Free North Yorkshire Folk Tales by Ingrid Barton Page B

said Sir Peter. ‘Come here Tip, you good dog, you faithful dog!’ Tip came up to him, tail wagging. He enthusiastically licked Sir Peter’s face as his master gently patted his head.
    But what was this? Suddenly Sir Peter began to cough, to choke and clutch at his throat. He looked down at Tip’s mouth still red with the blood from the dragon’s tongue, the dragon’s poisonous tongue!
    ‘Oh Tip!’ he gasped. ‘You have killed us!’
    Swiftly the dragon’s poison poured through his veins like an icy river; the last thing he saw in this world was his faithful dog, also falling … the dragon’s last victim.
    In Nunnington church there is a worn effigy of an unknown knight lying peacefully, his feet resting on his faithful dog. Ancient tradition says that this is the burial place of Sir Peter Loschy and the loving dog that unknowingly killed his master.

4
C REATURES OF THE N IGHT
    Granny sits in the inglenook of the fire with the cat in her lap. All around her snuggle her grandchildren on their little stools, warming their hands on evening bowls of bread and hot milk. It is Halloween and they want scary stories.
    Sarah, the eldest, finishes her supper and puts down her bowl. ‘Granny, why don’t you tell us about the creatures of the night?’ Granny pretends she can’t remember. ‘Yes you can,’ Sarah persists. ‘You know a list of them. It starts with Incubus, then there’s Suck – Suck –’
    ‘Succubus. You don’t need to know about those – not yet anyway!’
    ‘What else?’
    ‘Nightmare – surely you don’t want to hear any more.’
    ‘Yes we do! Go on!’
    Granny puts on her serious face. ‘Well, alright then. I suppose it can’t do any harm to warn you. There’s Grim, Kirkgrim, Padfoot, Bogle, Gytrash and the worst of all …’ The children wait in delicious suspense, though they know the answer. ‘Bargest!’
    ‘Tell us about Bargest, Granny!’ whispers the smallest, milk dripping off her spoon .
    ‘Yes!’ shout the boys. ‘Why is Bargest the worst?’
    ‘Well –’ Granny keeps them waiting, lighting her old pipe with a burning stick. She puffs for a while but the children know better than to hurry her now. ‘It’s the worst because …’ Puff, puff, puff.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘ D EATH FOLLOWS IT !’
    Gasps, not all pretended, from the group. Granny nods grimly, but Tom, the clever clogs, has to put his oar in. ‘You don’t always die when you meet it thought, do you? What about that feller from …’
    ‘Oh, so you’re the expert now, are you? Well, those who’ve actually been listening will recall that I said “death follows it”, not “you die if you see it” – though …’ adds Granny in her most sinister voice, ‘that happens often enough. No, Bargest is a warning of death, either to you or someone you know, someone dear to you!’
    ‘Is there one round here?’ wavers little Sophie.
    ‘No, honey,’ Granny says quickly. ‘It’s found in lonely places, like moors or empty crossroads. You’ll never see one round here. Our farm dogs ‘ud get it, wouldn’t they?’ The boys are clearly disappointed by this.
    ‘I’d like to see one, anyway,’ says Jack stoutly. ‘I’d put it on a string and bring it home to eat Sophie!’ More shrieks and a few tears this time. Sarah slaps Jack and comforts Sophie. Granny lets her get on with it. She stares into the fire, puffing away at her pipe.
    When peace is restored, however, she fixes Jack with a piercing eye, ‘Well Jack, my clever lad, and how would you go about looking for Bargest? It can take any shape it pleases, you know. A dog, often, but also a horse, or a cow, a calf or even a cat like Tabby here,’ She strokes the cat in her lap. ‘You might see an old cat coming along the road one night and think it was Tabby until –’
    ‘Until what?’ the older children encourage hopefully. Sophie buries her face in Sarah’s skirt.
    ‘Then you’d notice its eyes!’
    ‘What about its eyes,