A dark poem about a magical little creature I found on Dartmoor
While stumbling across Dartmoor one day I happened upon a quarry, I sat down to eat my lunch but was interrupted by a man called Donny.
I’m sorry to bother you, Donny said, but I’ve lost my Impy. It’s a bothersome creature and really quite wimpy.
Once it ran from its own shadow for hours until it was almost dead. Thankfully I caught up with Impy and made it rest-up in bed.
I wouldn’t burden myself with such a thing but it can grant wonderful wishes. It also keeps my house neat and tidy, and brings a sparkle to all my dishes.
Donny saw the look of confusion on my face and gave a little smile, I see you don’t believe me, he said with a chuckle, but Impy really can beguile.
It also has a bit of a problem with numbers, which is great for me, because so far I’ve had ten wishes granted, although given only three.
I shouldn’t be telling you all this, Donny said with a look of worry, you might want Impy for yourself, and head off in a scurry.
I looked up at Donny while feeling a sense of shame. I met a creature a while ago and think Impy and it are one and the same.
How big is your Impy? I asked, while biting down on my lunch. I had to chomp down hard on my sandwich, which caused a helluva crunch.
It’s a tiny wee thing, Donny replied, with no more than a marble for a head. It fact, he continued, it would happily fit between the crust of your bread.
Sorry, I said, but I haven’t seen your friend this day. But if I do happen upon Impy I will be sure to send him your way.
As I watched a dejected Donny walk off and resume his course, I thought my sandwich might taste better with a dash of sauce.