Clutching her egg basket and praying she might get enough money to feed her boys, the widow trudged up the stony path.
She had just reached the outskirts of the village when she saw it, squatting beside the road. The size of a filthy, gray bloodhound, it had riveting, yellow eyes and electrically vibrating hackles.
She recognized it at once, the barghest. Lowering its head, it fell in behind her on the path. "You get away and leave me alone," the widow cried, tucking up her skirts.
However, the barghest snarled and said, "You'll rue the day you left your boys alone and fooled with me." Then it suddenly vanished.
Two hours later, the footsore widow arrived home to her thatch-roofed cottage made of gingerbread with windows trimmed in pink butter icing. As she limped down the path, the pennies she'd received for her eggs clutched in her kerchief, she paused with horrible foreboding.
"He's been here," she shuddered, throwing open the door. A hard shadow greeted her, and she saw her oldest son, Ian, dangling barefoot from the rafters.
Screaming, the widow ran to Ian and clutched the lad's lifeless body. Then as her frightened eyes searched for her other boys, she saw the barghest squatting in the shadows, laughter curling upon its lips.
"Go way!" the widow cried just as she heard the voice of her youngest son, coming from the direction of the woods. "Mother, mother," Hugh cried, "I killed a rabbit. We'll have something good to eat tonight."
However, when Hugh reached the cottage, he could see by the look on his mother's face, as she stood in the doorway, that something was terribly wrong. "What is it?" Hugh cried.
"The barghest has been here." "The barghest?" "The dog of death and evil magic, and it's caused your brother to hang himself." "My brother Will?" "No, Ian." Tears gushed from Hugh's eyes at his mother's words.
Then as she enfolded him in her arms, his eyes fastened on his oldest brother dangling from the rafters. Directly the widow got a grip on herself. "And where is Will, Hugh?"
"I left him by the deep pond where he was a fishing," Hugh murmured uncertainly. "Then we must go for him at once and warn him of the barghest," the widow said, and so the two of them set off into the forest.
Soon they made their way along the shadowed path between gnarled oaks that barely admitted sunlight.
Shortly, they reached the deep pond. It shimmered pale green in the afternoon sun, but Will was nowhere to be seen.
However, the barghest was squatting by the pond, licking its paws. When it saw the widow, it lifted its head and smiled.
Trembling, the old woman seized a stout stick. "You get away, or I'll beat your hide raw," she cried. "Fool if you think so," the barghest sneered, revealing tarnished, yellow fangs. Then it slunk away.
Hurrying to the pond, Hugh ran to where he had left Will fishing; and there, floating perpendicularly, the body of Will bobbed like a cork amidst a tangle of weeds.
"Mother, mother, come quick," Hugh cried, "Will has drowned." "No!" shrilled the widow, running to Hugh.
Weeping together, they fished out Will's corpse. At length, it lay on the bank, swollen and barefoot. The widow flung herself on the cadaver.
"So this is what comes of a mother's love," she cried bitterly. Meanwhile, Hugh leaned against a tree, mourning for Will.
Eventually the widow calmed down. "We must bury Will now," she said. "But we have no shovel." "Then you run to the cottage and fetch one," she said.
As Hugh disappeared into the forest, a vague chill worked its way down the widow's spine. Something was watching from deep in the trees.
Something she couldn't cope with. When Hugh did not return promptly, the widow began to sweat. Drops stood on her brow as she thought of Hugh; but just as the sun stood high on the horizon, she heard footsteps and Hugh called out,
"Mother, mother, someone has stolen Ian's body." A dismal feeling ate at the pit of the widow's stomach at the thought of the awesome evil of the barghest. "No matter that now," she said, "we must get Will buried."
When Will's body lay at rest, Hugh said, "Why does the barghest hate us so, mother?" "Because we are good," the widow replied. "Evil spirits hate the good."
"Well I'm afraid, mother." The widow took Hugh's hand. "Be of courage, Hugh," she said. "Now listen to me." And so when they arrived back at the cottage, they pretended to dig a grave for Ian, but they covered it over with rushes and sticks.
Then the widow built a spit next to the pit and hung the cooking pot. Filling it with water, she took the rabbit that Hugh had fetched and threw it in the pot to boil.
Soon the smell of boiling rabbit crept through the forest. As long shadows fell, the barghest emerged from the trees, sniffing hungrily.
The widow was sore afraid, and Hugh clung to her skirts as they stared at the barghest creeping towards the cooking pot. "You, go away!" the widow shouted as the phantom came closer.
"I'm hungry, old witch!" the barghest cried, suddenly springing towards the boiling kettle.
However, as it reached for the rabbit, the barghest tripped, plunging into the hidden pit, showering himself with scalding water.
Instantly, the widow and Hugh ran for the shovels and buried the moaning beast, who slowly became silent. "And now we must do as the Book of Spells tells us,"
the widow said when the barghest was quiet. "I'm afraid, mother," Hugh said. "It's what we must do, Hugh." And so they uncovered the barghest.
It lay huge and swollen in the rising moonlight as the widow took her butcher's knife from the kitchen and clave open its belly.
Then as a cold breeze moaned through the dry leaves of the forest, Ian and Hugh, their faces covered with black slime, emerged from the belly of the phantom dog, a cry of happiness upon their lips, and their mother kissed them. And Hugh did a little joyful dance on the carcass of the barghest, and his voice could be heard singing from far off in the woods, "So lucky to have for a mother a witch. So lucky, so lucky are we."
-end-
