I was driving along the coastal route,
Looking for somewhere to stay,
A Bed and Board that was cheap would suit
In a nice secluded Bay,
But the weather broke on the seaward side
As the clouds came tumbling in,
So I had to pull to the side of the road
Next to a painted Inn.
The swinging sign said, ‘The Final Rest’
And it creaked as the seawind blew,
With a skull emblazed on the painted crest,
Though rain impeded the view,
And what was left of an ancient wreck
Lay caught on the rocky shore,
Only a matter of yards beyond
The road, and the old Inn door.
I waited until the rain had stopped
Then made my way to the bar,
An ugly crone stood there alone
On her face, a terrible scar,
She leered and said, ‘Would you like a bed,
For the storm’s set in for the night,’
My mouth was dry as I wondered why,
That scar was a terrible sight.
I said that I’d stay for just one night,
Then stood, and couldn’t but stare,
She said, ‘I know what you’re looking at,’
Reached up, and patted her hair,
She ran her finger along the scar
With a wizened, frightful hand,
‘There were some once said I was beautiful,
Oh, the wondrous works of man!’
I dropped my eyes and apologised,
While taking the proffered key,
‘I hadn’t meant to be rude,’ I cried,
‘It’s nothing to do with me!’
‘That’s what they always say,’ she said
While leading me up to my room,
Way up there on the topmost floor,
It was dark, and like a tomb.
The room held a large four poster bed
With a canopy up above,
I shut the door and I sighed, ‘There but
For the grace of the Lord above…’
The wind was rattling round the eaves
It was well set in for the night,
And I lay and mused on the woman’s fate,
What a truly, dreadful sight.
I must have fallen asleep just then
For my soul was so depressed,
I didn’t want to be stranded there
But at least I’d get some rest,
Then two o’clock in the morning I
Awoke, as my heart had raced,
The canopy had been winding down
Was pressing down on my face.
I wriggled out from beneath its hold
And struggled to get my breath,
I now knew what was ‘The Final Rest’
It was nothing less than death,
I watched the canopy creep on down
Til it gripped where I had been,
It was nothing less than revenge on men
In a plan that was obscene!
Then nothing happened for half an hour
While I shuddered beside the bed,
I knew, if I had been lying there
The odds are, I’d be dead,
But then the bed had begun to move
To tilt on its side, real slow,
And then the floor, it had opened up
To reveal a tank below.
And there the bodies of seven men
Lay in a watery grave,
Suffocated in blissful sleep
By a woman that was depraved,
The man that inflicted that dreadful scar
Had taken her life and soul,
Had turned her into a twisted crone
The Devil had in his hold.
She finally entered the deadly room
And her eyes were dull, and blank,
I jumped on out and I seized her then
And threw her into the tank,
She didn’t struggle, she didn’t cry
She knew it would come to this,
But sank and stared from the water tank
As the floor closed, with a hiss.
Whenever I travel around these days
I always sleep in the car,
It’s not so comfortable, that I grant
But it’s safer now, by far,
I hear that ‘The Final Rest’ has gone,
Developers bought the site,
And built a massive hotel just there,
They call it, ‘The Restful Night’.
David Lewis Paget
