The curse of the moonlit vanishi-

I was panicked. More panicked than I had ever been in my life. But I had to remain calm. So much depended on that.

“My sister is missing; I was wondering if you could help me?” I asked, as the old woman pushed her glasses further up her wrinkled nose, “My name is Sadie Brown.” 

“Interesting!” Wheezed the old lady, “Brown, you say. I’ve got a story you might find of importance.” 

I listened carefully as she settled down, ready to start the tale

“It was 1848, and-

Woof!

"NO Snowdrop, No!"

Woof, woof WOOF!

"It isn't playtime, I'm working." The writer heaved herself up off her chair and sighed.

"Fine, fetch!"

WOOF, WOof, woof.

"Now, where was I..."

“It was 1848, and the sun had set over the rocky cove. The night was frostbitten and dank. Every nook, every cranny seemed to be draped in a veil of shadow and darkness, choking out the light that had once filled the vast beach. It was cold. The kind of cold that only stopped at the doors of very warm houses. The kind of cold that chilled to the bone and wreaked havoc with the mind. The kind of cold that made anyone feel empty inside, like their ribcage was an open door, and everything they had, had been swept away by the-

"NO SNOWDROP!"

WOOF

"I can't play now, I'm busy." but even as she spoke, the dog jumped up, onto the table, and lay there, gazing expectantly at the writer.

"Finally, you're still!"

Swept away by the raging wind. Gigantic rocks, in the day, fun clambers, in the night, jutting and dangerous, leered over; barbed as a tiger’s tooth. It was not long ago that the skies had been painted with the bright hues of dawn, but quickly, quietly, night had settled in. Figures seemed to move in the deep, drawing darkness, yet at a second glance they had vanished. The whining wind was loud as an orchestra, the crashes of thunder were its-

"NO, Snowdrop, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!

The dog had nestled under her arm, and was wriggling uncontrollably.

"No, I can't stroke you right-. Oh, Okay." she gave in and began to pet the dog, who was rolling around playfully.

"Now I have to stop." She picked the dog up, and dropped him on the floor.

"The crashes of thunder were its..."

The crashes of thunder were its drums. It sucked the life out of each, branch, leaf and blade of grass, so the scene was gloomy and foreboding. Gnarled branches framed the full moon, like arms, grabbing and reaching out at unfortunate passers-by. And yet, the eerie crunch of black boot on numbing frost could still be heard over the stormy gale. Each dreadful crack sent an icy shiver down the spines of all who herd it, as though someone’s bony finger had been drawn down their back. There was something out there. Something dark. 

A woman was watching from a lit window, her eyes following a young girl below. Catherine Brown, an ancestor of yours, was there, ambling down a grassy path, that lead to the lapping shore. She was alone, out for a wander in the moonlight. Crunch! Her feet hit the pebbled beach, and she continued, but her, movements were slow, and surreal, graceful, but eerie. She did not wander down to the dancing waves, but instead, she turned, and strode over to the jagged rocks. The caves carved into the rocks were dark and filled with an atmosphere of despair and-

"SNOWDROP! THE WINDOWSILL IS NOT A GOOD PLACE TO SLEE-" There was a huge crash, and the dog, windowsill and ornaments crashed to the floor.

"SNOWDROP I-. Snowdrop?" She gazed at her still dog, limp and frail, "No."

Then a whisker flickered. Suddenly, the snowy-white dog reached up, licked her face, and ran off, leaving her in a huge mess.

"Oh Snowdrop," She groaned, "At least you're not hurt."

She settled down to write.

An atmosphere of despair and dread. She gazed at the sheer cliffs and climbs ahead, her eyes wide, and glazed over as if she were in a dream.  

On she went, clambering and slipping across the boulders, and around the cove. Up and up and up she scrambled, higher and higher, not even stopping when she ripped her floaty, periwinkle blue dress, right down the side. A lonely piece of satin fluttered in the breeze, caught on the rocks, trying to break free. A ledge lay, an arms-length above her, and she heaved herself up, with unusual strength for a girl her age. There, before her, lay a huge, gaping hole, today it is called the breakers cavern, and all are warned never to go there. It was like the mouth of a shark, with pointed stalagmites for teeth, and deep, penetrating blackness within. It seemed to suck all the life out of all who encountered it, but Catherine walked on, her eyes still full of that surreal blankness. She stepped inside, and soon, her body faded into the abyss of blackness, as if she had truly been eaten by the cave. Her footsteps echoed around the solid, stone walls, like church bells, ringing for a funeral. Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang. 

Then silence-

"Snowdrop. No. I can't play. I'm busy." She sounded tired, still relived, but tired.

Woof. The dog lay down and gazed at her.

Silence so intense, the woman in the window could hear the gentle lapping of waves on the pebbles, and the soft, but fast beating of her own heart. Catherine was never seen again. The only evidence, of her mysterious disappearance, was a piece of periwinkle blue material, ripped off the girl’s dress.” 

I gaped at her, my eyes wide, not knowing what to say. A piece of pale pink fabric was still clutched in my sweaty, shaking hand. 

“People have heard sounds from that cave, moaning of lost souls. Ever since then, every leap year, on the 1st of November, at twilight, a young girl had disappeared, with only a piece of ripped dress left behind. So, lock your doors, hide the key, and don’t let anyone in or out. Tonight, it will happen. Make sure it isn’t you.” 

My mind was whirring, and it could only come to one conclusion. It was the only explanation. It already had happened. The myth was true. 

"There you go, Snowdrop, I'm done, I-" She was interrupted by a loud snore, coming from a very sleeping dog.