Los familiares (2011)

XXVI. The Familiars

John Whateley lived about a mile from town,

Up where the hills began to huddle thick;

We never thought his wits were very quick,

Seeing the way he let his farm run down.

He used to waste his time on some queer books

He’d found around the attic of his place,

Till funny lines got creased into his face,

And folks all said they didn’t like his looks.

When he began those night-howls we declared

He’d better be locked up away from harm,

So three men from the Aylesbury town farm

Went for him—but came back alone and scared.

They’d found him talking to two crouching things

That at their step flew off on great black wings.