Arrival

Masts appear over the horizon;
Spars angular, rigging in lines and parallels,
Sails drooping in the evening's stillness.
I watch from the cliffs above
Among the upright stones of our family, forbears.
We womenfolk keep our second sight to ourselves.
Scan the future.
Grey films my vision.
I see tombs opening in my other sight.
Hear sharp cries,
Feel the pain, the absolute terror.
And Lo! The undead shall rise.

In the now time the ship grows larger,
Gulls mewling overhead,
Boats are coming in for shelter.
Mares' tails appear to the Northwest
In the sultry evening sky.
A dread storm warning.
Wierd calm.
I, only I know the reason,
Why, and like Cassandra,
I would never be believed.
The ship in my other sight, sails ever nearer.
I sense that distant presence,
Inevitable.
Entity of malevolence
Devil spawn.

In the now time
I sense my husband's happiness.
Busy with his duties ready to land.
O God keep him safe.

I, apart as always,
Despite the Summer's heat,
Furl my cloak about me.
Spurious attempts to look happy.
Long ago legends told by sailors.
My Grandfather's book.
Lycanthropy.
He knew.
Great Grandmother could turn herself into a cat when she
Ran three times widdershins around the cottage.
Burned as a witch.
Thy will be done.

Chill winds in this graveyard.
I turn, descend to the harbour.
Crew furling the sails,
The helmsman steers her in.
Other world shapes in my other sight
Black malevolence.

Ropes out to tie up alongside.
'It's the Captain's wife.
She's a strange one and no mistake'.
I stiffen with fear.
He is in my other sight.
Tall, thin, high cheekbones
Face frost white.
Lips blood-red rictus.
He stares straight at me.
Gaze.
Piercing my very soul.
Blinks red for a scarce moment.
Nosferatu.
I know you.
Lestat.
However you call yourself.
Vampyre.
He is come for us.
Murmur of crowd.
Mary and Susan.
'Why do you hold me so?'
'You swooned. Good thing we caught you.
Must be the excitement.
You feel alright?'
I feign. Hide fear. Nod. Smile.
With trembling steps I board the ship.
'Edith! You are even more beautiful than I remembered.
So long since I left Whitby.
Let me look at you.
Your hands....they are so cold.'
My husband, at least, is safe.
I have a few short hours of happiness left.

In the eye of the storm,
As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean,
On the wrecked schooner,
Dead helmsman, crucifix in his hands,
Awaiting the maelstrom.
He.....