Steve Dyson Art.
I have lived in a Yorkshire Dales village all my life and have heard many tales of dark folklore from the old folk, but I never thought of them until six months ago. One story I had heard quite a few times was about the Barghest a spectre that appears as a great black hound with red eyes. The old folk say the Barghest does not hunt, but when it appears, death always follows.
Six months ago, I was walking down the old road to the village. It was dusk, but a full moon shone, illuminating the ground and casting long, cold shadows. As I walked, I heard footsteps behind me– slow, deliberate – yet when I turned, I saw nothing. Then I saw it. Not running. Not stalking, just there, a large black dog, larger than any dog I had seen before. It followed me, keeping its distance.
It did not growl or bare its teeth. I did not feel frightened and had no urge to flee– but I had a deep sinking sensation in my stomach, a feeling of impending loss and death. When I reached the church gates, I looked back, and it was gone. In the following weeks, two close relatives died suddenly in the night. I have walked that road, and will not walk it again. Although if the Barghest wants to find me, I know it will.
