The Ghost of the Singing Maiden

The Ghost of the Singing Maiden is a short story written by the Halfling Rill Hollowmead.

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The morning came as usual. Darkness diminished, animals rose to graze upon grass, and the citizens of Branborough awakened to begin a long day of work. While the majority of the town’s Halflings farmed or tended to the Vale’s vast population of sheep, Rill Hollowmead sat inside of his home, writing a small poem.

As his exquisite quill scratched to and fro, Rill’s rhymes began to form. “What rhymes with yell?” he thought. “Ah, fell! Never mind, forget it.” Rill concluded. This went on for hours, from the crack of dawn to the late hours of the afternoon. Needless to say, he delved into the sugars of cake and sweetness of melons while he wrote, and he even smoked his fancy pipe for a good deal of time. The important thing is, Rill finished it.

The usually cheery Halfling was at work creating a poem that would be used to keep Branborough’s children indoors at night. Rill titled his work The Ghost of the Singing Maiden. It follows the tale of the ghost of a young Halfling lady who spends her evenings haunting the town’s residents. The poem states that a Halfling is only safe if he or she is inside his or her home by nightfall. If not, the ghost will stalk them, singing as she does so, and drown them in Branborough’s river.

Rill read his poem repeatedly, until he was satisfied. It reads:

"She had no name,

She owned no fame,

Alas, she was sad when she died.

They heard her voice,

They heard her noise,

Then she drowned in the river wide.

No being found her body,

Never to be seen again,

Nobody even looked for her,

Because she had no friends.

Years passed and time moved on and on,

This girl came back and haunted,

Until the hour of dawn.

They say she’s very spooky,

With skin as white as snow,

And if you shall stay up at night,

Then you will surely know.

She will find you,

She will bind you,

With ghostly spider-string,

She will take you to the river,

And then begin to sing.

Her voice is high and piercing,

Not something you want to hear,

Her voice, so high and piercing,

Will fill your heart with fear.

She’ll toss you in the river,

And to the bottom you will go,

No place to run, no place to hide,

You’ll be killed, as she already knows.

So stay alive for one more night,

Stay at home in sheer delight,

Eat your cakes and go to bed,

Or go outside and soon be dead."

Rill was very happy with his work. He would supply any parents in Branborough with a few copies the next morning. But, as evening was beginning to arrive, the Halfling decided to make a kettle of tea and to go promptly to sleep. He set a tea kettle above his fireplace, and thought, “Today was grand! I got nearly everything done. All I need now is a bit of rest.” And Rill walked to his bed, embracing the coziness and comfort that it had to offer. Nearly immediately, he slipped into unconsciousness. What he found there was not enjoyable.

Rill’s dream included the drowning of many Halfling children, by the woman of his literacy’s creation. Children he knew, and children he did not know were killed. Each murder concluded with the piercing wail of this ghostly wench. As the final child was killed, and the wail arrived, Rill woke up.

To his astonishment, the wailing was only the tea kettle that Rill had left above the fire. The fool had left it on, and fallen asleep before he could tend to it.

The Halfling ran out of bed and fixed the high whistling, let it cool down, and enjoyed a cup of tea. He even ate a soft slice of cake left over from the morning. Rill rested in his luxurious chair while he did this. With a full belly, he decided that he better return to his bed. As he stood from his soft chair, his eyes drifted towards his window.

A snow white face glared back.