The Crooked Man – Act I

There was a Crooked Man and he walked a Crooked mile

He found a Crooked Sixpence upon a Crooked stile

He bought a Crooked cat which caught a Crooked mouse

And they all lived together in a Crooked little house

In the Crooked house the man made Crooked tools

To use upon the weak, unsuspecting Crooked fools

He would smile his Crooked smile

And laughed at their Crooked screams

They all feared his Crooked ways

And he plagued their Crooked dreams

Tick… tack… tick…

Tick… tack… tick…

The noise made the children cry. It made their mothers shudder. It made the menfolk pretend to be braver than they were.

Tick… tack… tick…

Tick… tack… tick…

Always on the blackest of nights did the tick tack noise of a cane or staff, cracking against the path, break the silence.

Sometimes the people would see him from afar lurking close to the shadowy edges of their lands, wondering through their fields and even in the darkest alleyways and corners of town. Never a proper sighting though which only caused imaginations to run even wilder. Stories of demon-like monsters or hairy fanged beasts would be told in the opium dens, taverns or to misbehaving children. The non-believers and doubters scoffed and jeered but it was often these same folk who would disappear. Faith was strong in these dark lands but tested again and again when the tick tack noises came to ear. Who would be taken? Who would be spared? Who would hold their ground? Who would dare?

Tick… tack… tick…

Tick… tack… tick…

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