The Song in the Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Another non-serious, half-assed addition to my portfolio. Oh, also, this almost actually happened to me.

Submitted: March 24, 2010

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Submitted: March 24, 2010



The wind was fierce that night, pouring with rain, and the cold was biting. My windows had a crack somewhere, and the curtains drifted to and fro slightly in the breeze. It was sometime in the early hours, the horizon dark, the early glow that heralds the sunrise not due for another hour at least, and I was lying in bed, awake, as I had been all night. My mind was slowly emptying of thought, and I was finally drifting away to sleep, when the first snatches of melody came to me, stolen away by the wind before they could be made out, but clear enough to bring me back to full consciousness. I lay still and listened, and the snatch of song came again, clearer this time, closer. It was a male voice, tuneful, and sharply audible, even over the wind and rain “Go to sleep,” it sang, and I sat up, wondering who was the drunk with the good sense of irony to sing this outside of peoples windows at this time of night. The tune carried on for a moment, and then stopped for twenty seconds or so, before beginning again, closer this time.
Go to sleep little babe,
Go to sleep little babe,
Mommy’s gone away and your Daddy’s gonna stay
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby
The voice stopped again and I heard footsteps slowly making their way along the street. I went to the window, and watched as a scruffy old man shuffled to a stop under the lamppost, which flickered as he stood there, in it’s rain-drenched halo. He cleared his throat, and continued to sing;
Go to sleep little babe
Go to sleep little babe
You and me and the devil makes three
Don’t need no other lovin’ baby
The rain dripped off his old hat and ragged clothes, and he must have been soaked to the bone, but he kept singing, and a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. I was just about to drop the curtain down, and go back to bed, when, still singing, he slowly turned his head towards me. A grin spread across his face, and he sang;
Gonna lay your bones on the alabaster stones
You’ll be my everlastin’ baby
My heart skipped, in a sudden flash of fear, and a tingle ran down my spine, as he stopped singing and just watched me, a peculiar glint in his eye, the smile fixed upon his face, almost leering. I was almost at the point of running to the phone to call the police, when he turned his head away again, and shuffled away across the street.
I let go of the curtain, but stood there a couple of minutes, listening, as his footsteps died away. He didn’t begin singing again, and I was left listening to the rain and wind.
Needless to say, I had shat myself, so I spent a while cleaning that up.
That’s about it. I guess I had a bit of trouble sleeping after that, but I was already suffering from insomnia anyway, so… Yeah. That’s the story of how an old homeless guy made me poop.

© Copyright 2018 Sam Halfpenny. All rights reserved.

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