The Boy Who Never Knew
A dark fairy tale about a naive boy, the bear he raised, and a visit to his sick grandma.
A Dark Fairy Tale
If you’re receiving this, you previously subscribed to my writing on Substack. I’m on Ghost now. I also went fully anonymous on Substack. A few friends, welcome to the other side of me. It's Hawtorn V. Rabot, HVR, though a few of you know my real name.
If you would like, you can listen to this 🎧
The poem is by me. The audio is by Suno.
Turn on the sound 🔊
There was a young boy.
Oh, he lived without a clue,
Knowing nothing of life,
The world, me, or you.
He lived deep in the woods,
Cared for animals and his pet bear,
Did the chores and sold goods.
He was a businessman.
The bear was lost as a cub,
Crying out loud for his mom.
The boy’s cabin: a hub
For animals of all kinds.
He loved the bear the most,
More than the squirrels and deer.
Named him The Ghost,
The way the cub was scared.
One day this boy got the news
That his grandma was ill.
He put on his shoes,
Carried a knapsack and hot soup.
Tucked in the squirrels and birds,
Locked up the shop,
Gave The Ghost some parting words,
And gave him a hug.
The boy knew she wasn’t near,
But knew to follow the sun above the trees,
Without knowing the time of the year
Or that he was going the wrong way.
The creepy hunter saw the boy walk,
Grinned and followed.
As he grabbed ether and a sock,
With an evil plan in mind.
He closed in on the boy,
Could hear him sing.
The man had a new toy,
With the sock ready for knockout.
He looked and smiled and nearly called,
But the hunter gasped and cried
As his arm was mauled
Before he could let out a scream.
The grown Ghost stared, appalled,
And finished the creepy hunter.
The boy kept walking the wrong way.
The Ghost knew grandma’s house
And tore down trees where they swayed.
The boy changed course following the trees.
The butcher watched the kid
And grinned ear to ear.
See, he loved what they forbid:
Human meat pies.
The butcher, with his cleaver,
Followed the boy.
And was so excited and eager,
He dropped his tools.
Then he stopped and bent down
And reached for the blade.
He turned back up with a frown.
The Ghost pounced on him,
And his limbs went all over town.
The Ghost was gone before the boy looked.
The boy stopped for a break,
Drank some from a stream.
The man from the bank
Was not far behind.
The banker wanted to take his home:
A cabin, a house, the lot,
Not knowing who roamed
As he planned to handle the boy.
He came closer to where the boy drank.
A drowning would be easy,
And the home would belong to the bank.
He put on gloves and closed in
When The Ghost charged at his flank
And slashed him where he stood.
The Ghost dragged his body away
As the boy got back on the path.
It was getting later in the day.
Soon dangerous people would be out.
A man stood on the path:
A three-piece suit and a grin,
All finesse, no wrath.
He wasn’t like the others.
When the boy came near,
The man went through his phone,
Adjusted the text to be clear
For his presentation.
The Ghost came in slowly.
This one wasn’t like the rest.
The man said, “Take a knee.”
The Ghost sat cautiously.
The man found his smart slideshow:
The value of cash dropping,
Centralized currencies the foe,
Credit and gold weren’t enough.
What The Ghost needed was crypto.
The boy needed it too.
The Ghost watched him twice,
Scratched his head and wondered.
Maybe cryptocurrency would be nice.
This man was doing a favor.
The man said the kid was up next.
The Ghost went cold
And mauled the man’s chest.
Cash would have to do.
The boy neared the end of the woods
Where a man was waiting to make sales:
Textbooks, apps, and related goods,
Selling the narrative of the winners.
He practiced his pitch of the past
The company profited from telling
And prepped all the apps:
“The animals gladly gave up their land.”
As the boy neared the end
Of the trees to grandma’s,
The salesman pretended to be a friend,
But The Ghost saw it coming.
A fast charge through the leaves
And a jump for the throat.
His flesh was in the breeze,
Then cleaned up so the boy didn’t see.
The boy was singing out loud
And skipping through the forest.
He was so happy and proud
To be caring for his grandma.
He left the woods near her house
And was nearly there.
He stopped in a meadow to browse
And pick her some flowers.
Outside her house a man stood,
Buttons on his shirt, pamphlets in hand.
Shirt said “Make the forest good,”
With fliers and clipboards.
The Ghost charged once more
But stopped when he got close.
The man was near grandma’s door
And turned to smile at The Ghost.
“Are you a forest resident?”
The man asked with white teeth.
“I hope so. I’d like to represent.”
The Ghost was puzzled
By a bumper sticker: “51 percent.”
Who was this man?
The man started a speech.
The Ghost felt moved.
He knew how to teach
A bear the issues.
The bear took the phone,
Typed his email and address.
His mind was blown.
His voice would be heard.
The man asked if the boy would vote.
He searched up his data,
Then wrote a few notes
And sent some text messages.
The Ghost tried to see what he wrote.
The man said, “Nope, nuh-uh,”
Then asked for a quote.
The Ghost stopped and stared.
He slashed the man’s hand
And glanced at his phone:
"The boy’s vote could be in demand.
Send targeted emails and ads.
This should skip chain of command.
His vote should be priority.”
The Ghost growled at the data harvest,
Roared at the ads they would send:
How they wanted his address
And to change the message.
The Ghost took the man in his teeth,
Ran back to the forest,
And there began to eat.
He loved how liars tasted.
The little boy knocked on the door.
“Grandma, it’s me,” he called,
“With soup and to do your chores.”
The lady opened up.
The Ghost lay on the floor,
Resting now that the boy had made it.
The Ghost would wait day and night
Until the boy left.
Never would he see a fight.
He would grow up happily.
There was a grown bear
Who looked after a boy
With all the love and care.
The boy was naive.
If you liked this poem, download a free copy of it to share with friends and family.
Click here!
If you liked the music, you can download that as well.
Click here!
Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment.
It's free to subscribe, share, post on socials, and tell others.
Click here to see how to support me. It has links to my book, Buy Me a Coffee, and paid subscriber options.
This piece is in response to the Labyrinthia Mythweaver prompt:
