WEBVTT

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This is a story that occurs in
the United Kingdom. The writer is unknown.

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It is centered around some British folklore
of an entity called the black Shuck.

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I can't remember what time of year
it was, but judging by the

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scenery and what I was doing,
it must have been the end of summer

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or the cusp of autumn. I
can be confident that I was on one

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of the longer school holidays. Children
are given much to the dismay of parents

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everywhere. Because my girlfriend of the
time had been sent to stay with her

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nan in a small market town almost
twenty miles away from where we lived,

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her mom and dad diligently limited our
time together. We were young teenagers,

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full of eagerness to act on our
own natural drives, and they had good

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reason. When I received a written
message from my girlfriend cell phones were not

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a thing yet, letting me know
that she was not under the watchful of

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her parents. A twenty mile bike
ride didn't seem like much of a barrier

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to some alone time children had more
freedom back then, I had more than

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most. Being the fifth of six
children, my parents had most likely had

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enough of parenting by the time it
came to me and my little sister.

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My independent nature and my ability to
stay out of trouble meant the arrangement was

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agreeable for everyone concerned. So with
a backpack containing a sleeping bag and a

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change of clothes, I headed off
to visit my girlfriend. England is a

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relatively small place, lined with narrow
lanes and dotted over with farmhouses and small

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villages. There's always a place to
stop and have a bite to eat.

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There isn't much there to depose a
danger to a bicyclist or a hiker,

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except perhaps stinging nettle that'll give you
an itchy rash for an hour or so.

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But otherwise I didn't feel as though
I had anything to worry about.

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As I made my way cross country
to the village of Bungye. The twenty

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miles seemed to pass quickly as I
rode through the landscape that had changed very

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little since the days when the Romans
ruled to Britain, and soon I found

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myself on a country road too narrow
for two cars to pass, and it

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was separated from a farmer's fence by
an overgrown grass verge enveloped in cow parsley,

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blunt leaf dock and the chalky stems
of yellow fennel. Norfolk is exceptionally

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flat, and so I was given
an unhindered view of the sunset from the

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moment it touched the horizon until it
slipped quietly behind it. And to my

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right the world was all shadows and
silhouettes outlined against the sun, and to

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my left the fields were reflecting the
amber rays and casting a sinister paul over

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the countryside. While I was wishing
I had a camera, I slowed down

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to enjoy the sight, and that's
when I became aware of a metallic sound.

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I think I had been hearing it
for a while but had subconsciously put

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it down to something caught in the
spokes of my bike. Now, as

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I slowed, the soft, metallic
clanking had not changed. I looked back

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over the flat landscape, but I
couldn't find anything natural or otherwise that could

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have been making that sound. Unfortunately, I had recently read Algernon in Blackwood's

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The wind Togo, and though it
held very little resemblance to what we are

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told today that what a Windigo looks
like, it is one of the few

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books I've read that truly scared me. That, combined with my natural fear

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of dark and time of day,
and my location far from any man made

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light sent fear sweeping over me in
the form of panic. With a mental

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image of the wind to go,
rising up from behind the overgrown fence line

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and sprinting at me with ungodly speed, I pushed off with steely determination to

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reach the well lit safety of my
girlfriend's NaN's brick home. As I raced

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along in the fading light, the
metallic sound stayed with me, and at

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a very short period it changed from
clanking to that of a dog's claws on

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the pavement. I was hoping that
was the case, and I looked back,

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half expecting to see a dog like
my German shepherd at home, ambling

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down the road behind me, but
again there was nothing in sight. I'm

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deaf in one ear, and as
such I'm used to being misled by sound,

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identifying it or placing its distance and
direction, or much more difficult with

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only one good ear. But still
this was a familiar noise. Whether I

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was able to identify the source or
not. The absence of sunlight was doing

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nothing to counteract the chill that had
swept over me, but the knowledge that

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it was a sound I knew helped
to provide some calm, as if to

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punish me for relaxing, the sound
of something big came from the long grass

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and tall plants on the verge.
The dry sound of moving grass and folding

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stems softened the clank of a short
chain being dragged over the hidden fence.

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I whipped my head around, expecting
to see an animal that I thought had

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come out of the field and should
have been standing on the verge behind me,

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But nothing was there. An electric
prickle slid up my back and raised

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the hair off my neck. The
road was empty, but I saw the

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silhouette of a pair of long,
narrow dogears keeping pace with me in the

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field. The animal's head wasn't bobbing, so I knew it didn't have to

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try to keep up with me.
I could see the top of its head

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and the brakes of the tall grass, and it seemed to know I was

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looking at it, because it folded
its ears and ducked its head lower.

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That chilled prickle made a home in
the center of my chest, and it

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tightened my lungs and made the air
hit cold in the back of my throat.

