Headless Dog

In the shadowed folds of North Devon’s countryside, where hedgerows grow thick and secrets run deeper than the soil, there lingers the legend of a beast not bound by life or death. It came first in whispers through the lanes of Bradworthy in the late 19th century—a spectral hound without a head, cloaked in midnight fur, its presence said to foretell ruin. No bark, no growl, only silence and the tremble it left behind. For those who saw it, the Headless Dog was not merely a ghost, but a doom incarnate, its path marked by sickness, fire, and grief. Though its sightings waned with the turn of the century, the memory remains sharp as a fang—and in Bradworthy, no one walks the lanes after dark without listening for the soundless tread of something that should not be.