Stogumber's King Of The Cats

Hopefully you are standing at the heart of Stogumber, where the church, pub and shop all meet. Some time ago, so it is said, strange things happened in this here village; things to do with an unsuspecting gravedigger, his dog, and the King of the Cats.

The King of the Cats is a tale that dates back to before the time of the Tudors. This is our version, with more than a hint of truth to it.

So, if you're standing comfortably, we'll begin...

One cold, dark, mysterious evening Christopher (the muscular grave-digger) was perched beside the ancient oak bar in the White Horse.
His young Lurcher, Moss, was curled up next to the screaming fire that sat at the end of the huge white building.
Through the window Christopher could see that the scorching hot sun was dissolving into dagger like droplets of rain.
Unexpectedly, a giant gust of wind shot around the pub: sending a shiver down his spine.
Moss skirted closer to the warmth of the blaze.
All of a sudden his friend, Bob, came and slumped down on the stool beside him.
Bob was rather obese however his strength made up for it all. He was hard-working and went to the pub every single night.
“Hi Christopher, What are you planning to do tonight”?
In an instant Christopher replied, “Oh me? I for one am looking forward to snuggling up with my wife and my dog.”
Bob shook his head, “Your Maria is in for a disappointment. You have a grave to dig.”
Bob explained that Peter, the old widower who lived down the road, had just lost his last daughter, whose name was Camelia. Christopher put his head into his hands. The last cross had been placed on the wall of Peter's house among the other six crosses. Each cross represented one of Peter's daughters that had died.
Christopher was so upset that hedowned his pint,whipped on his coat and called Moss but his dog would not move from the burning fire. Christopher thought it was weird because Moss always wanted to go for a walk. He tried again but with a stern voice and this time Moss reluctantly got up and followed Christopher to the creaking door.

By Thomas and Kelsie.

As Christopher peered up above the village shop to his lead-lined window, he realized that the light was on. That meant his wife was home; he wanted to go and see her but he had a job to do. He saw a glimpse of light rising behind the houses; it was the silver shimmering moon! He had to get on. So he jumped on to the mossy cobbles and on his left was the 6 crosses (which would now be called the 7 crosses). He strolled over to it.

Christopher knocked on Peter's (the widower) half door. As he waited for an answer he was looking at the 7th wet cross on the building and realized how it blended in with the pale orange colour. A few seconds later, Peter answered.

When Peter had opened the old door Christopher said, "I have heard that your 7th daughter, Camellia, had died, is it true?"
"Unfortunately, so," sobbed Peter, feeling miserable and wanting to be left alone.
"Ok I will leave you to it; I've got to get this job done."
So Christopher started to walk down the creaky wooden steps.

After the short chat Christopher strolled all the way back to the top of the slippery cobbles and then realized he had left his spade at the Beacon Field (after swiftly planting the orchard trees yesterday morning). Christopher thought it would be a good idea to go the long way round to give Moss his daily walk and then he remembered he had to talk to the vicar.

So he planned a route and set off back down the cobbles. As Christopher trudged his way to the end of the street a golden eyed tabby cat gave him a suspicious wink. Christopher then felt a nibble of fear run down his spine. He carried on, then turned left and arrived at the chapel house.

By Abi and Marcus

Christopher looked at the huge house towering above him.He walked up the first set of steps between the black iron railings with their paint flaking with age.

He strolled over to the boot scraper and wiped his boots carefully. Then he made sure that there was no mud to be seen on the bottom of his boots.

Before he knocked on the door he whispered to himself,“There is no need to fear”, then he continued.He knocked on the door.Waiting patiently, he took a glimpse of the silver, mystical moon.Then he heard slow paced foot-steps walking towards him. Suddenly, the door was opened by the vicar.

The vicar was wide eyed and sensed something strange in the air. Finally he spoke. “Why hello, I was going to ask you if you would mind digging a grave for me tonight.”
“Why yes,” replied Christopher.
“There is a space beside the old Dudderidge grave,” said the vicar.

Whilst they were talking, Timmy the cat tried to run out of the house. The vicar caught him.
“No, no, no you're not going out on a night like this,'' he said.
As Christopher left the chapel house he noticed the Camellia bush in bud, which just made him feel even sadder.

By Kyle and Summer.

Christopher and Moss were going down the street in complete darkness. Not even a torch could brighten up where they were walking. They were coming to a place that the locals called ‘Troll Bridge', almost opposite Wick House B&B. No one had passed over it since a man fell in the stream below.

Then suddenly, the clouds were running away from a strange light which was the moon. Somehow, it had managed to fight the clouds to get through. Christopher felt a tingle up his spine which made him run for his life! But then he tumbled over a wall; in horror, he quickly grabbed it and pulled himself up.

