There is a fork in Hinchmen Road
where ghosts are often present,
gathered around the beating post
of a frightened female peasant.
Hinchmen Road is nowhere near
any worldly destination.
One wrong turn and you’ll disappear
into a ghostly recreation.
Two centuries have nearly passed
since her wrongful persecution.
She walks a winding foggy path
still seeking retribution.
When travelers reach the fork in the road,
they must choose which way to go.
One path leads to nowhere,
the other is crawling with lost souls.
When my wife and I decided to take
a well-deserved vacation,
we found ourselves traveling along
this passage to damnation.
I almost hit the fleeing witch
in a rented SUV.
Then an angry mob, empowered by God,
was coming after me.
I’m not you, but you’d probably do
the same thing that I done.
I reached in my emergency pack
and pulled out my loaded gun.
Shots rang out, and my wife freaked out.
Both of us were screaming!
The mob stood in my headlights,
with illumination beaming.
A decrepit old guy, patch over one eye,
and a pitchfork in his hand,
pointed at me and shouted with glee,
“He is a warlock, get that man!”
I drove right through the glowing blue
disgusting ghostly figure.
But I hit the ditch when that crazy witch
appeared in my rear-view mirror.
My wife and I were not badly hurt.
I had a goose egg on my head.
But the haunting visions in the dark
made me wish that I was dead.
They tied her to the beating post
and pelted her with stones.
They listened to her whimper
as she hung from broken bones.
They stabbed her with their pitchforks.
Poor thing just kept on breathing,
which added to their conviction
with the devil she’d been dealing.
They dragged her bloody body
across the rocky ground,
then dug a grave in the fork,
and buried her six feet down.
From horse and buggy to the cars of today,
she has hijacked weary drivers,
and brought them to the fork in the road
in hopes that they might find her.
My wife and I got on our knees,
and begged the witch for mercy.
We swore to tell her story,
despite all controversy.
Yes it’s true today most would say
I’m quite delusional.
Yet the fork in the road is one turn away
for those who ridicule.
So if you’re ever driving down
a road you often travel,
and find yourself on an eerie path
not paved or laid with gravel,
Bear witness to great injustice.
Expose the horrors that unfold.
For this is the only way to escape
the fork in Hinchmen Road.
this poem is still messed up we need to delete it or something