The Hound of Hells Lake

A story of a ghostly dog from Scotland. Operation Restoration has begun!!!

The Hound of Hells Lake

 

Loch Hourne, where the ghost dogs are said to be...
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Barking from its rocky shore
At sailors passing by
Sometimes at the death of day
Sometimes under a noontime sky
The black dog and her starving pups
Haunt this area the locals tell
That’s known to all as Loch Hourn
Otherwise the Lake of Hell

This remote Scottish area
Would make a great landscape
Was said for a thousand years to be
Home for the creature that can change shape
That it desired itself to do
It would form for those to see
That it would lure to their death
It was called the Kelpie!

And among its shadowy waters
That sometimes are covered by dense clouds and fogs.
There lies a landmass in the middle
Knows as the Isle of the Wild Dogs.
And on dark and stormy nights
Its not just the wind... the locals know
But the dark howling of the dogs who died
Some ninety years ago!

A son to hunt rabbits went
Donald Cameron and his pet
That was due to have puppies son
To hunt together out they set.
After sometime the dog got lost
As Cameron cursed his luck
His dog in a cave he found
That had collapsed – the dog was now stuck!

Though he tried, to save he failed
And so back home he went
For till his faithful dog was freed
He would not rest content
But storms were blowing stronger that day
And held for many more
And the Cameron boys were thwarted
Each time the storm cast them back to mainland shore.

The Great War was now raging
And young Cameron got the call
And the morning he left he was his dog
Had freed itself from the rockfall
And it stood on its shoreline
Looking at its master and friend
Who by cruelty and mankind
His country to war him did send

And when to war the boy had gone
His brothers tried some more
The stormy waters for to cross
And reach the islands shore
The dog had her pups since then
Though food was in scarce supply
And temper and trust she had not for them
And to attack she was not shy.

On a spring evening in 1915
As her half grown pups around her played
She sat upon a shoreline rock
And quite a sight she made
As the sun sank behind the ocean
Telling end of day to beast, to man and fowl
Her head she threw back to the sky
And let an eerie high pitched howl,…

All that long night she could be heard
Crying to the black black sky
Next morning on the shore was found
Her corpse… for she did die!
Some time later the word came
That on that very day
Her master died at war in Europe
Round the time she began to bay.

Her pups ruled the island as their own
Attacked those who on it did land
Including an unfortunate yachtsman
Who nearly lost his like, not only his hand!
The men folk from the village
To organize themselves set out
And after some days were happy
That the wild pack was wiped out.

Some said that still a dog was seen
By the shoreline, crying to the sky
Across the loch from where it came
In distant days gone by…
In April 1930, a shepherd there slept
With flock and dog for the night
And, to the baying of a pack, he rose to check
But nothing of them was in sight.

The flock were grazing peaceful
Normal all did appear
Only the whimpering terror of his own dog
Gave substance to his fear
In time the island was sold
By major Lewis O’ Conner it was bought
His son Kevin went to the isle to see
Though locals told him that not he aught.

Shortly after he landed
It is told by other men
Came barking loud and a cry for help
Kevin was never seen again.
The Major’s men through the island wildly searched
But nothing found at all
Of man or dog, that was ever there
No matter where they looked or did call.

As the search boats back to the mainland went
One constable claimed to see
A Labrador black upon a rock
Looking out at them on the sea.
So rapidly back they returned
And tracker dogs from the mainland they brought
The mysterious creature had disappeared.
They found not what they sought.

There are people to this very day
Who to the isle won’t go
For they of the tragedy
And of the stories know.
Should you dear reader be so bold
As your way there to make
Steer clear of the Isle of the Wild Dogs
On Loch Hourne, in English: Hells Lake!

Author's Note

Changed title as suggested by reviewers!!!

Reviews

[J.e. Doherty]

I had a read of this and I have to say, the story and the imagery you have created are really good. Call it "Hells Lake" and I have no problems with this at all. It is rich and spooky, The rhyme scheme for a ballad is typically abab or abcb so yours is fine, sharp and constant. The poem tells a rollicking yarn but calling it "The Ballad of Hells Lake" poses a few concerns.

Ballads are usually meant to be sung or recited in musical form. Typical ballad meter is a first and third line with four stresses (iambic tetrameter) and then a second and fourth line with three stresses(iambic trimeter), the metre of this is off for a Ballad.

The first stanza is (4)-(3)-(3)-(4)-(4)-(4 & a half)-(4)-(3) stresses
The second is (3)-(3)-(4)-(4)-(4)-(3)-(4)-(3) stresses
The third is (3)-(5)-(4)-(4)-(4)-(4)-(4& a half)-(3) stresses

And so on...

So, as a poem it is great but if you want it to be a ballad pick your favourite stanza and try and work the rhythm of the other stanzas to match it. (It doesn't have to be (4)-(3)-(4)-(3) rhythm - thats just the typical as long as you stick to the rhythm throughout.

I have just posted a ballad I wrote long ago called "The Wanderer" If you are interested, check out the metre in it. The refrain is not (4)-(3)-(4)-(3) but the verses are.

[Chantal-lise Mirman]

A sad and tragic Scottish take on a boy and his dog that would make for a great reading on a blustery night at the local pub.... I would love to hear you read/sing this, as I think some of the problems with meter might disappear. One question about the story: are you trying to link the ghostly dogs to the selkie? Saying that they somehow were transformed? Or just trying to make the point that this is an area full of strange happenings? Either way, I loved the fleshing out of the old legend!

(minor typo: "And the morning he left he was his dog" should be "saw his dog")

[Jenny Davis]

This is written extremely well, Tomas. I'm generally not into ghost tales, but this was a great one!

[Pauline Ramsey]

I'd love to go to Scotland and check out the history and the like. Excellent work, I love the tone of it.

[Marie]

Nicely written. Thanks for sharing.

[Blue Bard]

You tell a very compelling ghost story. It is full of rich imagery that captures the reader's imagination. I agree with the featured review that sometimes the rhythm interruptions are a distraction to an otherwise wonderful piece. I think a few edits where some pieces are sharpened might do the trick. Writing a ballad is tricky stuff. I applaud you for tackling it.

[T.k. Sutter]

Call it what you like, I love it! I have always been partial to these legends. Ghosts, Banshee's, etc. I love everything about it. :-) This was so well written I could picture myself there.

[dead]

Scotland � so full of ghostly occurrences; or so is all of the Great Britain and Ireland � so many legends and tales of the fantastic. Amazing such tales really and though I don't really believe in the supernatural I always am most intrigued by such tales (I am greatly into Japanese cinema which often revolves around themes of vengeful spirits) because it comes to show the power of lingering emotions, how memories have an inter-personal power that can hold a whole environment in its power � what lurks in those shadows indeed? Great work as always my friend!

[Fantasyfairy]

what a lovely story, so dark and sad, thank you for submitting it to my contest hun XX

[Phibby Venable]

I love a good story. It holds my attention and it is a tragic tale.
You really have a wonderful imagination and sense of drama.

[Debra Stevens Edwards (..]

This is a well done story and It a poem not ballad. Although it is a well done yarn, very enjoyable to read the title should be changed. Great read.
Debby