Creatures in the woods near Stranrear

I was about eleven, and my sister was thirteen. We slept in the living room of a little caravan. We used to stay near Stranraer. There wasn’t much to do; the campsite had no amenities. I’d pass time playing with my sister, taking walks, or playing the SNES. It was 1998, so Castlevania and Donkey Kong Country weren’t nostalgic - they were just lame. I couldn’t wait to get home and back to the PC to get my Theme Hospital on. But mostly, I’d read. I had a collection of books about ghosts, UFOs, and cryptids. I’d pick them up at library sales or in charity shops. My favorites were the unexplained true stories, like the Dover Demon or the Gulf Breeze incident. There was a quarry on the other side of the site; sometimes at night, I’d pretend the two red lights were the eyes of the Mothman, who’d swoop down to terrorize my family. What I’m getting at here is, I was a kid and had an active imagination, but I never believed anything spooky would happen to me. that if something extraordinary happens, it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, right?

 

I woke up one morning around 6:20. It was grey outside, the sun had just come up, but fog and cloudy skies ensured it wasn’t too bright. I felt uneasy because I’d usually sleep till nine at least. It was silent. My sister wasn’t even snoring as she normally did. And then I heard it:

There was a thumping sound.

It sounded like a horse galloping just outside the window. It was unsettling, to say the least. Had a horse escaped from a nearby field? Surely not. I’d never seen any horses around here, and what’s more, it didn’t sound heavy enough to be one.

Then I heard it again.

 

Whatever it was, it was making circles around the caravan. I’d hear it fade a little as it looped around the other end, where my parents slept, and then get louder, almost next to my head. It had the irregular rhythm of a gallop, but I never heard four legs. It was almost like a person was skipping very, very quickly, but no person could be heavy enough, to make that kind of noise on such soft ground.

I heard it again.

It was fading off into the distance. Whatever it was, seemed to have run off. I breathed a little easier. What a crazy situation. Maybe I hadn’t fully woken up yet and was having a dream hangover. I decided to shrug it off.

And then it came back.

The same thudding sound.

It was getting louder and more insistent. I decided to take my chances.

“Rosie? Are you awake?” I ventured.

“Yeah,” she said, voice quivering.

“You can hear that, right?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I’m afraid to look outside.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid it might be the devil.”

 

She moaned in fear. The thudding sound repeated. There was a thump from the other end of the caravan, like whatever was outside had grazed it. I pulled my blanket tighter around me. After about a minute, it faded again. I told myself if it came back, I’d look outside, and the devil is damned.

It didn’t come back. My parents woke up around eight, made us breakfast, and the fog cleared. We asked them if they’d heard anything strange earlier. They hadn’t. No scrapes on the caravan that would suggest something heavy bumping against it. Apart from my sister, there was no evidence that anything had happened.

Except for one rough footprint outside the front door, in the shape of a hoof.

 

To this day, I regret not looking outside to see what it was. But when I wake up in the middle of the night, and everything seems so strange, I understand why I didn’t.