So gather round, listen in,
Clutch your glasses of scotch and gin.
Widen your eyes, and with your mouth agape,
Listen to the tale of Slevinton Grape.
 Now, you may say that this tale is tall,
How can such and such happen at all?
Let me assure you, by the grey in my hair,
The story is true, no question there.
 Slevington Grape was a rich old coot,
Clad always in the sharpest suit.
He strutted about like a bantam cock,
Well, he owned the largest ship in the dock.
 He had no friends, he chewed no fat.
Never talked about this or that.
He dined alone and slept alone,
I doubt if he even had a phone.
 He wasn’t rude, nor was he mean,
He would tip his hat and his acts were clean.
But Slevington Grape was not a social fellow,
He preferred to sit at home and listen to the cello.
 His past was a mystery, no one knew,
Of his life before the town, no one had a clue.
Maybe he murdered, maybe he stole,
Maybe he was a sneaky mole.
 Or maybe he was an honest man,
Like the rest of us, with a better plan.
We debated, we fretted, we contemplated lore,
We worried ’till our heads were sore.
 Then one night, to settle a wager,
Struck after having bit too much lager,
Me, old Sam and Dean from Glastocker,
Went and banged Slevington’s brass knocker.
 For minute fifteen we waited, but the door stayed shut.
So we did what we felt was just.
Walked on our toes, till we found an open window,
Clambered in quietly, without making much of a row.
 The house, though big, was completely bare,
The living room, neither had table, nor chair.
We walked amazed, from room to room,
We found nothing, not even a broom.
 With less sure feet, we crept up the stairs,
Muttering under our breath, all the lord’s prayers.
Two of the three, were empty too,
The last one, we felt, held the clue.
 With clammy hands and shakey feet,
Ready to beat a fast retreat.
We approach the final door.
Not knowing what lies before.
 Ah, I see your drinks lie forlorn,
And on your faces no hint of scorn.
You are impatient to know what lay behind,
The last door, what did I find?
 So listen well, I kid you not.
Utmost respect do I have for you lot.
Behind the final door I see,
NOTHING! It is as empty as can be!
 Morning came and I was found,
On Slevington’s step, being licked by a hound.
He opened his door and let me in.
Sat me on a sofa, let me retch in his bin.
 To see the house, packed to the fray.
I didn’t know what to say.
Mumbling my thanks, I turn to leave,
When Slevington grabs on to my sleeve.
 “Your friends left you, but luck stood by,
You live because on my doorway you did lie.
You come one more night, and I can’t say,
Whether you live to see another day.”
 Two score years have passed since then,
Sammy and Dean have gone to heaven.
I expect it would be my turn soon,
Come now, you think I’m a loon?
 Disbelievers, walk towards the pier,
You will see a big house standing there.
Ring the bell and you will find,
Old Slevington, looking so kind.
 Ask him the story, if you dare,
But dear traveller, please beware.
Don’t ignore the prickly feeling in your nape.
You see, there is something not right about Slevington Grape.
