Old Karlotten

When swiftly falls the eventide,

And o'er the moors and fields you ride,

To stake your honor, claim your pride,

Beware of Old Karlotten.

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At crest of path, she sits alone,

In modest dwelling hewn from stone,

But scraps of cloth to call her throne,

A heap of wool and cotton.

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She spins her yarn to tell her thread,

Yea, calls the spirits, hears the dead,

Whose tales foretell the utmost dread,

With wisdom long forgotten.

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You'll know her home, but not from sight,

Her dwelling will give out no light,

A burning odor, reek of shite,

A taste of all things rotten.

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When at last you've reached her lair,

As lungs burn with the putrid air,

None will come to save you there,

Your fate is past amending.

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A voice wafts softly from the house,

Akin to woodland quail or grouse,

"Are you there, my little mouse?

Some things do need attending."

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You try to flee, with efforts vain,

Bound to ground by unseen chain,

"My darling pet, you shan't again

Your own way be a-wending.

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"For I've a special plan in store,

The ancients have divulged their lore,

Love, I need just one piece more,

My time on Earth is ending.

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"So in you go, o sweetest pet,

Your part to play, my plan abet,

My blood shall flow with vigor yet,

Last agent of my potion."

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Ere she lifts you 'fore her den,

With strength she's rent from fifty men,

To cast you in her hovel then,

One deft and practiced motion.

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"Before your flames, I lay my gift,

Who, in my stead, through Styx shall drift,

To him, I plead, my debt do shift,

Reward my kind devotion."

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Hence she draws a wicked dagger,

Nears you with malignant swagger,

Punctured neck and dizzy stagger,

Flows the crimson ocean.

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Your body sprawls upon the ground,

Fast-siphoned blood, the only sound,

Devoured as if by Hades' hound,

Perception fades to narrow.

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Life's elixir on her lips,

Into the night she quickly rips,

The devil on her fingertips,

Fly deadly as an arrow.

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She drifts low o'er the nearest town,

With flick of wrist, she burns it down,

Thus Old Karlotten takes her crown,

The world now hers to harrow.

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And here you lie in humble state,

The fumbling gods have wrecked your fate,

Beseech your way to pearly gate,

Death takes you on the barrow.

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When swiftly falls the eventide,

And o'er the moors and fields you ride,

To stake your honor, claim your pride,

Beware of Old Karlotten.