glance -

it raised its hand and something cast his way -

Jack tried to move but somehow trapped he lay.

In giant cobwebs he had found himself -

in magic gossamer entangled. Stuck

he was, beyond the wit of scheming elf;

no sword could cut it - he was out of luck.

In horror Rosen watched - with little clue

what she - alone, unarmed - could possibly do.

'I, Vigus -', cried it, 'offer up this life -'.

She had on her the vial of holy water,

and nearer crept - then, as it raised a knife -

threw some on it. Abandoning the slaughter -

it shrieked with pain - the others shrank with dread -

the web spell broke, they grabbed the babe and fled.

Returning home they noticed something wrong -

the house was burgled while the Blighs were out,

they looked and found the stolen treasures gone.

Jack shrugged: 'The treasures care I not about.

We have once more the one I most adore -

our precious little boy, worth so much more.'