In Weir, an area of Bacup, there was once a young woman who was married to an old man and dissatisfied with her lot. When night came she would steal away from her husband’s bed and go wandering, but where she went was a mystery.

A neighbouring farmer was suffering nightly visitations from someone – or something – that would overturn milk cans and steal the cream. One night he stayed awake with his son, determined to catch the thief. In the early hours of the morning, a black cat crept in through a window and the farmer and his son attacked it energetically with pots and pans. At last the cat, battered and bruised, managed to escape.

Next morning, the old man made no comment as he watched his young wife bathing her cuts and bruises. He had a feeling she would never be wandering abroad at night again.

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