I crossed the moor
at night
chased
by the phantom
steadily I move south westerly
and he trailed
behind
not a light did I see
the entire night
though I heard
his cough
my blade
sang with
anticipation
the phantoms blood
shocked my face
and his screams
lit up the pitch black
night
and then the wail
the caterwaul
and finally the rattle of
his death throe
I took his canteen
and found it filled
with
strong spirit
it burned
and pushed
me into night