At the hospital, despite his verbal threatening should I make a return visit, Dr. Ashden gave quite a chase. I eventually caught up with the fellow having hidden himself behind a tool shed amongst the well tended grounds, puffing frantically on a cigar to ease his excited state. He was in no mood to continue the chase and after some discussion I was able to extract from him the story of the dog and I have little concern as to the tale’s validity. Dr. Ashden is oblivious of the dog’s origins and is insistent that it simply started to appear not long after Mrs. Marshmoor’s admittance. It comes, then it goes, he said.

“Have you followed it to determine its destination?” I asked.

“I have not and I will not!” Exclaimed Ashden sporting a paled expression of terror at the very prospect, following which I could retrieve nothing further of use from the man. It was as though he were terrified for his self at the prospect of divulging information.

Returning to the room of Mrs. Marshmoor, the dog predictably appeared as before. I wished to have observed its approach from outside the room, but the extended time dealing with Dr. Ashden foiled such plans. I was, however, able to follow the creature as it left.

As previously, it appeared to be called by something unheard. I kept a guarded distance – out of fear of its unknown temperament aside from its attention of Mrs. Mashmoor in as much as wanting not to distract it – and followed it’s meandering path out of the hospital and into the grounds. The more I followed, the more my mind was set to the corporeal nature of the beast. Why would the creature wander such if its sole purpose was to pay a visit to Mrs. Marshmoor? I had expected it to merely vanish into thin air in the blink of an eye, yet here it was, several minutes later happily making its way interjected by brief pauses to sniff the air or on passing a tree or flower.

It was some time before I realised where the creature was leading me. We emerged from the gardens with the infirmary to our left, directly onto Coronation Road, whereupon the dog – without hesitation as though it had no fear – trotted across the road and straight into the entrance of Lower Place Farm! My attempt to continue the chase was thwarted by the sudden arrival of several coaches, heading for some event or celebration judging by the sounds of jovial voices leaking out of them.

Lower Place Farm proved to be nothing above the ordinary and what I could see of its structures showed some signs it was not in best of health. Primarily cattle and sheep and by the advertisement sign near the gate, a small sideline breeding dogs as domestic pets – which explained the barking dogs I had heard on my first visit. As I approached I noted the smell of burned wood in the air and unlike previously I heard no dogs barking. I was accosted before I managed to make the shut gate at the end of the driveway by a burly fellow sporting a suspicious tone. Rather than risk a misunderstanding concerning my true ambition to discover the whereabouts of what I now termed to be the rather less mysterious Irish Wolfhound, I explained I was seeking out a canine companion for my London home, The fellow – who not once mentioned his name nor greeted me in a polite fashion – refused my entry beyond the locked gate that separated the two of us, stating the breeding kennels were currently closed to visitors. I questioned as to why, but received nothing more than vague, diversionary responses which merely served to strengthen my suspicion regarding the dog.

As I made my way once more towards the infirmary, I took one final glance around at Lower Place Farm and noticed there might be no way for a creature the size of an Irish Wolfhound to gain entrance to the farm proper as the gate and adjoining fences were extremely secure. I presumed he must have simply leaped the gate, though by his clearly lethargic nature I found that difficult to accept despite no other explanation. By the time I returned to the infirmary, Mr. Marshmoor had taken leave of his wife and so I would have to make perhaps one final journey to gain access to Lower Place Farm and discover the truth…

I tussled with my urge to experience the touch of this creature for myself, to feel the warmth – or otherwise – of its alleged unearthly body under my hand as did Mrs. Marshmoor. But in fear of having the creature run off and diminishing the obvious benefit to Mrs. Marshmoor’s well being, I decided at this time to remain an observer.

Fifteen minutes after it had arrived, the creature departed as though it had been summoned back by its master. Its ears pricked and its head turned to the room’s exit as if hearing a command (there was nothing audible to myself, however it is known that canines have the ability to hear sounds man cannot). Acknowledging the apparent signal and wish of the creature to leave, Mrs. Marshmoor removed her hand from its head and if immediately moved off, offering me the briefest glance of curiosity as it left the room. Mrs. Marshmoor’s subsequent state of mind allowed her to drift into a serene sleep.

I thought the better of chasing after it on this occasion, already planning to make at least one return visit to experience the visitation.

I decided that day to return to the rail station on foot, along Coronation Road, turning left through the Football Field – it was a most pleasant and fresh day to be out of the London bustle. As I passed Lower Place Farm – mere yards from the Infirmary – my attention was drawn to the sounds of many rather excitable, barking dogs. At the time I thought little more of it.

As chance would have it, Mr. Marshmoor had need that day to pay a visit into the city and I found him already at the station when I arrived, having presumably taken a cab ride from the Infirmary. We returned on the same Great Western Train offering an ideal opportunity to discuss what I had just experienced. The carriages were sparse of other travelers and so we were able to secure a compartment to ourselves in order to discuss such a private matter openly.

Once the train was off, it was, surprisingly, Mr. Marshmoor who instigated the conversation…

It was without warning that I received notice of Mrs. Marshmoor’s illness less than two weeks before she passed from this life.

Mrs. Marshmoor’s bearing of a child had developed a number of complications (I shall not impart the details for it is irrelevant to this account). It was late into her term and it was without question that both she and the unborn would most likely perish during the labour. I should point out that at this time I had very little in the way of communication with Mrs. Marshmoor, being a long time acquaintance of her husband, Abelard Marshmoor (a man whom I have found to possess utmost integrity despite a position in local government).

The notice of Mrs. Marshmoor’s imminent departure was accompanied by an intriguing post script:

P.S. It is beyond all belief and understanding and all that is known within the world, but for the past ten days Florence has on occasion been visited by Reginald, a trusted Irish Wolfhound whom we lost not six weeks past. I have seen the dear animal myself sitting at my wife’s side and offering her comfort through his presence. I do not know what to make of it.

And so it is revealed as to why Mr. Marshmoor saw fit to contact me, for our relationship was not of a nature to inform me of his wife’s illness in this manner.

On Saturday, March 14, I made my way to the Willesden Infirmary, Coronation Road, where Mrs. Marshmoor was under the care of one Dr. Ashden. Ashden, you may be aware, is renowned for less than scrupulous practices and unconventional treatments of the terminally ill. His methods range from herbs and concoctions, to the laying on of hands, to the intervention of channelers and mediums. His techniques are as broad as they are ineffective in halting or slowing the passage of those destined to death, and I have little time for the man’s obsessions. However, Ashden had been assigned to Mrs. Marshmoor’s treatment under her explicit request, and it was at once that she was admitted to the infirmary that the canine apparition began making its visitations.