My mum is from Cornwall, the village of Blue Hill to be exact. I’ve always been very close to my grandad, my mum’s father. Ever since I was little, he’d take me everywhere with him, even to work. I loved listening to his stories—tales and experiences from his life.
Once, I asked him if he’d ever seen fairies. He said no, but he had seen witches and even shapeshifters. I didn’t know what a shapeshifter was, so I asked him to explain. He told me they were sorcerers who could change their physical form into any animal and even fly.
He told me that after retiring from the army, he worked as a night watchman on a cornfield in Blue Hill. His job was to guard the crops from thieves. One night, his shift started around nine, and right away, he felt something wasn’t right. The air was heavy, icy cold, and the full moon cast an eerie glow over everything.
As usual, he began patrolling the field. Past midnight, he sat in his chair, but exhaustion crept in, and a deep drowsiness took hold. He told me that’s when he knew something bad was coming. A shiver ran down his spine, as if something unseen was approaching.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps rustling through the corn, as though someone was walking inside the field. He grabbed his rifle. Having been a soldier, he knew how to handle weapons, and back then, there wasn’t much security, so people had to fend for themselves. Rifle ready, he aimed into the field and shouted, “Who’s there?” All he heard was laughter—moving from side to side, growing closer.
Drawing courage, he stepped into the field, rifle in hand. Then, he saw a pig darting through the stalks. Thinking it was just an animal, he chased after it. Just as he reached for its tail, the pig stood on two legs and kept running. My grandad froze, unable to believe what he’d just seen.
He raised his rifle to shoot, but before he could pull the trigger, two wings sprouted from the creature’s back, and with a cackle, it soared into the sky. Fear rooted him to the spot. The rifle slipped from his hands, striking his feet. The pain snapped him out of his daze. He crossed himself, grabbed the gun, and bolted home, still in shock.
He told me he’d only ever heard of shapeshifters before and never thought he’d meet one. Even now, when he tells the story, his skin prickles. And I don’t doubt he saw something—because when he speaks of it, his gaze drifts far away, as if he’s reliving that night.
