They say he was a chimney sweep who worked the Cape by hand. He knew the smell of burning wood, he knew the way fires spread. One winter night he smelled the smoke before the flames were seen. He ran back for his family— and nothing stayed but steam. The Sooty Saint of Dennisport comes knocking in the night. If you listen, he can save you. If you don’t, he stays THE NIGHT. He may be standing by your door. He may be up the street. A black face in the window glass, with ash around his feet. He says, “There’s trouble in the chimney. You have a little time.” You say, “It’s only an old house settling.” You turn out every light. Then smoke comes through the upstairs hall. The curtains catch and rise. The family runs into the road beneath the siren skies. The firefighters search the house. One shouts, “There’s someone there!” a man in the flame and smoke calmly walking up the stairs. The next day, through the soaking ash, they find the sootprints plain— from the fireplace to the children’s beds, then back outside again. The Sooty Saint of Dennisport comes knocking in the night. If you listen, he can save you. If you don’t, he stays THE NIGHT. So if you hear three knocks tonight, don’t tell yourself it’s the rain. Wake everybody. Leave the house. You may not hear him again. He walks where all the lost ones walk, still looking for the spark— a dead man with a chimney brush, still working after dark. The Sooty Saint of Dennisport comes knocking in the night. If you listen, he can save you. If you don't, he stays THE NIGHT
