A Very Dangerous Man

Alone in a house a man lay bound in ropes, hidden by the night. Not even the moon shone into the cellar, for the small window was boarded up.  The man never saw the sun or the stars. He heard no voices, no laughter.  

In the cellar a light bulb hung from the ceiling. I stood over the man, observing him gurgle, watching the blood dribble from his nose and stain his gag. The man's name was Damien.
 
They think I don't see, but I do.  I see everything.  I see them snivelling and running.  I see them laughing.  They are laughing at me, their voices piercing and hideous.  I hear the cries and the screams, the derision and the scorn, a thunderous roar that incenses me.    
 
Why does the grandfather clock chime in the corridor?   Has it not already pealed three times this morning?   Does it needs repairing?   Is this why the man has come?  To repair the clock?      
 
The bells are ringing,  
St Hilda has died.  
The children are crying,
For Mary must hide.
 
A queen is burning,
St Hilda has died.
A clock is turning,
The children must hide.