The Legend of Black Shuck (Part Three)

So here it is! The final part of S P Clark's poetic retelling of the folklore tale of Black Shuck. It is suggested that you read the sections in order so,

Click here for Part One

Click here for Part Two

Enjoy!

The Legend of Black Shuck

S P Clark

This recrudescence came to pass,

a scream so shrill it shattered glass,

but screaming brought assistance none

as quicker than a top it spun

and lunged towards dear Elias

who shan’t be spared.  Being pious

may have brought him peace and guidance,

but his screaming filled with stridence

proved that his God would not assist.

Elias wanted to untwist

himself from this situation;

the underworld’s damned Alsatian.

Destiny he could not escape,

take his chance beneath this moonscape.

As Elias struggled to stand,

grasping at the floor with his hand

and finding nothing firm to grip,

down the dune he started to slip.

Right then Black Shuck’s eye glowed brighter,

he lunged again, little blighter;

no warning growl, no muscle flex.

What must have Reed done to perplex

the spirits so, that he should be fought?

Nothing deserving this onslaught!

As the hellhound soared in the air,

Elias Reed could but despair

at the ending sure to befall;

cold sweats of terror through it all.

Black Shuck savagely landed down,

making our poor Elias drown

in the flecks of phlegm it drips out.

Reed’s voice is hidden, cannot shout.

Enormous weight of hateful foe,

crushed his bones from his head to toe

and Elias struggled to find air,

his lungs were smashed beyond repair.

Giant weight pushed him in the dirt,

now fading fast and not alert.

Before Reed could drift off to rest

Shuck gnashed not his throat but his chest,

biting, tearing, ribcage apart,

Black Shuck was aiming for his heart.   

Elias underneath the beast,

knowing soon that he’ll be deceased,

was surprised by the lack of pain,

no stinging flesh that ebbs and wanes.

Instead he felt a tug, a pull,

his discomfort was now brimful

as his heart’s hanging by a thread;

empty thoughts, clear mind,  worries shed.

As one last tug starts to sever,

Reed saw not sky, road, whatever

he thought he might see, no such things

came to be; darkness as it sings.

Endless blackness was his last view

as he convulsed, fractured in two.

Elias, in darkness of death,

saw the bleakness of losing breath,

but if he peered into the deep

he’d see one eye never asleep,

oozing red and locking his sight

in his cold resting place that night.

The blackness is the matted fur;

entwined hairs trying all to confer

and convey the darkness today

will linger on another way.

The teeth will soon become the stars

that shine down ‘pon the inns and bars

and Elias will know no more

than he died in fear ‘pon the floor.

Silence was replaced by a storm,

it rained in sheets and folk kept warm

in houses by their fires burning,

eating food with stomachs churning.

The sand-road clear apart from Reed,

torrential rain cleans those in need

of all that’s rotten and decays.

The sky, with lightening, now displays

an electrifying vision,

a bright heavenly excision

of all the ills that came before.

There’s always truth within folklore,

but, dear reader, you have to seek

out truth from those that daring speak.

Reader, you’ll surely want to know

how it all ends and where to go;

Reed was found by a local man

who lives his life the best he can.

He quick sent for a priest to come

minutes before the morning sun

had risen from eastern shadow.

The priest fast across the meadow

came, but said “I won’t bury him

on consecrated ground, no Jim!”

He soft looked down and saw Reed’s face

and said, “perhaps prayer might embrace

him, and let a burial good

take place somewhere out in the wood.”

In the weeks that then came after

chatter heard from roof and rafter

of just how did Elias die,

the fairy tales would make you cry.

Even though you now know it all,

please don’t shout it from hall to hall,

keep it locked deep inside your heart

and if not, careful how you start

to tell the story of Black Shuck,

of how Elias lost his luck.

You see, Black Shuck’s always waiting

in the sky, anticipating

a time to be unforgiving,

to take their breath, stop them living.

© S P Clark