The Incident at the Black Dog's Crossroads

Have you ever wondered what became of those fantastical beasts of folklore? Because I certainly had.

It was easy to accept ideas like dragons being hunted to extinction, but what about smaller critters and creeps? Were fairies just really good at hiding, or were they all gone? Had deforestation led to their demise?

I'm sure you probably think I'm crazy talking about this, and you wouldn't be the first. 'It's only nonsense, Keira.' 'Grow up, you big baby.' 'Don't be such a weirdo.' - and that's the PG version of the kind of things people have said to me.

It was cute to like fantasy and folklore when I was five, not so much at eighteen. At one time, I even had a therapist try and logic his way through my fascination. He said things like, "People were ill-educated in the olden days, so they didn't know the rational explanations for what they saw.' And, "It's the age-old fisherman parable. In the morning, he catches a trout. By evening, he's caught a pike. It's just children's stories and rumours blown out of proportion." When I'd tried to convince him, he got me with a sigh, and a 'You're better than this, Keira... You're a smart girl, don't say such stupid things." Needless to say, he wasn't a good therapist.

But after doing a little digging, I came across an interesting forum that shared my beliefs on the supernatural. Turns out, I wasn't the only one who refused to accept society's lies. I got chatting with the group, went to a few meetings, and eventually became a full member - which meant I got to learn the truth about everything.

Dragons, fae, fiends - they were all real. Every myth, legend and fairytale contained factual descriptions of real creatures that DID exist, thank you very much. Unfortunately, the advancements of human civilization meant that many simply weren't around anymore.

Dragons indeed had been hunted to extinction by our ancestors. It was once considered a great feat of bravery to hunt them, and then their remains would be ritualistically burned to wish for good harvest, or to end famines and floods. Fae folk had existed, and still lingered on in fractured populations, but they refused to show themselves to those who didn't respect their forest and flower meadow homes - which, let's face it, is the vast majority of people.

And talking more with that fine group of folks who did believe got me thinking about a local legend. I invited them over on a mission to find it, and finally prove to the world once and for all that we were right.

That was when everything went horribly wrong, with the event I've come to call - 'The Incident at the Black Dog's Crossroads.'

It all began at midnight on the first full moon of autumn. I'd read a bit about the folktale beforehand to prepare for what we might find. A 300 year-old legend spoke of a black dog that was said to roam around this one crossroads on the outskirts of my city. It was most often observed on full moons, and was said to be as big as a bear, with shaggy fur, and piercing red eyes.

If you didn't know, 'black dogs' are quite common in the legends of England and Scotland, though are sometimes referred to as 'Grim.' They appear all over - usually around marsh or heathland, and were associated with bad omens. For years, doubters speculated that they were wolfdogs, or possibly real bears simply mistaken for dogs, but that's nonsense, obviously.

I'd previously had no idea there was one so close to where I lived, however a lot had changed in those last few centuries. The area had been built up with apartments for student accommodation, warehouses, and shops. The church and pub were the only buildings that had been there when the legend began.

We pulled up on the car park of Tricks - one of those chain franchises that sold building supplies. Georgie, the nominated driver for the group had taken us in her dad's black van, and was sure to park way in the back corner so the creature wouldn't see us.

Nick and Dave got us geared up with headcams, torches ('flashlights' if you're Harry), and a few other bits and bobs while they checked the trail cam footage. They'd set some up a few days before - in bushes, on streetlights, and behind bins. Miraculously, only four of them had been stolen or vandalised. Most were full of pedestrian or traffic recordings, but they remained hopeful of spotting something.

And then there was Harry, the group's only American, and self-appointed leader. None of us minded - Harry was the oldest and had the most firsthand experience in the field, he'd even gotten a photo of a real sasquatch. He was the one who suggested we split up that night to cover more ground.

The others followed a print off Goggle Maps with only Dave staying behind in the van. I on the other hand knew the area a bit better, or at least I thought I did. I'd been through it on the way to college on the bus, but I hadn't really walked around there. I soon got lost down a side street lined with terraces. It was especially quiet. Every so often I heard a car go by on the main road or a dog barking off in the distance, then inbetween, there would be silence - just my own footsteps and heartbeat to focus on.

You might think the idea of being a young woman alone at night in a strange part of town would be scary, and you'd be right. But what you wouldn't know was that Nick had packed two canisters of pepper spray in with my things, not to mention the extra heavy boots I'd decided to wear that night. I always dressed in quite androgynous clothing, and had my hair cut short, but that usually only helped during the day. Night brought different dangers, so having an actual weapon to hand felt right. My hands never drifted far from them, staying permanently plunged inside my pockets until I needed to defend myself.

I crossed another side street to the back of a kebab and pizza place. I was starving - I could've eaten a full 14" four-cheese pizza to myself, had it been open. In fact I was so hungry, I went straight to their bins to scrounge up some leftovers. Look, I know it sounds gross, but I'm sure anyone who'd lived alone for a bit and cooked for themselves would've eaten much worse than bin pizza.

I knew places like that didn't pay much attention to waste - if an order went wrong, it got thrown out. If food was returned, it was binned. On that occasion, I was right. A whole lamb kebab had been discarded - untouched in its polystyrene container and still warm on top of half-empty pizza boxes. I fished it out, and would have helped myself, had I not been watched from the shadows. I froze at the sight of two red eyes, staring at me.

