An Interview with Sebastian Harwood, Amateur Cryptozoologist

I was bored. I was bored and cold. I'd been sat there since 11:30. I'd forgotten that they had changed the licensing laws. I don't really drink. Dulls the senses. Need to be at the top of your game in this business. Anyway I ended up sat there for another three hours drinking lukewarm coffee and shivering.

Lets face it she, he erm it wasn't going to turn up while three brickies walked past singing “ENGERLAND” at the top of their voices and mooning taxis. Luckily they didn't notice me. They would have probably thought I was dogging, or cottaging or something else unhealthy. Though what you would be doing dogging with a notebook and a thermos flask. Don't answer that. I looked at my watch. 3:00 AM now. The town centre had gone quiet. You know that special kind of quiet, after the pubs and takeaways are shut.

I heard the panting first, heavy and drawn, breath hanging in the air like a twice killed shade. Through the miasma its eyes took form. They didn't appear but coalesced from crystals in the air, turning red like blood on snow. Those eyes fixed me. They knew I was there and I swear the air temperature fell even colder. I was so focused on the eyes I didn't notice the rest of the animal appear. Longstaffe described a white dog, but white wasn't the first colour that came to mind for me. Grey. That's the description I would use. Grey and stained. The fur was ragged and hanging in rats tails dripping with sweat. Didn't look much like a dog either. More like the bastard child of a Shetland pony and a wolf. I wasn't sure if I could smell the creature's sweat or breath. Awful, without doubt the worst thing I've smelt in my life. The stench was rotten meat and death; part sweet flowers decaying, part open sewers. Even over all that distance it made me gag. Oh, I almost forgot. The creature was white, well off white, all over apart from the ears. That's what I said. The ears weren't white. They were red. No, not a bright red, more a black red.

Run? Of course I didn't run. You run, a Bargest chases. That's how these things work. No, I just sat there, on the wooden bench, my thermos and notebook in front of me, watching the creature, watching me.

I had taken precautions. No not garlic. That's vampires. Silver bullets are for werewolves. This thing had never been human. No, I'd taken appropriate precautions. I was sat on the other side of White Lass Beck. Well for one thing the bank was more sheltered over there, so the animal might not have noticed me watching. That was wishful thinking on my part really. Mainly though because they can't cross running water. I don't know why. Well you would think that they could just evaporate and appear on the other bank but apparently not. Look, you're not dealing with logic or science. This is folklore. This is story. Myth doesn't always make sense.

The creature carried on staring at me, mauling the road and throwing up sparks How the screeching sound didn't wake the whole of Kirkgate I don't know. I slowly started to move my hand down to get my camera from my bag. If I was a less nervous person the camera would have been out already, but you've got to be careful with expensive pieces of kit especially with drunk people around. Cost me four hundred pounds and I didn't want that to get stolen. Instead I tried to get the camera out, acting nonchalant. Yes nonchalant is a word. The creature growled, and then ran up the road out of town. Two seconds then out of sight. The stench hung about but you can't photograph stench. Well, I sighed to myself and started packing up. Past caring really. A long night, a waste of time. I know I'd seen a Bargest, but what's the point in seeing one if I don't get proof. I was pretty dejected to be honest.

Again, I noticed the smell first. Then I heard the claws scratching down the cobbles, fast. I knew then I'd tried to be too clever. I guess the creature must have run round by the roundabout, back down through South Kilvington. Of course I'm guessing, I didn't ask for a route! I could hear something coming up fast behind me and I jumped, landing awkwardly, twisting my ankle. The claws must have caught me. The irony is I think the force of being hit pushed me beyond its reach. Across White Lass Beck. Probably saved my soul.

The doctors don't believe me of course. Think I'm delusional. Even after six months they still can't explain why the scars don't heal though. Why the wounds won't stop bleeding.