Follow down the path
It leads to a circle of houses,
Where foreigners are not well thought,
And strangers unwelcome to their affairs
The villagers (so they said) do heathen rituals
"Just for a while
Look through the chimney stack
Through the mist, aren't you afeared?
Ajar are the doors
A smell of rotten wood
In the mud, aren't you afraid?"
Hidden by the clouds
A pallid sun on a November day
An expedition organised
To go and see what's going on
The villagers (none of them) weren't seen in town for weeks
To get provisions as they used to
"Just for a while
Look through the chimney stack
Through the mist, aren't you afeared?
Ajar are the doors
A smell of rotten wood
In the mud, aren't you afraid?"
Hearsay called him the 14th, was never born, he's always been
The sins to expiate in front of him, will be the worst part of your dreams!
(Someone said it is a magic place!)
Through the hazy heights, two leagues from Avhon
Among the heart of brushwood, aloof from the glances
Lies a village, built on a clearing
Thirteen houses, aligned maliciously, and a mansion on a hill
That mournful light in the floor window is always lit!
As they reached the hamlet on the hill
They found nobody at all
- was anybody there?
Faint light in the house
- where have they gone?
Would they dare to go inside?
- to go inside?
When they all returned back home, they told
- they told
Of uncanny things
When they all returned back home, inside
- knock, knock
Their souls something's hopelessly gone!
Jesp Van Cleave, the first found dead, drowned in the stream
while we was having a bath: "A terrible misfortune,
Was (an) incredible and fatal accident!"
Ichabold De le Fournier, son of the Major, was the second one,
His horse fell on top of him, the wounds were too serious to be cured
One by one the thirteen died;
