In the dead man's bed I lay
Longing for the break of day —
Light enough for me to rise
And feast the first time eager eyes
On the pastures broad and fair
That had fallen to my share
As my uncle's only heir.

Last night in the wintry gloam
I had come to Barracomb:
Never in my life before
Had I opened the front door,
Never crossed the threshold-stone —
I who hadn't even known
The old man who'd lived alone

Reckless of his kin till death
Laid him low and choked his breath,
Forcing him to let his lands
Pass into a stranger's hands —
Forcing him to leave his home
High on windy Barracomb
For a lodging in the loam.

In the wide and creaky bed
All night long I'd tossed, my head
Filled with plans of all I'd do
Now good fortune had come true,
And the wealth he'd held so fast
In his miser-grip at last
Into better hands had passed:

When, as I lay there wide-eyed,
Some one seemed to quit my side,
Though all night alone I'd lain;
And against the window-pane
Stood a ghostly form and grey
Peering out across the brae
For the first chill glint of day.

Stark with dread I lay astare
Watching that strange shadow there,
Dark against the kindling sky;
And my blood ran cold as I
Wondered if that shape might be
The ghost of old John Heatherly
Or my own fetch awaiting me.