This is The Ominous Folk of Hopeless Maine, singing about werewolf romance, at Raising Steam 2022.
The lyrics are over here! https://hopelessvendetta.wordpress.com/2022/05/13/werewolf-love-song/
Tag Archives: werewolf
The unspeakable thing in the night
You lie there awake, listening to the sounds on the roof. Something is on the roof, skidding over the slates. Back and forth it goes. They go. There is no sense in this scrabbling about around the chimneys, and yet you cannot be sure that there is nothing intelligent up there.
All you can do is hope that it is a donkey, again. There is no imaginable way that a donkey could be on your roof because there are no means by which it might ascend. You know this. You have checked extensively. But there has been a donkey on the roof before – you saw it with your own eyes in the uncanny half light of an early summer morning. The donkey looked at you and you expected it to speak, giving some pronouncement to justify its position or identity. It said nothing. How it descended remains as mysterious to you as the means by which it found its way to your chimney pots. It declined to come down while you were watching, and everyone must succumb to the call of the privy in the end.
You really hope this sound comes from hooves on roof tiles. That the skidding is exactly the way a donkey would sound on a roof and that those aren’t slithering noises at all. But now you’ve thought about it you can’t quite let go of the idea that the sound from above is a slithering sound. The low grunt doesn’t dispel the possibility of night visiting tentacles. It does however raise the possibility that what you’ve got on the roof is a werewolf. You’d had your suspicions for a while about Amos next door, and he has a window that would make it easy to get out onto his roof, and from there to yours. You are fairly certain this is not the route the donkey used.
How dangerous is Amos if he really does turn into a werewolf? He’s not eating well, that’s for sure. The man is bone thin, which makes you think he’s maybe not that good at hunting and eating people. On the flip side he’s probably very hungry, and your roof connects with his, and here you are, all fleshy and nutritious.
The darkness around you feels heavy and oppressive, and you think about lighting your candle. It might be a comfort to be able to see what’s around you. Of course that still won’t help you with the thing on the roof. You briefly entertain the idea that it could be some sort of perfectly normal night bird doing perfectly normal night bird things up there. Then you hear it breathing slowly into the chimney, and the hairs rise on the back of your neck.
Please let it be a donkey.
Werewolf love song
Werewolf love song
(Chorus)
The scent of you under the moon
your flower/salt tang in the air,
makes me so glad that it hurts,
makes fur stand.
I must taste again, your skin.
Your soul calls me always.
I would follow you into the sea.
We spoke on the bridge for an hour or more.
I waited there for you for most of the day,
to hear your soft voice and make it seem chance.
I do not touch you but hear you.
I hear you still in my mind.
The scent of you under the moon
your flower/salt tang in the air,
makes me so glad that it hurts,
makes fur stand.
I must taste again, your skin.
Your soul calls me always.
I would follow you into the sea.
We “chance” meet again in the morning near town,
Your dark eyes alive with finer feeling.
I offer my coat for your shoulders,
our hands touch as you thank me.
I hear you still in my mind.
The scent of you under the moon
your flower/salt tang in the air,
makes me so glad that it hurts,
makes fur stand.
I must taste again, your skin.
Your soul calls me always.
I would follow you into the sea.
I’ve asked you to meet in the evening at last,
We speak of the trees by the rising moonlight.
You share your dreams of the ocean,
Your head on my shoulder, you murmur.
I hear you still in my mind.
The scent of you under the moon
your flower/salt tang in the air,
makes me so glad that it hurts,
makes fur stand.
I must taste again, your skin.
Your soul calls me always.
I would follow you into the sea.
The light of the moon and your nearness,
make me feel as if i’ve lost my mind,
I howl my pleasure and madness
I must taste again, your skin.
I would follow you into the sea.
The scent of you under the moon
your flower/salt tang in the air,
makes me so glad that it hurts,
makes fur stand.
I must taste again, your skin.
Your soul calls me always.
I would follow you into the sea.
This is a new song featured in this year’s Hopeless, Maine show. It’s the first of our original songs to be written by Tom, and the tune for it was composed by Tom and his son Cormac – who is a fantastic musician.
Isabelle Myfanwy, unexpectedly deceased
Having been missing for several days, remains of Isabelle Myfanwy were unexpectedly discovered late yesterday, inside a glass heron. Due to the whole issue of being inside a glass heron, there will be no burial, but a memorial service of some sort is expected.
At present, the cause of Isabelle’s death remains unknown. As a 14 year old she is unlikely to have been dismembered by the bird who ate her and should really have lost no more than a hand to a glass heron attack. It seems most likely that her remains were already in pieces before the glass heron ingested her. We may never know the truth.
Doc Willoughby said, “The most likely cause of death is gothicism, which is a frequent killer of young ladies. Isabelle had taken to wearing black clothing and dramatic hoods, which is never a good sign. She was probably hanging about in graveyards, and either got herself exsanguinated, or torn apart by werewolves.”
Doc Willpoughy encourages any other young ladies afflicted by gothicism to call in at his surgery after dark where they can admire his collection of unsavoury things in bottles while he undertakes to cure them of their unwholesome inclinations. I am sure this is as reasonable as it sounds.
Friends of the deceased fear that she may have been taken by the island’s black dog, or indeed a werewolf.
“She always did love fluffy things,” one family member told me. “And some of those werewolves can be really fluffy at this time of year.”
Heike Harding is dead, but who should we blame?
By Frampton Jones
Heike Harding will be well known to anyone who has spent time around the docks of Hopeless Maine. She has fed the feral cats there for many years, and taken in cats rescued from shipwrecks. Anyone wanting a regular cat who can prevent small, antisocial entities from infesting home or workplace, will have appreciated her good work.
It is a mystery then, why this well-liked islander has suffered a sudden and violent death.
Doc Willoughby told me: “She most likely had a little turn and fell in the water. No one lasts long in that water.” When I asked him about the shocking neck wound, he said, “Sea monsters, I expect. They come right into the dock you know, especially at night after the pub has closed.”
A number of citizens who wished to remain anonymous expressed to me their opinions that someone from our unnatural community is to blame. Several anonymous vampires have told me that it was far too violent to be a vampire bite, and looked far more like the sort of thing a were-person would do. One gentleman self-identifying as a werewolf told me that a werewolf just wouldn’t waste food like that and it must have been a vampire.
On the day after her death, all of Heike’s cats made a slow and solemn march from the docks, to the Hopeless Home for Uncanny Cats. I feel they know something we do not.
Since the recent deaths of Crysta, and Erekiel, The Hopeless Home for Uncanny Cats has been an unsafe place for human visitors. The cats are angry. Cats have congregated from across the island as far as I can tell. I had no idea we had so many dustcats and shadowcats.
I advise extreme caution, if you own a cat, are owned by a cat, see a cat, or find someone breaking into your home after dark.
The return of the werewolf markings!
The esteemed Mr. Cumber has created the fine offering this week. It is a continuation of the werewolf marking theme which began here.
Allow me to introduce you to Annabeth Millander, and what she has discovered…
Art by Clifford Cumber