Jersey: The Black Dog of Bouley Bay

Standing outside the pub she was interviewing her cousin Pierre in, she laughs at the superstitions of the simple island folk she was told by him and turns her face back towards the bay, hailing a horse cab. As she climbs aboard, the mare shook her head and spooks, pawing the ground nervously. A creak and a rattle made her look to the bar sign swinging in the wind, a chill wind blowing down the hill. She can’t believe it, the folk can’t be true!?

By Elisabeth Amy-Vogt


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