the visitor

I’m just visiting, actually. Doing a two-day hike to the Old Forge. Most remote pub in Britain, I think. We like to challenge ourselves, push against the forces of nature. 

I didn’t know much about Scotland’s monsters before I got here, to be honest. Just the obvious one—Old Nessie. Looks like a row of speed bumps with a long neck. Turned out to be an elephant in the lake, apparently. They used to do that, you know—circuses—take the animals down for a bath. 

There was that old photograph from the ’50s—you can just see this shadow, looks like someone holding their hand up like that. And then there’s the cartoon version you see in all the tourist shops: big green thing with a tartan bonnet and a ginger wig. You still see a few of those walking about anyway. So yeah. Just the usual plesiosaur stereotype. 

But then folk round here started telling us about this one—Morag. And it got me thinking. On the drive over, we heard this deep grumble through the valley. And there were these puffs of smoke coming out of the trees. Could’ve been the steam train… or could’ve been smoke coming out of her chuff, couldn’t it? 

I like these bothies you’ve got, though. The remoteness. That sense of isolation and peace. Though it’s always a gamble whether anyone else is there. Last time, we nearly killed everyone with sardines on the log burner. I’ve heard about these bothy raves, but last time I slept right through—straight from work to hike. Just passed out. 

But it’s fun when people start swapping stories. Top Trumps—“my beast’s bigger than yours.” Back home in Scarborough we’ve got a werewolf. Never been seen, but it’s been heard. 

I told my mate from Hull and he’s like, “No, we’ve got the werewolf. Ours is called the Big Stinker or something.”  Got mad red eyes and awful breath. Swore blind he was out on his mountain bike, heard claws on the ground getting closer and closer in the dark. Didn’t see what it was. Got so freaked out, he threw the bike at it—and whatever it was legged it the other way. 

I love all this local bollocks. It fills people with a bit of whimsy, doesn’t it? A bit of magic. Believing there might be something out there to actually be scared of. 

Because, what if there is? 
And if there isn’t... 
Well—there’s no proof either way, is there?