Ravens Harbour

There’s a story I’ve been told
And it’s not for the faint of heart
Only for those who are bold
For their mind could be torn apart

It was told by my father
A while ago now it seems
About a place called Ravens Harbour
A fishing town with clear seas

This place he said was perfect
Calm and quiet with friendly faces
But sometimes a chill at the back of his neck
More than the coastal embraces

Then one night he was walking
He saw a figure cowled
He seemed to be muttering
My father turned as a dog howled

He looked back, the figure had gone
The town was as quiet as the grave
Not even birdsong
Did this town that night make

That night he said he slept ill
Strange dreams of dark figures robed
Looking at him cowled and still
He felt lost and without hope

Days passed and nothing he said
Happy he was with his days
Walks by the beaches head
Then he did once stray

In a graveyard he found himself
Looking upon a crumbling church
Quiet and forlorn it looked he felt
On the edge of Ravens Harbour it perched

He stood there for a while
Looking at the church and graves
From the town about a mile
He didn’t notice the light fade

There he stood outside the door
The church suddenly unwelcoming
He wondered why he was here for
It was then he heard something

Turning around he looked back
The graves protruding like claws
From the earth ready to attack
As a chill came to him, he opened the door

He walked in, closing it behind
Suddenly fearful but unsure why?
Wondering what here he would find
It was then he heard a pitiful cry

At the altar kneeling down
Was a figure in black cowled
Back and forth rocking he found
Making a very strange sound

His heart beating faster
Slowly forwards he did walk
To the crouching figure
And the cries that did haunt

Closer, closer he did get
To the figure cowled in black
About to be met
He suddenly wanted to backtrack

His breath he could now see
As he moved ever closer to it
He felt he could not breathe
Suddenly scared, chomping at the bit

A foot away was he now
When the bile rose to his throat
Everything went dark as he blacked-out
The next thing he awoke with a groan

A concerned face looked at him
Asked if he was okay?
He asked what had been
On the very strange day?

”Oh dear man,” she did say
”You met the Raven Monk
That fateful day”
He said then his heart sunk

”For the Raven Monk was a bad man
Killed many accused of witchcraft
From Ravens Harbour to the surrounding lands
His justice was swift and fast

But fond of killing was he
That the villagers rose in unison
They cut off his hands you see
And out his tongue their mission

For the tongue had given the orders
And the hands had done so too
They had also killed across borders
Had shown his colours true

So after he lost his hands and tongue
They dragged his body to the pyre
Tied him tight like women he had done
Then burned him at the fire”

The woman walked out, the story told
As he lay in bed quite and shocked
There before him stood the monk bold
Burned, handless, no tongue had come for his flock

This the story of Ravens Harbour