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The Silver Lady
The Silver Lady

The Silver Lady

InksmithBram Bone

I never did believe in spirits, nor ghosts of any sort.

Neither I believe in haunts, or noises in the wood.

Always was a flashing light, a ball seen bright; only the headlights of a car.

No spooking voice, the wind was choice to answer people down.

My town was filled with fools with clowns who believed in a 'silver lady'.

A specter wench whose vile stench of roses walk in wade of crying deep.

Pathetic fools I thought they were, my townsfolk of Nevermoor.

No ghost was there. I told them fair not once, not twice, but ever more.

Then came the evening I was dared to put my mouth up to the flare.

"Barnabee Rynolds," came a voice from a crowd who had heard my worn speech subside.

"If you don't believe in the silver lady, prove us wrong!"

"How shall I, my good sir?" I asked.

"Wait for her there by the ferns and the fair autumn breeze by the pond. By the willows she runs ever crying ever moaning ghostly chants ever blowing for none, and if she's not there you've won!"

I gave a hearty laugh, "I take your bet, but wait not yet, for perhaps let me bet some more."

I took out from my pocket my purse filled with stock'n and a locket of finest pearl.

"Twenty talons I wager, and when she not be there, you give me 'least twenty and more!"

My friend pulled out pockets, and with everyone watchin' he shook my hand and bet by the four.

Then night came.

Alone I was by the pond, not in hum nor in song, but in quiet throng amid the fallen leaves.

By the willows then I slept, sure for a morn a bit richer in my pocket and bit warmer for more.

Then by midnight I woke by a sound so strange and blight.

A somber cry in the dark.

I saw a light, a silver light breaking on the far shore.

It was her.

Crouched in hiding I went bent by the willow, not thinking to move nor billow in the chilling air.

I peeked behind the trunk and caught her by sight.

She wore a dress to her knees and no more.

Her silver flight strode me in fright as she crossed, floating 'bove the pond I assure.

To me she did came by the tree all the same and asked me my name in her cold weeping way.

"Barnabee." Said I affright, staying in the wake of my life.

"And yours?" I asked, but she did not even gasp to answer as plainly as torn.

She was beautiful and bright in the pallor moon light, and out my mind I asked her to dance.

And she acquiesced, then we flew and we swung and we laughed and we sung old songs til the break of day.

And before the dawn broke, when she said she had t'go, I asked her if I could return.

She smiled like the stars and said, "Yes." Then without another guess she went gently fading away.

When I came back to town I went home a bit poorer, yet my heart came a bit richer than yore.

I went straight to my bed, threw the pillow o'er my head, and dreamed of the silver lore.

My heart sank to sleep, and I saw her in my dreams and she stayed there ever more.

That was the night I fell in love with the fright by pond with the most beautiful smile that my eyes have ever seen.

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About The Author
Inksmith
Bram Bone
About This Story
Audience
All
Posted
19 Nov, 2018
Words
595
Read Time
2 mins
Rating
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Views
343

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