They were terrified. The moon had brought so much light that they nearly became blind. Now, they remembered where they were. It was Troll Bridge!

Christopher and Moss tried to run away but Moss was so scared that he nearly became frozen. There was no escape…

Moss was cuddling Christopher's legs. It was so tight that he thought his legs were being constricted by his furry friend.

Christopher peered over the bridge and saw something in the corner of his dark piercing eye. It looked like a looming cobblestone troll.

Christopher stared at it and in a blink of an eye it winked. Then in less than a milli-second they were gone. And then they were running away to escape the full moon, going towards the old dog pound.

By Ashley & Oban.

Even before Christopher reached the Dog Pound he could hear the howling, yowling, yapping and growling of the dogs in the pound. Then Christopher noticed that the dogs weren't howling in anger or sadness; they were howling in joy. That second he saw the silhouette of one dog who was actually two. A little dog was dancing on top of a brobdingnagian (which means really big) dog.
Christopher muttered to himself angrily, “Pack it in Christopher, pack it in. Of course the dogs aren't celebrating, of course they're not!” Moss' head darted up.
“What is it boy?” Christopher grumbled.

From Moss' point of view:
I heard the barking of the dogs from the bridge; it scared me that they were celebrating so soon. Then I noticed that Christopher had realised that they weren't just barking, they were celebrating.
“Uh oh” I said to myself.
“Hu”
I jerked my head up I could smell something, something familiar. A dog.

Christopher saw something in the distance - they were the prising blue eyes of the Hill Farm dog.
Christopher walked over to the weeping willow and picked up a stick. Just as he was about to lob it for Moss and the blue eyed dog, he stopped and looked at the willow.
“I'm sure that willow has dropped a bit,” Christopher gasped...
...“I bet it's mourning for Camellia,” and he patted the tree.
“I agree with you mate, I agree with you.” Then he threw the stick as hard as he could and the dogs darted after it.
“Moss!” Christopher shouted. “Stop teasing young blue eyes here." Moss was running around the Blue-eyed dog, but stopped as soon as he heard his master calling.


From Moss' point of view:

I knew that Christopher was going to throw a stick but for some reason he didn't; he stopped and patted the tree. Then Christopher lobbed the stick; I ran after it. I grabbed the stick and ran around the blue eyed dog, teasing her. Then I stopped because Christopher was shouting at me; I hate it when he shouts at me but I do love him.

From Christopher's point of view:

Strangely, the blue eyed dog ran to the pound.
Suddenly, it began howling. Then unfortunately Moss started to howl too. Christopher could not bear the noise. It sounded like five banshees. To the dogs it sounds like delicate music because they were safe from the cat of the night but Christopher did not know that. There was a tabby cat on the wall watching them. With a flick of its tail it was gone.
Christopher walked over to the ford and stepped in. The water was really cold. He gasped.

"Oh Moss," he moaned, "why do you have to splash so much?" Moss jumped off the bridge and landed with a gigantic SPLASH!!!
“Oh dear” groaned Christopher, washing his boots in the water. Carefully, he chose a little stone from the stream bed and slipped it into his pocket. As he stepped out of the ford it began to rain; big droplets slipped down his back so Christopher hurried to the jail house.

Christopher and his dog strolled up the steep hill just after leaving Moss' blue eyed friend at the old dog pound. They approached the village jail where criminals of Stogumber were locked up.

Weirdly, there was no shouting, banging or swearing going on. Though Christopher wasn't scared of jails, he was scared of the cold and so was Moss. There was a cold south westerly breeze; they were cold, freezing and felt terrible.
Christopher and Moss were quite relaxed until they walked past the jail itself.

“Let me out!” cried one of Criminals.

Now, they were banging, swearing and shouting. Christopher and Moss closed their ears and ran away because of all the abuse. Christopher swore that he would never go past a jail again.

By Oban.

Christopher and Moss escaped the wrath of the swearing criminals and walked up the footpath beside the cottages.

A sudden breeze of icy wind and rain smashed in on them, snatching, slapping and pinching at their already damp skin. The man and his dog took shelter under a male holly tree (he knew it was male because it didn't have any winter berries) to wait out the vicious weather.

Moss curled up against the ivy smothered wall and closed his eyes, dog wishing the weather away!

Absently, Christopher removed the little stream pebble from his pocket and rolled it momentarily between his fingertips, as if memorising its touch. Then, gently, he placed it atop the wall; he'd piled many such stones here over the years. This was his way of wishing for something; this time he was wishing for the rain to go away!

Moss didn't want to continue because he was so cold and was starting to get dog hypothermia; but Christopher still pushed him on. Eventually, the wind and rain stopped and they carried on through the gate. Within a few metres, Christopher and his best friend passed through another gate and up, out of the village.

