Frank’s Ramble

(I was reading about the Bloomsbury group. On a sunny day in the 1920s, at their country retreat, one of the group was reading a pulp fiction novel and wouldn’t stop to Bloomsbury about with the others. He described to them the eerie plot of the now long lost potboiler. I have moved the action to the present and the north and elevated it onto the Pennine moors.)

When Frank went rambling up on t’ moors,

His venture seemed romantic.

But then a heavy mist came down…

Now Frank wor feeling frantic.

 

He’d got no signal on his phone

And day had turned to night.

And mist had blanked out moon and stars.

But then Frank saw a light.

 

A coach lamp hung beside a door,

But t’ house wor dark and shuttered.

‘IS ANYBODY HOME?’ he shouts.

‘To ring for t’ taxi?’ mutters.

 

Three times he raps upon that door…

Faint echoes each recall.

But as he turns to walk away,

Sharp footsteps resound in t’ hall.

 

And t’ door opens to dazzling light!

Frank thinks himself inspected.

‘Who is it, my dear?’ a voice enquires.

‘It’s he whom we expected!’

 

Frank follows her as if in thrall,

Muttering apologies.

But as he turns into t’ front room,

He’s shocked at what he sees…

 

He looks at one face, then at t’ other.

Then, ‘Lord have mercy!’ he begs.

No eyes…no nose…no mouths at all.

Their faces a smooth…as eggs!

 

He stands transfixed before them both.

Then he hears an inner yell.

He concentrates, then hears more clear…

And t’ words are, ‘Run like hell!’

 

He staggers off down t’ dazzling hall,

And sprints down t’ gravel track.

And plunges into mist and moor.

And never once looks back.

 

But on some lonely moorland path,

Dipped headlights, at last he spots.

And Frank strides out on t’ tarmac road,

And t’ car slows down…and stops.

 

T’ car’s engine purrs as they set off,

Frank states his destination.

In time, his hooded driver asks,

‘What caused your perturbation?’

 

Relaxing then, Frank tells his tale.

And t’ driver listens intently.

Then smoothly slowing t’ car to stop,

‘No features at all?’ asks gently.

 

When Frank turns to his rescuer,

His courage leaks its last dreg.

No eyes…no nose…no mouth at all:

His face as smooth…as an egg!

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