The Man in the Mist

By A. Banfield-Powell

Away from the battle I fled in great haste, Fearing for my life and the weight of my sin. The scent of death in my mouth I did taste, And wonder of the coffin they’d bury me in. When at once I did notice, my surrounds, A fearful and decrepit place quite rotten. A swamp, once a grave yard, peppered with mounds, Holding the bones of the dead long forgotten.

Behind piled tomb stones I made myself masked, My pursuers clothed in the pale moon’s light. Gleefully talking of what had been tasked, Lusting like beasts for the next savage fight. They searched as an owl may search for its prey, Keen eyes on tenterhooks for alien presence. Upon them time seemed not to weigh, Determined they were to vouchsafe my penance.

When at last my hunters found My corner of this most ghastly hell, I shivered in darkness near burial mound, With a stench of fear they surely did smell. I closed my eyes and waited still, For death’s final, unending hold. To pay my unearthly debt and bill, The price to be my immortal soul.

But death’s cold touch, I did not embrace, In this world of gloom and mist I remained. Huddled in fear in that foul place, As if to my tomb I were already chained. When all at once I realised, A stillness in the cold night air. As though my chasers were paralysed, The wolves no longer sought the hare.

They stood stock still and statuesque, “If you stay your course and do nothing to change,

Mannequins in a department store. Your memory will be damned to the dark and decrepit.

Frozen there, they seemed grotesque, This fate awaits all cowards who will not exchange, Not an inch they moved, not one, no more. Their dishonour in the face of the hell they inherit.”

With them fixed in place, I arose from pray, To see him sitting upon tombed stone.

And of what did this strange presence discuss. Given license to roam with unheavenly feet? The job is quite real, just vastly unseen.”

As any shadow of doubt from my mind did disband. Wondering at their current condition. I now saw the grave upon which he stood, Forgetting not for a moment they, The tombstone crumbled and decayed by the ages. Composed my deadly opposition. Through the tangled weeds and overgrown wood, I sought the engraving, heedless of dangers. Realisation now filled me with dread, Great in number and woven so thick. I knew I was no longer alone. Why had this grave among so many shrines, Slowly I turned and looked ahead, Gone neglected by all in a way so horrific? The man near spectral in the mist, There at the last, the name stood revealed, Smoking from rolled tobacco paper. The greatest shock I ever have witnessed. Resting his cheek upon his fist, The name that was hidden, now unconcealed, With a gaze that did not stir nor falter. Was none but my own as true meaning surfaced. “From where have you come?” he asked me with ease, The woe of your acts and deeds so unworthy,

Startled as I was at the breaking of this hush. Is written as plain as the name on this grave,

Thinking what could I say, his question to appease, If you do nothing to avert such causality.”

“I have run from a battle. But, to whom am I speaking?” These were the words of this agent of fate, I asked in earnest but with fear in my voice. The one who fell from such glory on high.

“I have many names, all of them quite unforgiving, Seeing to it that I not repeat his mistake,

Mephistopheles, Lucifer, I leave you the choice.” All regret and compunction I did damnify.

Could it be that before me stood the father of lies, My life sprawled out like some great atlas. The fallen angel cast from heaven, I meet? Filled with cowardice and paved with sorrow, The one all religious texts do despise, With no direction but further on into darkness.

“What do you want?” I asked with composure, “From this moment on, my life will be changed,

Assuming this, of course, was some kind of a hoax. A coward and deserter no more!” I did cry.

“What could Satan gain from this sort of exposure?” “No regret shall I hold lest I be deranged, An answer from him I surely would coax. My immortal soul, I will make you deny.”

“Exposure? What tripe!” He said with a smile, Replaced his hat and set forth into the mist. “This sort of thing is merely routine. Had he expected from me such violent reaction?

You simply haven’t seen me at work for a while, Or truly condemned my soul to his list?

“What do you want of me, evil creature you are? It was now that I woke, on the eve of a storm, Although I extend you great thanks for halting my foes, The battle I fled, returned to me anew. Why, pray tell, this tremendous seminar? Better to face my demons on fields of red,

A well needed holiday from the abyss, I suppose?” Than the mists that from foul cemetery blew. His face became solemn and his eyes grew blood red. I go to whatever fate awaits a soul such as I.

He stood from his spot and put hat into hand. Whether toward damnation or restfulness bound, Revealing curved ram’s horns that grew from his head, My mistakes fall to none but me to justify.

I scrambled and clawed at the wretched vines, “The penance you’ll pay for the way you behave, I saw now what this spirit sought to show, Again my angel smiled, a smirk of satisfaction, Gathering sense and with courage new-found,