The Crimson Tale of the Hatchet Man

The Crimson Tale of the Hatchet Man

Hatchet Man

Through darkened woods, on a mountain top

Sits a decrepit cabin among the rocks

Musty, rotting, and crumbling down

Near, none will venture, fearing the sounds

A rhythmic cadence of chopping wood

Echoes now, where the well once stood

Ground long since open, a deep endless hole

A gateway they say, slick and black, just like coal

There, the wind always howls, branches do bend

Blood never dries, and the forest has no end

Brave souls have tried, and brave souls have fled

And they’ll never return after feeling the dead

Some tried for the porch, others aimed for the door

They’ve all gone lost, their lives are no more

To return alive, a rare gift, but a curse

For the nightmares, and terrors, then finally a hearse

And how the skeptics do laugh, say it’s just a wives’ tale

Something made up, a tabloid story, for sale

While curiosity seekers still will visit New Cannes

For the Crimson Tale of The Hatchet Man

Cannes was in the hollow below, and the village still stands

Tucked deep in the heart of the lower woodlands

It’s the tale of a hermit, who lived alone in the woods

In a one room cabin with just a few worldly goods

But a fortune some said, the man had hidden around

In boxes and in jars, which he put to the ground

He loved power and money and prayed to a beast

In a circle at night, as if some evil priest

For many long years, how the rumors did grow

Until that night in October, and an unseasonal snow

Townies were rattled, as the whispers were passed

Prints down the mountain, travelling fast

Midnight was coming, above the moon glowed

They followed the steps, which ran down the road

To the church, next they turned, and the burial ground

Three dug up and empty, and with nary a sound

The fear gripped the people, as the night folded in

Crossing themselves to protect from the sin

How, and why, and just when did this happen

Some soon entered the church, seeking the Chaplain

Screaming erupted, and then some fell to kneeling

The Father was bloodied and now hung from the ceiling

In the puddle of crimson, lay a sturdy long axe

Just like the type that you’d find in most shacks

Then shock turned to horror at the first lightning strike

People cowered and hid, a few passing from fright

More screams then, were heard, from the center of town

Two bodies now headless brought and end to the sound

Another axe in the gutter, as it was in the church

Wounds dripping their crimson as they lay in the dirt

Without warning, they said, a double flash brought more light

Another revelation of death now showing this night

For the porch of the grocery, had a chair for their guests

But the grocer now sat there, with an axe in his chest

More screams, more terror, confusion abound

The citizens all bolted for the North end of town

On arrival, they stopped, nearly fell over each other

Crucified on two trees were a sister and brother

Another axe in the trunk, a second buried in the girl

Head sagging and bent, the blade right through her curl

But footsteps in crimson gave them the means for a chase

A madman was out killing and they must stop the race

Through the town and the township then along the old road

They drove deep in the slush, as if hauling a load

Then the thunder did come, and the skies then engaged

A slushy wet fury, and a raw wind of rage

But the runners kept running, while the steps washed away

On the path to the mountain, the slush turned to clay

They scrambled and slipped, but the group pressing on

Through the night, slipping by, soon nearing dawn

Exhausted and trembling, the group now at the peak

Clumped by the cabin, but who would go speak?

A young barber named Norton, well, he thought he was best

On the door he did pound, as he flung out his chest

In a flash the slab opened, and he was met by a blade

All that followed then scattered and they hid in the shade

A voice then rang out, and the words of the pauper

Everyone of you must die on the blade of this chopper

But the mob it turned silent, and like fools held their space

Then the man came out roaring, with his axe, he gave chase

The killing began, and crimson did splash, and crimson did flow

The rest panicked and ran, but found no place to go

The woodlands were endless and how the axe blade did fly

Many brave men did shriek, and many strong women cry

And then quiet fell, not a body was moving, not one single soul

The bloody hatchet was rested and he walked to the hole

First one, then another, and then several more

He hands like a butcher, and his clothes caked with gore

He drug over the bodies to feed the spirits below

This trap he had sprung, brought the crimson that flowed

For the spirits were key and their lust satisfied

While his ego inflated, his worth magnified

On his knees he did drop, and his lips screamed a verse

I’ve paid you in blood, now give me the curse!

And the darkness grew darker, and then clouds overhead

The spirits below, still they gorged on the dead

Green lightning and wind, then a beast did appear

It’s body still forming as the steps whispered fear

The hatchet man rose and presented his deed

Head bowed but smiling, his lust and his greed

I’m worthy now master, I have killed in your name

You owe me a payment, my right, I do claim!

Either Vampire or Lycan, I demand you forward the gift

His words spilled out wicked, and his voice now a hiss!

And then a great light from below, how it lit up the sky

And the rage of the demon was heard in it’s cry

How dare you demand, you’re a weak little bug!

To think you are worthy, and then acting so smug!

Then a tendril came flying, thought his chest it did spike

Then another and another, sharp and long, like a pike

Oh, the crimson did spill, the beast licked at the earth

Then he shocked the old man, which lit up every nerve

The man screamed and writhed and rolled in great pain

A great laughter erupted, the beast smiled as he drained

From the hole a great tongue, one that licked at his skin

Wrapped tightly around him, and then, snap, pulled him in

Oh his screams were delicious, and the beast had his fill

While he bathed in the carnage on top of that hill

He then touched the sky and then reached for the hole

Pulled flames from the air, before grabbing the souls

All but one he consumed; left the hatchet man chained

Left to suffer forever, his soul was detained

For fate he tried tempting, and demands he did rage

But the beast didn’t like it, so it made him a slave

The hatchet man still waits, for the chance daring few

It will rain and he’ll kill them, it’s all he can do

That’s the whole story, the truth, that I swear

But if you think I am joking, go up there, I dare…

Author’s Notes

The Crimson Tale of the Hatchet Man is a cautionary tale. Don’t mess with things that you don’t understand and you won’t be eternally damned to walk the earth as a slave to a demon.

Read more of my scary stuff at this link and this one too

Check out my author page on this site at this link – I’m also the owner. Ask me how to join if you need a place to write.





R J Schwartz
Latest posts by R J Schwartz (see all)

R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all. I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed. I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another. I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me. I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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