by Stacy Gregg
“Oh, I don’t mean like a common moggy, dear,” Aunt Hester said. “No. I mean a big cat, a mountain cat. There’s a myth in these parts, you know, about a black cat that lives wild in the hills. They say it escaped from a zoo, and I suppose it’s possible since there was once a wildlife park not far from here. They had antelope and lions and all sorts. When the wildlife park closed down all the animals were shipped off, but this particular black cat escaped and they never found it again. I’ve always thought the whole story sounded rather ridiculous. You hear a lot of tall tales about that sort of thing when you live out this way. Still, people do believe the myth. The Grimalkin they call him. The witch’s cat. Although I can’t imagine that even a witch would be too pleased if she came across an enormous great panther! Old Bill Stokes who lives down on the Coast Road farm claims he saw it one night. He said a great black cat the size of a bear came out of the undergrowth and attacked one of his sheep, dragged it off right in front of his eyes. Of course they never found any sign of the sheep – and old Bill Stokes does like a drink so his accounts cannot always be relied upon…”
“Well, whatever it was, Blaze was terrified of it,” Issie said.
“I haven’t heard any reports of lost stock or anything unusual lately,” Hester mused. “I think the best thing we can do is to let Cameron know about it. He’s the local ranger with the Blackthorn Hills Conservation Trust. He’s coming out to see me tomorrow and this is exactly the sort of thing he deals with. If there’s a wild beastie in the woods he’ll soon see to it.”
“Do you think he’ll believe me?” Issie said.
“Why?” her Aunt said briskly. “Do you often go making up stories about being stalked by phantom creatures and coming home covered in mud? Of course he’ll believe you! He’s a good man, Cameron. If there’s something out there he’ll find it.”
They had reached the stables now and Issie undid the girth and slipped off Blaze’s saddle while Aunt Hester hobbled across the stable to fetch the mare some hard feed. Issie took Blaze out to the rear of the stables and hosed her down in the wash bay to get rid of the sweat and dirt, using a sweat scraper to dry the mare off before letting her loose in the stall. Hester gave Blaze the tub full of chaff and pony nuts and they stood there together watching as she ate.
“Now,” Hester said, “you said you had two bits of trouble? What else did you find out there?” Issie told her about the herd of horses she had seen down at Lake Deepwater.
“Now this is a mystery that I can solve,” Hester said brightly. “Those are Blackthorn Ponies you’re talking about. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of them before.”
“Blackthorn Ponies?” Issie said.
“A breed unique to this area. There’s been a herd roaming the high country here for over twenty years,” Hester said. “They’re wild horses, descendants of a few local riding ponies that got loose and then refused to be caught again. The herd has survived somehow over the years; they are very hardy little specimens I must say. There must be at least twenty of them by now?”
“Closer to thirty, I think,” Issie said. “Aunty Hess, there was a stallion with them. He was at least sixteen hands, much taller than the rest of them, and jet black.”
“Really?” Hester looked interested at this. “No, I don’t recall a stallion, but then I haven’t seen the herd in quite some time.”
“It was the stallion that attacked us – me and Blaze,” Issie continued. “It was my fault. He was so beautiful and I was so busy watching him, I didn’t think. Then when I realised we were in danger and we needed to run it was too late. He was going crazy trying to protect his herd. We had to swim the lake to get away.”
“Ah, so that’s where all the mud has come from!” Hester nodded. “Well, you were lucky, my dear. A stallion can be as ferocious as a tiger when he thinks he’s protecting his herd. If it actually was his herd. You say this horse didn’t look like the others?”
“Well, there were two foals – the black one looked just like him. But none of the others… There was something about him, Aunty Hess. He was so handsome, he reminded me of that painting on my bedroom wall.”
Aunt Hester raised an eyebrow at this. “Avignon? He reminded you of my darling Avignon? Well, I suppose anything is possible. Avignon was a great jumper, you know. Fences could never hold him and he frequently made his escape into the hills. I suppose on one of his great adventures he might have found the wild herd and bred with one of the Blackthorn mares.” Hester smiled. “Wouldn’t that be a treat? If my great grey stallion had sired a son – and a few grandsons by the sound of it – and now they’re running about the countryside following in his footsteps. You say the little black foal looked just like him?”
