by Jeffrey Murrell


Kidnapped by the most cunning spooks
Of fabled, ancient lore,
They forced me down a stairway
Far beneath a moor.

They dwelt in a secret labyrinth,
Inaccurately vast;
Tangled twisting passages,
Modern, yet old and damp.

The halls were long and very neat,
Illuminated bright
With florescent bulbs overhead;
Such safe but blinding light.

My captor was of average build,
A man quite tall and dark;
Black eyes and hair, who wore a cloak;
As frightful as a shark!

He stood no larger than myself,
But he had great command:
More than mortal, like the others,
To him none raised a hand!

The others seemed very busy,
As if tasked in secret,
Combing the halls and passing about
For some unknown event.

They seemed to be normal humans,
Until they looked at me;
Their eyes turned crazed and horrible,
Aggressive and hungry.

They'd attempt to steal me off,
Snatching at my flesh
In order to consume my blood!
But Master forbade them.

He seemed to have no interest
In stifling me himself,
Saving me instead, it seemed, for
Some other kind of hell.

I'd have only to clutch his cloak
When others drew too near;
It seemed they doubted his power,
But they'd draw back in fear.

I followed him to a large room
Stored with supplies and junk:
Some were taking inventory,
Some were arranging stock.

He spoke with them just briefly;
I couldn't hear a word.
Their language was inaudible,
A ghostly tongue unheard.

Apparently he made a deal
To take a piece of art:
An electric lamp of metal
Which, like a fan, would part.

And what a bulky object,
That techno-Chinese work!
I would tote it like a slave
To show my life had worth.

I studied my situation,
A miserable state!
How could I buy time to think
of some way to escape?

Could I find some paper and pen
To get a message out?
But, if I'd flee from Master's hand,
I'd not find a safe route!

He changed his mind, returned the lamp,
Took a painting instead.
Would I survive to live again,
or would they find me dead?

A terrible situation!
But I did escape.
I can't recall the time which passed
Before I got away.

Where I was and for how long
Evades my memory.
But they were there, of that I'm sure,
And there they still must be.

Yes, they're there, beneath the moors,
Sinister and unseen,
Plotting to trap the unwary.
Take notice and take heed!