Ancient Tracks ...Part 3 ...Trail of Tears

Gwen and I spotted a ghostly figure in the distance and were following her.

We were both running and Gwen had Mollie, our golden retriever, on a tight leash but but suddenly she let go and we watched while Mollie closed the distance between her and the woman.

I shouted for Mollie to stop causing the dark figure to turn around and look back at us as she rounded a bend in the path.

Then, both Mollie and the phantom woman disappeared from sight.

I was panicking, worried about Mollie and helpless to intervene.

I broke into a fast sprint passing Gwen and quickly closing distance between me and the bend in the path.

But a few seconds later I was bent over and gasping for air standing alone and staring helplessly down a totally deserted trackway.

Both Mollie and the spectral figure were nowhere in sight.

Gwen arrived just then and all she could do was look horrified and gasp, “Oh, my God!”

I put one arm around her and leaned in close. Already, I could feel her shuddering sobs as she succumbed to hopelessness seeing the desolate stretch of path and the gathering shadows about us.

We both began calling Mollie and walking down the path in the direction she was going, but we both sensed it was futile.

Mollie was gone.

We arrived home in darkness about an hour later hoping somehow Mollie had found her way back to the village but no luck.

I posted a description of Mollie to Facebook knowing the residents had developed a site for local events.

Gwen phoned The SPCA but all we could do now is wait and hope she turned up by morning.

We both planned to search thoroughly in the morning deciding to split up With Gwen at one end of the path and I at the other and we’d walk and call until we met in the middle.

We had our cell phones and treats with us and hopefully we’d be able to rescue her and bring her home.

But after two hours of fruitlessly calling and wandering through the dense woods we reluctantly gave up for the time being.

The rest of the morning we spent plastering notices with a photo of Mollie around the village and alerting residents wherever we went.

We did our best but it all seemed so futile and by mid-afternoon we stopped for lunch at the outdoor patio of our local pub.

Neither of us felt much like eating but we didn’t want to go home to an empty house either and have to look at Mollie’s vacant dog bed.

It was bizarre this whole business of phantom figures and ancient trackways.

My trail of dreams as I used to call my woodland hike had dissolved into a trail of tears.

It was one thing to have your dog go missing or be stolen—there was always the chance of recovering your pet.

But how on earth could we deal with Mollie being abducted by a phantom figure from beyond the grave?

It was past hope and beyond disconsolate. It was tragic.