a/n:prompt from Catherine Spark :- A case involving someone believing they had a past

life-

Refers to "The Hound of the Baskervilles"

Holmes and companions do not belong to me

POV of Watson

Hounded

I looked at Holmes, uncertainly; he hadn't said a word.

No comment as to what on earth had actually occurred.

We'd journeyed home in silence on the early moorland train;

Both knowing we would never see a case like that again.

And now, safe home in Baker Street, with sunshine blazing bright;

I wondered if he'd ever speak of what we'd seen that night...

~o~

We'd headed out to Dartmoor

At the bidding of a friend:

Sir Henry Baskerville himself,

Had asked us to attend.

We traveled to his family home

Past old familiar ground;

Steeped in ancient memories

Of mire and moor and hound.

~o~

Sir Henry had been troubled

By a string of strange events:

Staff injuries, equipment lost,

Repeated accidents.

A harness snapped, a damaged wheel,

A well-loved horse gone lame.

Stored produce spoiled, an out house burned,

Bad luck? Or twisted game?

~o~

Our friend had been back home for months,

Restored, refreshed, quite well,

Recovered from his meeting with

That "giant hound from hell"

He'd hoped that he could settle;

And enjoy the peace and calm.

But now he was afraid that someone else

Might wish him harm.

~o~

The night before, a most unsettling

Incident occurred.

Sir Henry, crept downstairs

To check strange noises he had heard.

He shone his lantern round

The ancient gallery, and spied

The portrait of Sir Hugo

Neatly slashed, from side to side.

~o~

(Sir Hugo, evil ancestor, worst Baskerville of all.

Who'd led a cruel and wicked life inside his moorland hall.

He stole a local maid away, and ran her to the ground;

And met his match upon the moor; a ghostly giant hound.)

~o~

Holmes studied Hugo's portrait,

Every detail, every shred.

"Perhaps a show of anger at the life

Which he had led?"

He asked if he could talk

To every worker at the place;

And hoped, for Henry's sake,

That he could swiftly solve this case.

~o~

The workers lined up dutifully;

Prepared for interview;

The first; a pretty housemaid;

Deep brown eyes; flecked green and blue.

She answered every question;

Clearly spoken; sure and calm;

She could not think of anyone

Who wished Sir Henry harm.

~o~

Holmes gathered idle gossip,

Tittle tattle, speculation;

But not a scrap of accurate

And solid information

That night, we hid and watched

For more intruders in the hall;

Positioned near those family portraits

Hanging on the wall.

~o~

A noise; a window opened;

And a small, lithe form slipped out;

Approached the ruined portrait

Checked that no-one was about.

She lit a small white candle

Held it up against the frame,

Until Sir Hugo's face was lit

With growing, hungry flame.

~0~

Holmes sprang upon the figure;

Dashed the candle to the floor.

The flame revealed the features;

Of a girl we'd met before.

The young and pretty housemaid

We had seen at interview;

Now angry and quite shaken;

Brown eyes wide; flecked green and blue.

~o~

Fire extinguished, lantern lit,

No great damage; no great harm.

Holmes then quietly asked the maiden

Why she'd caused such great alarm.

Head held high, and brown eyes blazing;

She explained, she'd lived before,

She had been a yeoman's daughter,

Living here upon the moor.

~o~

She had been the tragic maiden,

Who had caught Sir Hugo's eye,

Carried off, and treated cruelly,

Hunted down and left to die.

Centuries on; returned to Dartmoor,

Back with Baskervilles at last.

Waited patiently and calmly

To avenge her tragic past.

~o~

Story told, she stood up meekly;

Sprang, and caught us both off guard

Twisted past, and down the hallway

Clothes a flying; running hard.

Holmes and I set off behind her;

Saw her head towards the moor.

Running in that maiden's footsteps

Who had fled long years before.

~0~

Holmes, at once, aroused the household;

Told Sir Henry what we'd found;

Main concern was fleeing housemaid

Out, at night, on treacherous ground.

Henry called for men and lanterns;

Headed out to search the moor.

Baskerville pursuing maiden

As in centuries before.

~o~

We joined the men, with lamps and horses;

Shaken by the night's events.

Stolen girl, reincarnated?

Tale defied all common sense.

Crumpled figure, in the distance,

Hurried forward, filled with dread

Body twisted, sprawled face downwards;

Broken neck: the girl was dead.

~o~

Silent party bore their burden

Down the dark, uneven track.

Distant sound: a mournful howling?

Not a single man looked back.

~0~

Later on, Holmes moved that painting;

Slashed across, and charred by flame.

Found another, smaller painting;

Quite unmarked, within the frame.

It was clear, this hidden painting

Was for centuries concealed.

Held it up, and moved the lantern

So that details were revealed.

~0~

Holmes exclaimed; I moved in closer;

Keen to see, what he had seen.

Saw a smiling moorland maiden,

Brown eyes wide; flecked blue and green.

~o~