“Uh-huh.” Issie nodded.
“Well, this is very exciting news!” Aunt Hester said. Her smile suddenly faded. “Oh no. I’ve left lunch in the oven! It will be burnt to a crisp by now – if it hasn’t set fire to the kitchen!” She turned towards the stable door and began to hop off briskly with her walking stick.
“Aunty Hess, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t run in a plaster cast. I’ll dash back and turn off the oven,” Issie said.
“If it’s burnt on the outside don’t throw it away. Just cut the black bits off. That’s what I usually do,” Aunt Hester called after her as Issie ran out of the stable doors.
When she arrived at the house Issie found what looked like the remains of a cottage pie burnt to a crisp on the top and promptly put it in the pig’s bin before Aunt Hester could try to salvage it.
Issie stood there for a moment and stared at the charred remains on top of the bucket of pig slops. Another narrow escape in my first day at Blackthorn Farm. She smiled to herself. Avoiding Aunt Hester’s cooking efforts was one thing, but wild stallions and black panthers were another matter entirely. Issie knew they had been lucky to escape with their lives today.
When Issie checked in on her horse at the stables later that afternoon Blaze seemed none the worse for wear after her adventures. She fed Blaze her chaff and pony nuts for dinner and hung up a hay net for the mare to munch through overnight. Then she checked on the other horses in their stalls.
Issie was adjusting Diablo’s stable rug when she heard a noise behind her. “Miaow!” The sound made her jump and she turned around to see Aidan leaning over the stable door, smiling at her.
“Ohmygod, Aidan! You scared me!”
Aidan pushed his long dark hair back out of his eyes. “It wasn’t me – it was the Grimalkin, the witch’s cat of Blackthorn Ridge!” He grinned at her.
Issie threw a sponge out of Diablo’s grooming kit at the stall door and Aidan ducked as it flew past his ear.
“I’m not imagining it, Aidan. I was chased by something today in the woods. I’m not saying it was some imaginary cat. I don’t know what it was, but it followed me and Blaze and it was fast and it was huge.” Issie stood her ground.
“Hey,” Aidan raised both his palms up as if surrendering the conversation to her, “I believe you. There’s a big kitty out there who wants a saucer of milk and a pony.”
“Aidan!”
“No, seriously, Issie, I do believe you. The horses have all been very spooky lately and last week we lost two chickens from the henhouse. I thought it was probably a stoat, but maybe it was whatever was chasing you and Blaze.” Aidan cast his eyes over Diablo. The piebald was shifting restlessly in his stall. “Horses can sense things, you know,” Aidan said quietly. “They know when there’s trouble about.”
“So can pigs,” Issie added.
“What?” Aidan said.
“Well, I hear that Butch doesn’t like you much, so I guess he knows trouble when he sees it too.” Issie grinned.
“Yes,” said Aidan, “yes, I guess he does.”
After she’d helped Aidan feed all the horses and lock the stalls for the night, Issie took the leftover scraps of burnt lunch, potato peelings and last night’s supper and went to visit Butch.
“Don’t worry, B
utch, it’s just me. Aidan isn’t here,” she reassured the big, black pig. Then she tipped the scraps into his trough and, while he ate, gave him a firm scratch behind the ears with his favourite scratching stick.
Once Butch was fed she headed down past the stables to the cattle pens where Blossom and Meadow were kept. Blossom looked at Issie gratefully with her scary yellow goat eyes as she filled the feed bin with carrots and apple slices.
Issie pulled a carrot out of her pocket. “Count to five, Blossom!” Issie instructed, holding the carrot over the goat’s head just as Aunt Hester had done with Butch the other day. “Count, Blossom!” Issie commanded again.
Blossom looked up, snatched the carrot out of Issie’s hand and then carried on eating.
“Ummm, well, I guess I’ll start training you properly tomorrow,” Issie said.
