’Twas a mysterious night in Whistletown.
The citizens were out of sorts.
A goat appeared at the forest’s edge,
And oddly, this one talked.

His voice, like a querulous old man’s,
Carried a message for the mayor:
“A prophet of futures I am,” he cried,
“A veritable soothsayer.

Appearances deceive, beware —
But heed the words I bring.
Your people are in danger now,
So listen — let me sing.”

The mayor stood there, thunderstruck,
The children gawked, adults aghast.
They’d formed a circle, tight and mute,
Each breath could be their last.

The mayor found his voice at last —
Though how, he wasn’t sure.
The moment was absurd, surreal —
Yet still, he bore the chain of office with decor.

“Tell me, noble goat,” he said,
“From whence you came, and how you speak.
For upon my oath, by every note —
You’re something of a freak.”

“From where I came holds no import.
How I speak? Likewise, refrain.
Just do your duty, as you ought —
For I won’t repeat myself again.”

“Then speak, good goat — I’m all ears,
If what you say is true.
Yet I confess in all my years —
I’ve never talked with one like you.”

“Get over it, dick!” the goat replied,
With a twitch and wild delight.
“I once was Satan’s faithful hound —
But now I’ve seen the light.

So take my words verbatim, friend,
If you hope to last the night.”

The mayor raised his phone to film,
As did the gathered crowd.
Recording every syllable —
Each whisper said aloud.

“Your minds have been hijacked,” the goat went on,
“The truth’s been torn apart.
The reckoning hour is upon you now —
Time to fight with heart.

Your souls are sold from birth, my dears,
By media midwifery!
Curiosity’s been thrown away —
Replaced by frippery.

You crave attention, not connection —
You’ve swapped out love for sex.
Your egos bloat like poisoned frogs —
Now I’ll tell you what comes next…

A simpering civil servant will,
At midnight, reach your town.
He’ll smile and say, ‘For safety’s sake,
I’ll take your names all down.’

He’ll start by seeding fear and doubt,
Suspending charity —
Say, some of you must be weeded out
For peace and parity.

Then comes the questionnaire —
To judge if you are ‘good and right.’
But though he’ll feign a saintly care —
He doesn’t give a shite.

It’s your fear that fuels his army,
You’re cursed, already sold.
Regardless of your answers now,
He’ll harvest every soul.”

Not a whisper stirred in Whistletown —
No worm, no bird, no stoat.
Not even wind dared move the leaves,
In horror of the goat.

The mayor again found his voice to speak,
His brow now drenched with sweat:
“This tale is wild, absurd, and grotesque
Why should we trust you yet?”

The goat dipped low his grizzled head,
His slitted eyes aflame:
“If you believe this is a game,
Too dumb to grasp your shame

Then I shall leave this cursed place.
And with me, hope will go.
All light shall vanish in the dark
And none shall ever know.”

The mayor stammered, pale with fear:
“Then what can we now do?
If we must escape damnation
What must we all live through?”

“There’ll be no chance to argue,
No dialogue, no choice.
No disobedience shall be spared
No independent voice.

Satan preys upon the weak
Divide and rule is his creed.
If one of you betrays the pact,
The rest shall also bleed.

You must remain unbroken,
Form a circle, hand in hand.
Summon up the love that sleeps
Within this haunted land.

Sing a song of unity,
Or hum a sacred hymn.
He wants your moral compass now,
To turn your strength to him.”

The mayor dared a final plea:
“And will this minion then depart?
Will he move on to other towns?

To tear apart their hearts?”

“Yes,” the goat said. “But beware:
Of thoughts that go unspoken.
And also… You must sacrifice me.”
A pause.
“…Only joking.”

Then he vanished into the trees,
With not a trace or trail.
And no one’s heard from Whistletown
The phones had all failed.

Not a post, not a whisper,
Not a screenshot or a sound.
They vanished in the silence,
Their feet not touching ground.

And what of this tale, you ask?
Just a wild goat’s chase?
Or is there something deeper still
In a united human race?