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My heart started thumping against my rib
cage as if it wanted to break

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out of its organic prison, and
it pushed icy blood around my body,

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and instinctively I knew the situation was
unnatural. My legs were already pumping as

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hard as my heart while my head
swiveled between the narrow road ahead and the

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animal moving along the fence. If
I had seen the thing's head level with

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the tops of the grass, it
had to be five feet tall. Now

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that I knew what I was looking
at and where it was, I could

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see its thick, heavy muzzle and
long black body between the thinner patches of

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the grass. Somehow I found more
speed, but that didn't help. It

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increased its gait to trot and keep
pace with me. I was pelting along

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faster than I'd ever bike before or
since, and all this dog had to

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do to keep up was trot.
Fear was pushing me beyond my limits,

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and the voice of reason was a
distant whisper in my mind between telling me

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it was just a horse or a
deer. But I knew in reality it

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was an unnatural creature and I had
no chance of escaping. An animal that

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size could leap over the fence and
catch me if it wanted to, and

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there was nothing I could do to
stop that. I could hear the animal's

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pause, padding through the dirt,
and the rhythmic jangling of a chain as

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it lazily started to close the gap
between us. On the very few occasions

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when I had been forced to seek
control of my body to the fight or

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flight response, I had been amazed
at the number of tiny details that autopilot

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is able to pick up on and
factor into a snap decision. And even

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now I can clearly picture the vista
ahead of me as I approached the small

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humpback bridge spanning a narrow stream with
three foot deep banks flanking it, And

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although I couldn't see the road immediately
beyond the hump of the bridge, I

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could see the hedge rows bordering the
generous gardens of scatterings of cottages built along

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the winding road. There was a
slight downward gradient that probably passes as a

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hill around here, and it allowed
me to see the roof of a car

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weaving its way toward the bridge at
a speed. The holmes in site were

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all on the right side, with
open fields on the left, and that

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meant the dog wouldn't have any overgrown
grass to stay behind after it crossed the

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stream, and thinking that the dog
would choose to pounce on me. After

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clearing the end of the bridge,
I dug deep and pushed out enough effort

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to increase my speed or fraction As
I crested the humpbacked bridge. As my

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tires left the tarmac where it was
gouged by unwary drivers who had bottomed out,

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I saw that the road took a
sharp turn to the left a little

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beyond the foot of the bridge.
I cleared most of it and landed already

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leaning hard to the right to make
the turn and happy that it would take

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me further away from the dog.
But as I rounded the corner, I

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saw a large, unreasonably spiky piece
of farm equipment sitting by a large gate

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that opened out onto the fields.
Still in mid turn, I remembered there

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was also a car coming fast that
in all probability hadn't seen me coming over

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the hump of the bridge, and
if I stayed on the road, I

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would be hit by the car,
And if I kept pulling left to get

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off the road, I'd be secured
on the blue crescent shape still spikes belonging

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to the tractor trailer, and to
the right I saw a well kept privet

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hedge belonging to the first cottage along
this road. Although I hadn't glanced back

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since I had noticed the deep gouges
in the tarmac at the crest of the

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bridge, I imagined the large dog
running alongside me, just on the other

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side of the manicured hedge. I
had nothing to do with the choice made.

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It was all instinct, and I
jerked the handlebars to the left and

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tensed my arms and shoulders as a
wall of green hiding the field's boundary hurtled

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toward me. Before I hit anything, the front wheel snapped around beyond ninety

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degrees and I was catapulted off the
saddle. In the air, I made

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contact with something hard enough to bounce
off and tumble along the verge before coming

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to rest uncomfortably on my overstuffed pack. I sat up just in time to

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see the car going by and breaking
hard for the bridge, And given all

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the details I can recall from that
moment, it vexes me to and that

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I cannot recall the color of that
car, the big dark face opposite me

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that had pushed itself through the hedge
across the narrow road, however, will

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stay with me forever. With my
legs blade out in front of me,

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I felt the stiff stems of the
tall grass between my fingers as I propped

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myself upright. I could have reached
out and grabbed the painted blue spikes of

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the trailer beside me if I wanted
to use it to haul myself off the

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ground, But I was locked in
place by the gaze of an unnaturally large

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dog. Yellow eyes glimmered at me
with their own luminescence in the half light,

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and a heavy muzzle that wouldn't look
out of place on a mastiff barely

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concealed the bulge of hidden fangs atop
its large, square head. Two long,

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narrow ears were trained on me along
with its unblinking gaze. I could

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one leg planted firmly under its massive
body, and I'm glad its paws were

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lost in the slightly overgrown edges of
the cottage's lawn, because I think even

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a hint of tooth or claws would
have pushed me to the breaking point.