In the pen next to Blossom, Meadow, a patchy chestnut and white Hereford calf, was pacing up and down waiting for her supper. She gave Issie a friendly lick with her coarse sandpaper tongue as she entered her pen. Issie had heated a bottle full of milk for the young calf and, as she produced the teat, Meadow suctioned on immediately and began to drink, pushing and nudging at Issie as the bottle began to empty.
“Wow! You have a big appetite for a little cow,” Issie said. Meadow had emptied the bottle now and was sucking on Issie’s fingers instead. “Stop it!” she giggled, edging backwards out of Meadow’s pen and locking the gate after herself.
Before she left the stables Issie stopped in once more at Blaze’s stall to say goodnight. “Sleep tight, Blaze,” she said, patting the mare’s velvet-soft nose. Blaze nickered softly in return and Issie gave her one last carrot before she locked the stall doors behind her.
The first day at Blackthorn Farm had given Issie more than enough news to tell her friends. Luckily Aunt Hester did have the Internet so she didn’t need to use carrier pigeons after all. “But what an excellent idea!” Hester had laughed when Issie suggested this as a joke. “Carrier pigeons! I shall have to train some up just in case. We are always having problems with the phone lines here after the autumn storms. A pigeon might come in handy!”
Issie wasn’t sure if her aunt was joking or not. After all, she told Stella in her email, this is a place where it is considered perfectly normal for ducks to open doors, and tomorrow I’m supposed to be teaching the goat how to bow. Aunt Hester says it’s time I filled her shoes and began animal training. Yikes! It’s like I’m Dr Doolittle or something. I can’t believe I am missing the summer dressage series. Say hi to Coco and to Kate and Toby. Miss you. BFF XXX Issie.
Issie only had to wait a few minutes after she’d sent her email before she heard the ping of an email coming back in return.
You think you’ve got it tough? Stella wrote back. I wish I was teaching goats to bark or whatever you’re doing. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here doing the summer dressage series and guess who is winning by, like, a million-kazillion points with her new pony and won’t let any of us forget it? I’ll give you a clue and that clue is STUCK-UP TUCKER! Oh I wish I was at the farm instead with all those animals – it sounds cool. Apart from the bit where you got chased by the thing in the forest and nearly killed by the wild stallion. You’re lucky that Blaze is so fast – if it had been me on old slow-poke Coco we’d have been eaten by the Grimalkin already! BFF Stella XXX
Issie knew Stella didn’t mean to make fun of her, and neither did Aidan really. Still, she wished she had never told anyone about the animal that had chased her and Blaze on the ridge that morning. Now that Issie was safely tucked up in bed at Blackthorn Manor she was beginning to wonder if there really was an animal in the woods or if her mind had been playing tricks on her. It was only natural that Blaze would be a bit spooky in her new home. Perhaps the mare had shied at her own shadow and then bolted? Maybe there wasn’t any animal chasing them. After all, Issie hadn’t actually seen anything, had she?
No, she thought. I didn’t see anything – but I did hear something.
Blaze had heard it too. The mare hadn’t just been spooked – she had been terrified. She wasn’t imagining things. Something was out there; she was sure of it.
Issie fell asleep in her four-poster bed that night thinking about the creature in the woods. The moon was full in the sky outside and she could see the inky crest of the ridge outlined through her bedroom curtains as she dozed off.
When she woke again she guessed it must have been about midnight. The moon was still high in the sky, illuminating the view outside. Issie lay in bed and listened. In the hush of the night she could hear a scratching noise. It was coming from her door. She got up and quietly padded across the floor to open it, and there was Strudel, waiting patiently for her.
“Hello, Strudel. I suppose you want to come in?” Issie said.
The dog began to pad into the bedroom, but then suddenly she stopped. Her ears perked up and she froze. Then she turned tail and raced off again straight down the stairs. Issie grabbed her dressing gown and followed after her. A noise outside made the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as if someone had just walked over her grave. She could have sworn she had just heard the growl of a cat. A very big cat.
Outside on the back veranda Issie found Strudel standing alert. The dog was growling a low, rumbly growl.
“What is it, girl?” Issie said, putting her arm around the golden retriever. “Can you hear something?”