By Oban & Mr. Wedderkopp

As the howls of the mad dogs faded into the distance Christopher trudged slowly up the hill. It was quite steep for someone of his age; on the inside he felt full of life, but on the outside he was aging with speed.
Across the field he laboured, his years dragging him back, the howling wind grabbing at him with cold claws. Ash black blackbirds wheeled and called over his head. Could they be sending messages? Black silhouettes moved in the hedgerows.

His heart pumping, he reached the 7 bar gate and stopped for a rest. He knew that the longer he rested the harder it would be to start again. By his feet worms squirmed into the mud.
Gazing at the snow-capped hills of Exmoor in the South, he whipped out a peanut butter sandwich as a snack.
“One fer you, and one fer me boy,” he smiled at Moss, sharing his food.
Whilst they chewed, the pair looked out over the view. A distant cart trundled home over a dark paddock and hay bales glistened in the moonlight. Below, beside the tall white house that used to be a brewery, he caught a glimpse of a horse jumping in its arena. Christopher clapped its performance as it snorted steam into the cold air.
As the frost nipped his nose and hypothermia began to call, Christopher turned his back and passed through the gate, into the Beacon Field.

By Stogumber Class Two.

Christopher ran up the hill to the Beacon. As he reached it he could've sworn that he saw a tiny movement of a gloomy figure on top of the old Beacon. He snatched up his trusty old spade and dropped onto the bench with the exhaustion of running up the humungous hill. Then he felt a tug in his hand; Moss pulled on the smart red lead and ran off, free!

“Come back here Moss you, you, DOG!” Christopher thundered as he started to run down the hill after Moss but he couldn't really sprint very quickly because of the heavy spade he was carrying.

Christopher ran like he'd never run before. He reached the bottom of the hill. Just in time to see Moss squeeze under the gate into the road.

“Moss, Moss, MOSS,” Christopher shouted, “COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT.” Christopher shouted even louder than before but Moss didn't listen.

Christopher turned round.

“Oh”, he sighed. “That's beautiful." The beacon had lit up a shimmering blue.

“But," Christopher muttered, “It is a bit odd as no one was at it when I was up there. Well, it is pretty anyway.”

Christopher turned round, looked back over shoulder, shrugged and passed through the gate.

From Moss' Point Of View.

Christopher ran up the hill and I followed. I sensed something bad about tonight… something to do with the fluffy rain-haters. I knew the dogs at the pound shouldn't have been celebrating so early. It was a good time to run from Christopher and escape to his mum's house.
Yes, I pulled free when he grabbed his spade. I galloped off down the hill. Christopher could never catch me; well not carrying that spade anyway!
I squeezed under the gate just as the beacon lit blue. I have to admit it was very pretty but I can't believe the long whiskers risked it!

By Cecilia and Joshua.

As Christopher walked through the gate he saw Moss scratching at the for sale sign at his mum's house (Mrs Slade). Moss was shivering with cold.
“Come on boy; I'll get you a nice hot milk to warm you up.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his mum in the window of her house. As slow as a snail, she came shuffling to the door to open it.

5 minutes later ….
“Hello my dears! What brings you here at this time ‘er night?” Mrs Slade whispered because she was very close to being deaf. That is why Christopher always tried to check on her.
“Hello mum,” Christopher bellowed. “I'm here to drop Moss off. Give him a hot bowl of milk to warm him up. CAN'T STAY FOR LONG!”
Before he left he heard his mum shout,“Be safe my boy. It's spooky out ‘ere tonight.”
“BYE MUM,” George shouted and wandered on down the road.

By Issy.

As Christopher trotted down the narrow lane he could feel a pair of piercing eyes burning at the back of his neck.
Passing the kissing gate, which stood next to the village hall, Christopher spied two Siamese cats staring up at him.
They looked vaguely embarrassed, almost like two naughty children who have done something very wrong.
The school was dark and gloomy and no-one was to be seen (well it was the dead of night so who in the right mind would be there?).
Squawking like anything, a huge, midnight black crow swooped down over his head.
The grave-digger's lips moved as if he was screaming… but no sound came out.
Over the years Christopher had developed a great phobia for crows and rooks.
You see, when Christopher was younger he had some birds that hung over his old creaky bed and one night when he was asleep one of the shiny plastic crows fell from the ceiling and landed on his comfy duvet. The sharp beak of the toy scratched him down the face and started bleeding like anything.
And down his left cheek he still has that big scar…

By Kelsie

Christopher walked down from the school and went by some white bungalows on the right. Ahead of him there was the old Tithe barn. It had a humongous red door.

The huge crimson doors on Tithe barn had damp ivy all over them. Christopher could also see wet slimy steps. The red doors were losing their paint (somebody needed to paint them!). There was loads of moss growing on the roof.

