October was whistling its end upon a creepy thick mist rolling off the hillside. Wee Annie, the loveliest daughter any mother could hope for asked if she could take some apples down to Granny who lived some distance off. Its not the time to be going far lass, said mother. Shed a sense of foreboding that had plagued her inners all day. Father whod spent his days as a wood cutter had died in an accident when Annie was a baby. Annie thought her mothers superstitions were unfounded, after all shed never seen anything creepy in her life so said reassuringly, Granny likes her apples for pies, Ma. Ill not be long, and stop worrying. Well remember not to take the short cut across by the little lochan! Annie enjoyed her journey to grannys. It was always a warm wee house with a smell of ginger spice and shelves packed with pickles and jams and Granny told some great ghost tales. She headed home with her basket full of dried lavender and her favourite plum conserve but shed overstayed her visit though and by the feel of cold droplets from the blanket of mist creeping around her neck she thought a quick pace over the hill, past the lochan and shed be home in no time. Halfway on her journey as she passed the little lochan she heard a horse snorting. At this her spine stiffened with fear. Of all her mothers superstitions this one Annie did believe! Oh dear,surely the Kelpie Horse had not chosen to rise this night? Her elders had drummed it into her, never look him in the eye! Annie stood frozen on the spot, thinking all the time that this was her imagination stirred up by Grannys tales of Halloween, there really was nothing there but oh dear, that was not the case. It began with warm snorts of horse breath behind her ears which spread to the top of her shivering head. The demon was thudding its fiery hooves into the soft moss as the ghostly mist filled with its hellish neighing. Keeping her head down Annie let go of her basket and ran into the night, screaming for her mother, swearing never to look it in the eye. On and on desperately trying to avoid hidden rocks scattered across her path, she ran. The jagged crags could not be avoided though and down she fell, rolling and thumping against one granite boulder and then another. She suddenly found it was impossible to halt her downward spirral and had it not been for the handsome young man grabbing her by the waist shed have gone right over the cliffs. It was all too much, she fainted and had no knowledge of how long she lay there or who the saviour was. It was her mothers voice calling into the mist that brought her back. To her utter horror, mother was not smiling nor holding her cold hand. Her mother was staring into the lochan, tears streaming down her face circling the water and crying, oh Annie, my beautiful daughter. He has you. The Kelpie will never give you back, that wicked demon, he who shape shifts on a whisper holds your life force deep down in the reed grasses. I wonder what form he took to steal you from me? I shall come here everyday and call your name. Every day while she had strength, mother climbed the slippery slopes of the braeside to look into the deep lochan hoping for a glimpse of her bonny daughter. One day her legs became too tired so she remained in her armchair and died of a broken heart.
Posted on: Thu, 31 Oct 2013 09:34:59 +0000