Suddenly a cacophony of squawking and flapping came from the henhouse. Strudel took off in the direction of the noise, her bark raising the alarm for the rest of the farm. Issie paused for a moment, peering blindly into the darkness and wondering what was out there waiting for her. Then she pulled on her boots and ran after Strudel down the driveway. Behind her she heard the barks of Taxi and Nanook, who had both heard Strudel’s cry and were joining in the chase.
Down at the henhouse feathers were flying. The bantams were in a total state of terror, and Issie wished she had brought a torch with her so she could see what was going on. She opened the door to the henhouse and stepped inside, relying on the moonlight to guide her, trying to calm the frantic chickens so that she could check that they were all OK. She was just in the process of counting the chickens in the dark when she heard a squeal coming from the paddocks next to the stables. Strudel, Nanook and Taxi immediately bounded off in the direction of the sound, with Issie following.
The dog’s cries were bloodcurdling and growing more frantic by the time Issie arrived at the stables. She ran past the horses’ stalls to the back door that led out to the duck pond and the cattle pens, pushing the enormous stable door open, and cast her eyes around the pens. The three dogs were barking wildly now.
“What is it, Strudel?” Issie asked. And then she saw the shape looming in front of her. Enormous and black, silhouetted against the night sky. The creature was sleek and huge – bigger than Nanook even – and it was moving fast, padding silently across the top of the fence-line, balanced on the wooden frame of the cattle pens.
The black shape of the Grimalkin disappeared into the darkness. The dogs were going crazy now, barking and wailing so loudly that Issie didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. A hand on her shoulder made her jump.
“Shhh, it’s me!” Aidan’s voice calmed her down. “Just a second – let me find the torch – I’ve got one here somewhere…”
Aidan shone the torch beam on to the cattle pens. Issie peered at fence where she had seen the shadow of the Grimalkin just a moment before. There was nothing there now except the black night sky. Worried that Aidan would think she was silly, Issie couldn’t decide whether to tell him that she’d seen the Grimalkin again. She didn’t need to say anything, though, because Aidan spoke first.
“Go back to the house now, Issie,” he said.
“Why, Aidan, what’s wrong?” Issie moved closer.
“I said go back now!” Aidan shouted at her.
And then Issie saw why he was sending her away. The body of an animal lay covered in blood in the cattle pen a
t Aidan’s feet. Issie rushed forward to help, and as she came closer she realised that it was Meadow. The chestnut and white calf was lying very still as Aidan bent down to examine her.
“Aidan! Ohmygod! I’ll get the first-aid kit out of the tack room and…”
Aidan looked up at Issie. There were tears in his eyes. “It’s no use,” he said softly. “Issie, she’s dead.”
Issie looked down at Meadow. The little calf’s rust and white fur was smeared with blood and there were two deep gashes that looked like claw marks at her shoulder and throat. Aidan was right. There was no doubt that she was dead.
Aidan looked up at Issie. There were tears streaming down her face. “Honestly, Issie, I think she must have died instantly. Whatever did this was quick and deadly; she didn’t suffer.” He stood up and put his arm around Issie as she wiped the tears off her cheek with the sleeve of her pyjamas.
Aidan picked Meadow up and carried her inside the stables into one of the empty horse stalls, bolting the doors shut. Then he walked Issie back up the driveway to the manor, with the three dogs following noiselessly at their heels.
“What do you think it was, Aidan?” Issie asked.
“I don’t know.” Aidan shook his head. “Could have been the same thing that stalked you and Blaze.”
“Poor Meadow,” Issie said. “Can we give her a proper burial tomorrow under the magnolia trees?”
Aidan nodded. “Cameron will want to see her first. He’ll need to figure out what it was that killed her. But yeah, of course we can.”
As they reached the veranda, the lights came on inside the manor. “Aidan! Isadora! What’s happening out here?” Aunt Hester emerged, wrapping her dressing gown around her.
“It’s Meadow. She’s been attacked,” Aidan said. Hester turned quite pale.
“Is she all right?”
“She’s dead,” Aidan confirmed. “I’ve moved her into one of the stalls in the stables. I figured Cameron could check her over in the morning.”
“Poor little Meadow!” Hester shook her head.
