The Haunting of Silvåkra Mill: Chapter I-IV
Early autumn in the year of our lord 1904, the quaint hamlet of Silvåkra experiences the worst thunderstorm in living memory. People and wildlife take refuge in homes and burrows as lightning wracks the night sky overhead. It is as if some malevolent force is roaring down from the black heavens, intent on doing no good, only to punish.
If anyone would have dared to look outside, they might have seen a hunched, dark figure trudging the muddy path leading up to the old, abandoned mill. They might have shouted “For the love of god, get inside!”, but they would have gotten no response. For the figure has a calling that he can not resist. A voice that speaks to him through the storm.
Chapter i: Torsion
On a barren hill, By a crooked oak
A windmill ancient and tall
Staring down the sleeping town below
It looks so tasty and small
Thunderstorms casting shadows on the window panes
The wings on the mill furious
Doors creaking open, forced by the wind
Misshapen figure gazing in
Aching back flexed in pain
Screeching wind, bending trees
Dreams of murder wrecks his mind
Brings the Grinder to his knees
The millstones churning from relentless wind
Grain to flour, bones to dust
Creaking stairs, stretching ropes, rusty cogs
Plays the ballad of his lust
Face to the wind furrowed by time
Cloaked silhouette, murderous mind
Cries in the storm on the plain
Endless spiral, endless pain
Aching back flexed in pain
Screeching wind bending trees
Dreams of murder wrecks his mind
Brings the Grinder to his knees
None of these eyes will see again
Noone will hear their fading screams
Noone will ever find the dust from their bones
Chapter ii: Immolation
His wagon creeps along the road
Parting the morning mist
A mother waving to her son
Blowing a goodbye kiss
Picking herbs beneath the old oak tree
His mother will be glad
Boney fingers closes round his neck
A laughter loud and mad
The body turning stiff and cold
His mind a raging hell
The grinder does as he’s been told
He has to do it well
The windmill howling through the stones
To sounds of carving meat
A requiem of grinding bones
A hymn of crumbling teeth
The searing fire
is growing stronger
No use resisting
No life no longer
A tapping sound the mother wakes
It is the midnight hour
And on the porch in moonli glow
A bag of finest flour
The searing fire
is growing stronger
No use resisting
No life no longer
Chapter iii: Grinder
Memories buried underneath
Planks and old machinery
Once again are given voice
Rising up beneath the noise
Wing are turning
Millstones churning again
Small flies in your web
Lead them to the hill
Grind their wings to dust
Deep inside the mill
Little fly
Time to die
Know the purpose of your life
Dull your mind but sharpen knife
Steady hand to cut the flesh
Bone and marrow must be fresh
Get to carving
I am starving agaaaaaaaain
Hear my command
Bring the children to the stones
I do demand
Pay your tribute with their bones
Sate my hunger
Fill the void with blood and tears
Hear my command
Bring the children to the stones
I do demand
Pay your tribute with their bones
Sate my hunger
Fill the void with blood and tears
Make me stronger
Let me feed on their fears
Chapter iv: Compunction
Deep below
Water Muddy
Cloudy eyes
Hands are bloody
Reaching up
Fingers scratching
Surface thick
Starts retracting
Foggy mind
Slowly clears
Screams of pain
Endless tears
Piercing cries
Etched inside
Must escape
Where to hide?
Still I´m here
Underneath
Still I need
Bones and teeth
Let me go
Leave me be
Must I die
To be free
Heads hung low at confession
Mourners pass in procession
Preachers gaze observing
Grinders eyes unnerving
Past the brook and the meadow
Preacher chasing a shadow
Grips his bible so tight
Windmill bathing in moonlight
Face to face with the madness
Hunger, fury and sadness
Wicked smile of delight
Fades away in the night