***

“In my hometown area there is a ghost story about a large grey bull that roams the local farms and bellows when seen only to vanish into thin air.

When I was a boy in the scouts I heard that story at a meeting and it made my blood run cold and gave a distinct taste of salt in my mouth. One of my earlier memories was being in the bottom of our fields at home and walking back uphill towards our house, I looked up and in front of me was a gigantic greyish-blue bull standing between me and the house. I had never seen it before and we didn’t have cows, so when it bellowed I turned tail and ran down through the field. When I looked back behind me, in a wide open field with nowhere to go, it was gone. My grandmother didn’t believe me of course, but years later she was our den mother, and when that story was being told I looked up at her across the room and she was already looking at me and white as a ghost.”