The Ballad of the Sunken Bells

THE BELLS OF KINGSMOUTH

A LOCAL TRADITION (TRANSCRIPTION)

[Scribbled on a soggy napkin found in a booth at the Kingsmouth Diner. The handwriting becomes increasingly erratic toward the end.]

Oh, don’t you go down to the harbor tonight,
Where the fog is a blanket of grey and of white.
The Lady Margaret came home with a chill,
And the bells in the steeple won’t ever stay still.

"One for the sailor who walked in the sea,
Two for the secret he brought back to me.
Three for the hunger that never will end,
And four for the fog that makes foe into friend."

The Draug are a-knocking with fingers of bone,
They’ve come for the hearts that they once called their own.
The salt is a poison, the oil is a stain,
And the sea only gives what it takes back in pain.

The Polaris is groaning, she’s stuck on the reef,
With a hull full of madness and pockets of grief.
So bolt up your windows and turn out the light,
For the bells of the sunken are ringing tonight.

— Recovered from a waterlogged notebook, Solomon Island. Note: The ink smells faintly of dead fish and ozone.

Ballad of the Drowned Bell

The Kraken's Lullaby

The fog rolls in on Solomon's shore,

A whisper from the deep, for evermore.

Old Man Tiber swore he heard its chime,

A sunken bell, lost to ancient time.

"It calls the catch," the fishermen would say,

"A bounty from the bay, come what may."

But others knew a colder, darker truth,

A siren's song, stealing youth.

No fish was there, no silver gleam,

Just shadows dancing in a waking dream.

The bell's deep toll, a crushing sound,

As boats were dragged to oozy ground.

So listen close when the fog is deep and grey,

And the ocean calls your name to come and play.

If you hear the Drowned Bell, turn your bow and flee,

Lest you join the chorus beneath the hungry sea.

[Collected from local folklore, Kingsmouth, Solomon Island.]

The Ballad of Fogwood

(A Folk Song or Ballad)

The ocean breathes a sigh so deep, While Kingsmouth Harbor lies asleep. But don't you walk the docks alone, Or listen for the breaker's moan.

The fog comes crawlin' from the sea, It ain't just mist and mystery. It's got a hunger, got a hold, It takes the young and leaves the old.

It took ol' Jed, it took his boat, Left nothin' but his worn-out coat. They say you hear him on the breeze, A-whisperin' through the wicked trees.

The fog, it smells of salt and death, It steals the warmth and steals your breath. So lock your doors and say a prayer, When Fogwood's breath is on the air.

The Ballad of the Fogwood

(To be sung to a simple, mournful tune, like a sea shanty)

(Verse 1) Old Man Hemlock went a-walkin' Where the pine trees meet the bay, Said he'd find a fallen giant, And be back by break of day. He kissed his wife, he grabbed his axe, And walked into the wood, But the fog rolled in like ocean foam, And took him where he stood.

(Chorus) Oh, the fog comes down on Solomon, It's green and thick and slow, Don't you listen to the whispers, son, Don't you follow where they go. For the wood ain't wood and the sea ain't sea, When the fog comes down to stay, And the men who walk the fogwood deep, Don't see another day.

(Verse 2) The search party went out lookin', Called his name out to the mist, Found his axe beside a clearing, But of Hemlock, nothing twist. Just a piece of blackened timber, Carved with barnacles and salt, From a ship that sank a hundred years, Brought the searching to a halt.

(Chorus) Oh, the fog comes down on Solomon, It's green and thick and slow, Don't you listen to the whispers, son, Don't you follow where they go. For the wood ain't wood and the sea ain't sea, When the fog comes down to stay, And the men who walk the fogwood deep, Don't see another day.

(Verse 3) Now they say on misty evenings, When the air is damp and still, You can hear a lonely chopping, Coming from up on the hill. It's Old Man Hemlock, still at work, With his axe and ghostly might, Chopping wood for phantom ships, That sail on through the night.

(Chorus) Oh, the fog comes down on Solomon, It's green and thick and slow, Don't you listen to the whispers, son, Don't you follow where they go. For the wood ain't wood and the sea ain't sea, When the fog comes down to stay, And the men who walk the fogwood deep, Don't see another day.