The Travelling Man

Have you heard about the travelling man?

He wears a black hat and a black suit,

A black waistcoat silky as a magpie's back,

And a suitcase of tricks carried in his hand.

Perhaps you've heard that lulling tune

He whistles as he walks the windy road.

It's a tune that sounds old and airy

Yet eerie and unnerving, forgotten too soon.

I've heard that he's as tall as a tree

And has fingers the colour of bone,

That his strangeness is what makes the children

Gather round him, aching to see

All the secrets that hide in his case.

Cards and silver coins glimmer inside,

But things writhe and shudder in the lining,

Things that would take a child's face.

The man performs the greatest tricks

Which lure the children ever closer

To his watery eyes and browning teeth

And a black broken heart no laughter can fix.

And the children are lost in the dead of the night,

Erased in a thick smothering mist,

Only to be found at the break of dawn

Stripped of their faces and tongue-tied in fright.

So late under many chilly misty eves

As you lay dreaming by your windowsill

About magic and fairies and

Monsters that your imagination weaves,

Just think about the suitcase

That pulses and shudders in the hand

Of the travelling man that wanders

The earth searching for another child's face.

Author Notes: Thank you for reading. For more horror shorts visit paganpages.wordpress.com

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