It crept out of the darkness, into the glow of the backdoor security light... She was old... Really old. Like, you know you see older dogs and they sort of potter about? That's what she did. She grumpily curled her lip and snarled at me, though half-heartedly. I immediately threw her a chunk of lamb to distract her while I backed up a step. It worked - apparently she was just as hungry as I was.

When we'd set off looking for the black dog, to be honest I hadn't anticipated actually running into it. I thought we'd maybe find some paw prints, or catch something on the trail camera... Neither had I expected her to look so worn out and frail. She was skinny, her fur was a lot shaggier than expected, and it had a lot more grey strands than black. Her eyes were dull, clouded by cataracts. But she was unquestionably the black dog from the legend, or at least its descendant.

I felt sorry for her. She had once been a legendary being, surrounded by tales of witchcraft and woe. Yet in the modern age, her home had been flattened and flooded with concrete - her hunting grounds reduced to a bland, grey sea. People didn't care about her anymore - they had no reason to fear her, so I suppose she lost all of her power.

I wouldn't let her infamy be forgotten. I dug through the bins again for every scrap of dog-safe leftovers I could find, filling a pizza box. Then, every few steps I took away from her (never turning my back), I threw her another piece to get her to follow me.

Retracing my steps, I led her back to the car park. The others were still away, so I knew it would just be me and Dave for a minute. He laughed, rooting through his stuff for his camera. I still wanted the others to see her for themselves in the flesh, so I asked him to wait on taking any photos and sat in the doorway, tossing her more scraps.

"It looks like my uncle's dog." He noted. His uncle had a Newfoundland that was also considerably old for its breed - he took it to hydrotherapy to help with its arthritis.

She happily munched on a pizza crust while the others made their way over to us. Harry stopped Georgie and Nick when he saw her near us, a beaming smile stretching between his cheeks. He knelt down, polishing off his camera lens before lining up a shot.

I think she must have noticed him, and thought that she was being snuck up on, because she turned her back to me and growled in their direction.

Harry had his flash on.

He snapped a photo and lit her figure in the flash, yet in that moment, she was her full size, back in her prime, with her eyes trailing a crimson glow. She charged for Harry, fangs bared, claws digging into the tarmac. We cried out, urging him to run for the wall at the edge of the car park. But there was a hedge growing along it. He leapt for it, crunching and snapping through the hawthorn, immediately getting himself tangled up in it.

Nick had a brave idea. He also snapped a photo of the beast, getting her attention. Dave, Georgie and I took cover in the van as he legged it in our direction. We kept the door open, screaming for him to hurry. He dove in, like something out of an action movie, and we went to shut the door.

She got him by the foot, biting down hard and instantly crushing it. He yelped like a puppy, tears streaming from his eyes as she ragged at his leg, with blood on her jaws.

We kept trying the door, sure it was better to save Nick than his foot. We had her pinned by the muzzle, but even then she had greater strength than us.

I met her eyes. They were full of rage, of fury, of grief. She'd already been through enough - lost her home, her fame. No one spoke of her myth, none cared for her reputation. And now someone had tried to take a picture of her in her current state - at her lowest. No one would believe the picture was really of the black dog legend - anyone who saw it would think of her as a common mutt, an worthless, pitiful creature.

"Come on..." I muttered, pouring my heart out to her. "You're better than this... You're a legend..." I knelt, placing my hand on Nick's leg, right in front of her mouth. At the same time, I picked up his camera, throwing it out the gap in the doorway.

She eased up on her bite, just tentatively holding his foot like any pet dog holds a toy. Watching me all the while, she set it down and backed away, leaving behind only the impression of those ruby eyes in the darkness.

We dragged Nick inside and locked the door, listening to her scratch around outside. Georgie scrambled for the first aid kit to help Nick, while we could only hold his leg up to slow the bleeding, and worry of Harry.

The ambulance came within fifteen minutes, with the paramedics banging on the door to let us know they were there. I was the first out of the van, quickly noticing the smashed camera on the floor in the next parking spot. She'd really torn into it, making certain there was no trace of the photo. I could only hope Harry had been smart enough to abandon his own camera and focus on staying alive.

The incident was reported as a dog attack, with the blame put on an escaped pet. Nick was taken to hospital and required an amputation, although he was quite proud of it - earning a high status on the forum as the survivor of a legendary beast bite. None of the sceptics believed his story, but he didn't care about that. He had our support, even without a photo to prove it.

We don't know exactly what happened to Harry. He didn't answer any of our calls or messages, however he did eventually put one last post on the forum saying he would be leaving the group forever. I only hope he did the right thing and deleted the photo.

As for me, I went back to the crossroads and specifically that kebab shop every full moon. I never took a camera or a light, just a lunchbox of steak chunks to share with the old girl. She was more cautious of me at first, but eventually she decided I was trustworthy. And I could say I earned a greater appreciation for those creatures of folklore. They needed friends, now more than ever - someone to believe in them, someone to prove that humans still loved and feared them.

I've made plans to travel around the country looking for others to pay my respects to, but in the meantime, I was happy to keep my local Grim company, for however long she tolerated me.