WHEN THE NIGHT CALLS
By John Thomas Tuft
He quietly closes the door behind him
Leaving his mistress to her slumber
The stars keep watch when the night calls
Now he must exorcise the spell he is under.
A lone wolf calls for prey’s blood in the distance
Its mournful howl echoing off the canyon walls
The vicar must find a way before the feast of St. Stephen
To slake his thirst for her passion which enthralls.
In the shadows the prince of darkness stalks him
For the hunt he has emptied out all the dogs of hell
Competing for the fire in the soul of the vicar
Against the night calls of the vixen who weaves her passionate spell.
He races now across the shrouded snowscape
His eyes fixed upon the bell tower of the chapel beyond
Fearing he hears footsteps closely chasing him
Panicked, he ventures across the frozen pond.
Fleeing the specters from beyond all reason
Not even the Star of the East comes to rescue as cracks in the ice begin
Spreading in all directions beneath his feet as he stumbles
Calling out “My Angeline!” as the cold waters swallow all traces of him.
It is said that every year now on the night before the feast of St Stephen
If you sit in the tower of the vicar’s chapel in silence as moonshadows fall
You hear the lonely cries of the wolf on the bleakness of the wind
And the echo of the vicar beseeching his lover Angeline when the night calls.