Phantom Felines And Other Ghostly Animals - Gerina Dunwich 2006

The Wild Hunt
Hounds and Hauntings

by Gerina Dunwich

The Wild Hunt, according to the folklore of the British Isles, is a phantom procession of mounted huntsmen and baying black hellhounds, which, at times, appear headless. Sometimes led by Herne the Hunter, the goddess Hecate, or even the devil himself, these dreadful specters roam about the countryside, cloaked in the darkness of night, in search of human souls.

It is said that bad luck befalls all persons who lay their eyes upon this procession, unless they immediately fall to the ground and recite the Lord’s Prayer to save their souls. But those who are foolish enough to speak to any of the huntsmen can be sure to expect a visit from Death. Some folks also believe that the earthbound souls of the unbaptized dead—particularly infants—are chased to hell by the dogs of the Wild Hunt.

In Cornwall, the huntsmen’s hounds are known as the Devil’s Dandy Dogs, and persons who claim to have seen them say the pack runs along the ground or sometimes just above it. One account from the twelfth century estimated the number of huntsmen to total between twenty and thirty.

All Hallows’ Eve and nights wrought by stormy weather and howling winds are believed to be the times when the Wild Hunt commences. And no such nights, all who dare to venture out are warned to do so only with the utmost caution, lest the phantom hounds snatch up their souls and carry them off to hell.

I could with him. We were inseparable until I had to leave and return to the city.

One day in July of 2005, Benny went missing. He was so old now that he got tired after a five-minute stroll. And he was also going blind and deaf, so he couldn’t have wandered off too far. But despite the best efforts of my family, we couldn’t find him, or his remains either.

I was grief-stricken and cried for days over losing my best friend. Fearing that I had let him down, I went and saw a medium … by accident. I thought this woman gave career guidance but she gave more “life guidance” instead. She told me that Benny is fine and that he sits outside where my mother often sits. (My mother is a smoker and would sit on the back veranda where Benny had his sleeping blanket.) She told me to not worry and that he was there and knew that I loved him very much. He didn’t want me to see him die, so he wandered off and did it quietly.

When I visited my parents again, I was lying in bed and could hear Benny walking around on the veranda right outside my window. I feel his presence every time I go home and I’m glad he is still with me, even though not physically. I miss Benny but I know he’s sitting there keeping my mother company.