Morrow Point

Where They Hanged the Witch Named Maeve

Stephen Thorn

 
They say the thunder rumbled low 
Like a soft, foreboding drum 
And the sky was colored like watered-down wine 
Warning of something to come 
According to the stories they tried her here 
Away from the houses of town 
And a wagon with two shaggy horses stood by 
For when they brought her body down 
Carrion birds came to witness the trial 
All eager for their meager share 
As the witch hunter used a dull razor and shears 
To cut off her long, curly hair 
They say that he searched her scalp for an hour 
But no mark of the devil was found 
So they stripped her and pricked her with dagger and awl 
Before the greedy eyes of the town 
And they say that after all these years 
Still no grass grows on her grave 
And no birds will perch in the barren tree 
Where they hanged the witch named Maeve 

They say her accuser was a man of wealth 
High-placed in the town's social scale 
He said that her witchery withered his wheat 
And made his cow's milk go bad in the pail 
He accused her of flying to his house on a broom 
To invade his dreams at night 
That she came to him naked and filled him with lust 
And left him weak by morning's light 
He said that she poisoned the land with her sin 
And had meetings with the Lord of the Flies 
And they say that she sobbed and begged them to listen 
And that all of the charges were lies 
But no man there denied her beauty was such 
As to lead even good men astray 
And several agreed she'd invaded their dreams 
At least that's what the legend says 
And they say that after all these years 
Still no grass grows on her grave 
And no birds will perch in the barren tree 
Where they hanged the witch named Maeve
 
They say the judge ordered she face the test 
So her arms and legs were tied 
They took her out where the stream was known to be deep
And threw her over the side 
For long, tense seconds they waited and watched
Then came the proof up at last 
As Maeve, forevermore branded a witch, 
Bobbed up to the surface and gasped 
The good people of town wasted no time 
They dragged her out to a sturdy tree 
And as she begged and she pleaded and she prayed for her life
They wrapped a noose and let it swing free 
Then they put it around her slender throat 
Like the closing act of a play 
They sat her upon a horse's back... 
Then pulled the horse away 
And they say that after all these years 
Still no grass grows on her grave 
And no birds will perch in the barren tree 
Where they hanged the witch named Maeve
 
They say that her body writhed and shook 
For several minutes, hanging up there 
While the minister prayed and the good people stared
She danced on nothing but air 
They say they took her body down 
To a place where two roads meet 
And they buried her face-down with the Host in her mouth 
And iron spikes pierced through her feet 
Yes, it's all in the records. You can read them today 
But they're not easy to find when you look 
They're kept in a box in a back room, almost hid 
As if someone were afraid of that book 
But there's no one to question, no descendants to ask 
Just one book with pages still white 
Because three days later everyone in that town 
Simply vanished overnight 
And they say that after all these years 
Still no grass grows on her grave 
And no birds will perch in the barren tree 
Where they hanged the witch named Maeve 
 

Stephen Thorn’s enjoyment of horror fiction grew from the many scary comic books and horror movies of his youth. Most of his work is in horror fiction, but he also writes fantasy, sci-fi, humor, romance, poetry, and erotica. He lives near Harrisburg, PA.