The Curse of the Cornish Cliff Path

Emma Clarke had written about many strange stories in her ten years as a journalist. But the emails kept coming. Hikers along the coastal path near Pendrathen were reporting a ghostly figure at dusk. Some said it was a woman in white. Others claimed it was a sailor who had fallen from the cliffs decades ago.

"It's just a story," her editor said. "A good headline, though. 'Ghost of the Cornish Cliffs.' Go and find out what's really going on."

Emma drove to the small fishing village on a grey November morning. The cliffs were dramatic—tall and black against the stormy sea. Local people were friendly but careful when she asked about the ghost.

"My brother saw it last month," said Tom Harris, a young farmer. "He was walking home at sunset when he noticed a pale figure on the cliff edge. It vanished when he got closer."

"People have been seeing it for years," added Mrs Pethick, who ran the local shop. "The old story says a young woman died on this path in 1892. Her family put a lantern there so others wouldn't fall. But the lantern went out and she appeared."

Emma spent two days on the path, speaking to hikers and locals. She photographed the dangerous cliff edge and took notes. On her last evening, she waited near the old stone wall at sunset.

The light was fading. She saw something white move in the distance. Her heart beat faster. Then she heard a familiar sound—bleating. A white goat stepped out from behind a rock. Its owner, an old man with a walking stick, appeared moments later.

"Ah," he said, smiling. "You've come about the ghost. I'm sorry to disappoint you. It's just Bessie here. I bring her this way every evening. She's white, and the light plays tricks."

Emma laughed. After all her research, the curse was just a goat. But as she drove away, she thought about the stories. Perhaps the goat was not the whole truth. The legend had brought tourists to Pendrathen for years. And that was no lie.