The King of Croak Hill

photo credit: The Crown of the Dead (Intrusion) via photopin (license)
photo credit: The Crown of the Dead (Intrusion) via photopin (license)

He wore a crown on his head and said he was a king but nobody believed him.
His cottage was at the bottom of the hill between the Church and the duck pond, and he’d sit outside of the cottage on a three-legged stool, a stone jar of rum clasped tightly against his fat belly, singing loudly the filthiest sea shanties anyone had ever heard.
The adults, especially the Vicar, were always shouting at him and ordering him to be quiet. But if anything, this just made him sing louder and ever more out of tune.
I never minded him though for he told wonderful tales of the land he was from and all the sea-monsters he had battled during his life.
And every time I saw him he would magick a silver penny out from behind my ear, which he would allow me to keep on condition that I would save them all up in order to fund my first adventure in life.
I never found out if he really was a king, but as he was obviously a wizard I thought it best to remain on friendly terms with him.

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally published December 4, 2015.



3 thoughts on “The King of Croak Hill

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