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A heavy coal black chain hung beside
the one leg that I could see,

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but I couldn't honestly say I saw
much more of the animal. Hot tears

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welled up in my eyes as the
bumps and bruises I got from the tumble

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began to ache, and I thought
it was the end of me. At

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that moment, the giant dog,
not ten meters away from me started to

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shrink. As if my encounter didn't
sound unbelievable already, I promise you,

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the dog stood statue still and began
to shrink. I know it doesn't make

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much sense to say this, but
the shrinking didn't look real. It looked

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like a bad special effect from a
cheap TV show. As it got smaller,

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well, I didn't move at all. It wasn't getting further away.

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It shrank, and somehow it became
wrong. I know that it isn't incredibly

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poor descriptive, but the comparison to
low budget TV show effects is the best

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I can muster for what I saw
that evening. In a scant few seconds,

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I couldn't see the dog anymore.
An instinct relinquished control of my body,

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and I sat there for a while
trying to normalize my breathing and stopped

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trembling, And all too soon the
growing darkness encouraged me to make haste to

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where my girlfriend was staying, I
chose not to tell her what had happened.

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I told her that I had fallen
off my bike and there was no

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need to worry. She was used
to seeing me looking weather worn and road

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weary. After a mug of tea
and a generous slice of k I all

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but forgot about the dog and concentrated
on enjoying my girlfriend's company, and all

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too soon my girl our friend's nand
politely reminded me that it was getting too

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late for a young lady to have
a male visitor. Unfortunately, my return

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trip was mundane. Not much time
passed before I put my encountered down to

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my fear of the dark. Feeding
my imagination, I decided it was a

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deer that had startled me. Maybe
something did stick its head through the hedge

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and stare at me. But a
lot of people keep goats. They're great

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at slipping out of their pens or
off their chains. But it wasn't until

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the Internet took off many years later
that I came across the story of the

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Black Shuck, and I began to
entertain the idea that I could have seen

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a supernatural hound. The United Kingdom
has plenty of mythological creatures to call upon

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a wealth of homegrown legends mixed with
those brought to our tiny island by raiders

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and conquerors over the millennia. We
are small, but we're not densely populated,

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and even so what we refer to
as a vast open space might only

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constitute a large backyard in other countries. That's why I raise an eyebrow whenever

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someone insists the UK has its own
large, cryptid running about. What I

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can start to believe is the many
black dog stories that have been around since

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time immemorial and the big cat sightings
that have been common since the nineteen seventies.

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Black dog stories have been a mainstay
of legends and myths from Scotland to

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Wales and across the Irish Seat to
Ireland. The town of Burnby has its

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own tale of a black dog called
the Black Shuck, and it stretches back

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to the fourth of August fifteen seventy
seven, when darkness, rain, hail

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and lightning as was never seen.
The light sent the townspeople to the church

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to pray for a reprieve from the
tempest. Lightning struck church and a black

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dog broke down the door with a
bestial hatred and a disregard for God.

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All down the church in the midst
of fire, the hellish monster flew,

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and passing onward to the choir he
many people slew. After killing two people,

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the dog of death, burning with
the wrathful head of hell fire,

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vanished. It then apparently traveled twelve
miles to the Holy Trinity Church in Blibrah,

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where it killed more of the faithful. Saint Mary's Church has a tower

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damaged by lightning that now sports and
iron weather vane with a black dog running

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on a lightning boat. The Holy
Trinity Church at Blibrah has burned marks on

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its ancient doors that were apparently left
behind by the baleful heat of the black

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Shuck's claws. Thanks to a little
research, I have discovered many people all

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over Suffolk and Norfolk and the black
Shucks stories to tell. A good handful

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of them account hearing a dog padding
along the road close by and dragging a

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chain, but there is no dog
to be seen. Those that do see

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something report sizes from a normal dog
to something like a small pony, and

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a couple of people even say they
watch the dogs shrink and then vanish.

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The legend of the Black Shuck claims
that if you see the dog, you

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will die within a year. Well, I'm fine, and so is everyone

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else that reported seeing the black Shuck. But just like me, many of

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those people had a brush with death. If I hadn't been peddling hard to

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get away from the dog following me, I would have come over the humpbacked

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bridge without seeing that car coming,
and I would have been hit by it

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or veered off the road straight into
the spiky tractor trailer. Perhaps then the

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black Shuck is there to protect the
lonely wanderer on East Anglias back roads and

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in its woods. If not,
then it is a sister harbinger of pending

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disaster, waiting for our soul's release
from its mortal vessel. Still an escort,

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00:18:07.279 --> 00:18:11.359
but a shepherd of a very different
kind. It has a chain around

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its neck, so that makes me
think this dog is domesticated. The dogs

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are called a man's best friends for
countless very good reasons, and I can't

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help but wonder about that chain.
Though. If the black shut is a

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domesticated animal, what sort of creature
does a giant black dog call master