Christopher could hear cats, where they wailing about something? It was so loud it almost sounded like they were discussing something.

In the corner of his eye he saw nimble paws blast out from under the door, catching mice as they scrambled, past. Other cats were resting but still alert on the roof with their mini bows at the ready. There was a hefty hole in the door with a green cat's eye looking at him.

The scared man walked on into the graveyard. Something caught his eye. On the right side of Christopher there was a gunshot door at the end of Tithe barn. It was very battered and demolished.

Then he thought, “I'm gonna do my job and leave.” Superstitiously, he walked to the oak tree on the left.

By Ben and Luke.

The moon shimmered and glistened, high in the sky, as Christopher walked past the gunshot door of the ancient tithe barn. He remembered the vicar saying that he was to dig a grave next to the Dudderidge gravestone. Christopher found the gravestone behind the first great oak and started digging near it. The dark, gloomy, black figures of birds glistened in the leafless branches above him.

Soon he began to feel tired and weirdly he felt warm, so he lent up on the great oak tree to rest upon a knobbly bit on its trunk. The knobbly nob moved under his hand and he heard the sound of a doorbell coming from inside the tree. Slowly and curiously he bent down and realised that a little door had opened in the great oak. A small troll (whom he swore he had seen before) stood there and screamed, “What yer doin at dis hour? Don't yer see…! It's der night of der cats.”

Then the tiny creature slammed the door shut on Christopher's feet!

Hopping in pain, Christopher realised that a parade of cats was slowly walking out of the ancient gunshot door of the old tithe barn (which Christopher had walked past earlier). As they went around the tree and under his legs the cats were singing, “The king is dead. The king is dead,” and so on.

The last cat, a tabby, turned and whispered, “Tell your cat that the King of the Cats is dead!” and the procession continued walking down the path and over towards the old yew tree.

Christopher heard a noise above him and glanced back up at the tree. He couldn't believe his eyes but they were right - those weren't birds perched on the branches…
They were cats!
”Meow…!”

By Issy and Jacob.

Finally, he arrived at the dark and sheltered, brown and rough, yew tree (he knew it was a yew because it had green, spiky pine needles). Then something caught Christopher's eyes; at the side of the tree red liquid leaked out onto the green grass. For a second he thought it was… BLOOD… but then he realized it was just crimson yew sap.

Suddenly the noisy church bells began to ring. Christopher counted the chimes: the bells rang 13 times. As the bell stopped the whole village fell silent… it made Christopher shiver. At this point he felt very anxious and he took a few steps backwards…

Before his very eyes the yew tree split open, cracking and snapping. Then a miniature guard jumped out: he was coated in metal and had a sword the size of a butter knife. Christopher could have sworn that it was the creepy troll that winked at him at Troll Bridge.

Christopher looked at the side of the tree. There stood a stone; it was a grave stone and in front of it was a deep hole. Two cats marched over to the side of the tree and placed the coffin in the muddy hole and then two squirrels paraded out of the tree with a spade each. The squirrels gave the spades to the cats and they carefully started to fill in the hole with soil. The cats and squirrels then stepped away, bowed to the grave, and walked into the yew tree.

Christopher felt very scared and cold but he decided to have a sneaky peek in this strange, magical tree. So he bent down and looked in but he was too late; before he knew it the tree slammed shut. Christopher noticed a wood louse squished in between the crack… it sent a wave of terror through him.

Remembering what the cats had said, he looked at his watch (it was 5:30am). Feeling cold and numb, Christopher ran home while the sun rose.

By Chloe and Rose.

The moment Christopher saw the bright flickering light shining from his shop he started peeling off his soggy and soaking clothes from his freezing, goose-bumped skin.

He opened the shop door with his frost bitten hand, and then, about three seconds later the high toned doorbell rang. It startled him.

Once Amelia (his wife) had finished stacking the shelves, she noticed that Christopher was home. She slowly turned and saw him galloping towards the fire place where Milo (their cat) was enjoying his free time. But not for long! Amelia was most surprised that Christopher had come in so late and not dressed properly; she almost fainted.

Suddenly a black cat pounced onto the window sill and gave a short sharp "MEOW!"

Christopher remembered what had happened that spooky night. His face went white with despair with the thought of the memory. Amelia noticed the colour of his face and asked him what the matter was.

Christopher slowly spoke, "Some cats followed me all the way here. One told me to tell Milo that the King of the Cats is dead."

Not a second later, Milo pricked up his fluffy head and purred in perfect English, "That must mean... I'm the King of the Cats!!!"

He whizzed up the sooty chimney, never to be seen again.

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If you don't believe our story is true, just ask the shopkeeper.