A Night on the Moors

As I went out one autumn night
my dogs and torch at call
I chanced in all the bleak terrain
on the bleakest spot of all.

A cold wind muttered in the gorse
grey geese were on the wing
and when I was halfway my walk
I saw this hellish thing.

Some pale grey ghost shed light upon
a spreading field so red
that crept my way in solemn sway
and filled my heart with dread.

't Was here mad Jeanie took her life
when she'd been treated mean -
she fled in horror to the moors
to wield a knife so keen.

Red lifeblood spurted on the soil
sweet breath was stopped right then
mad Jeanie she was seen no more
within the realm of men.

When from the market John returned
he found his sweetheart gone
and never a word poor Johnny heard
that he could act upon.

He tore his hair, and rant and rave
he did, to no avail -
he lost ten stones, was skin and bones,
and haggard, worn, and pale.

One day he roamed out on the moors
to go two hours, no more -
it was two days ere he came back,
yet paler than before.

He had gone dumb and cold and numb
but gestured wild and strong
the villagers they went to look
but hurried back ere long...

A phantom came to them and wailed
and wrung its ghostly hands
and they had fled in utter dread
before its shrill demands.

They said poor John had done her wrong
He must have used her ill -
It hadn't been her John but it
was I who took my fill.

The stupid woman couldn't see
That it was just a game...
She shrieked like a stuck pig and fought
And then she cursed my name.

And now she's here - and I am here
't Was I that got her goat...
I fear I will return no more -
her hands are at my throat -

I post this October challenge poem because I found out from Desejo's entries that posting was part of the challenge. The ballad is a reworked Pig, actually...