The Black Dog of Torrington

The road between Morchard Bishop and Winkleigh lay shrouded in darkness, a ribbon of earth winding through the silent Devon countryside. By day, it was an unremarkable stretch, bordered by ancient trees and hedgerows, but by night, it belonged to something else—something unseen, yet always watching. For generations, whispers of a great black hound had clung to Blackditch Copse, its glowing eyes and silent tread a warning to those who dared to walk alone. Some claimed it was a guardian, others an omen of death, but all agreed on one thing: to meet its gaze was to tempt fate. And as the wind stirred the leaves and the night stretched long, the question lingered in every traveller’s mind—would they be the next to see the Black Dog, or would the darkness claim them before they could?