The Ghost Child and the Dog Without Paws

On a misty autumn morning, a tree grower from Alken walked through the fields toward Stevoort. He had known this route for years, yet this day would change everything, not for him, but for a small boy he would encounter along the way.

The boy, no older than seven or eight, played around a thick, gnarled oak tree whose roots had been anchored in the earth for centuries. As the tree grower drew near, the child saw something the adult could not. A pale, velvet-like apparition, as if an echo of something that had once been.

“Do you not see him too?” the boy called excitedly to the tree grower. “The boy in white clothes! He stands right beside the oak!” The tree grower saw only empty air, but the child’s excitement did not escape him. Slowly, rumors spread through Stevoort: something strange was happening at the ancient oak tree.

Within weeks, curious villagers from far and wide came to see the ghost child with their own eyes. Yet time and again they were disappointed: only the boy could perceive the pale shimmer. They stood together around the oak tree and saw nothing but leaves and shadows.

Then the tree grower returned. This time, he was determined. “What does the ghost child hold?” he asked the boy. “A book,” answered the child without hesitation. “A thick, ancient book with golden letters on the cover.”

The tree grower felt compelled to act. “Listen carefully,” he said to the boy. “If you take this book from the ghost child and show it to me, I will give you a golden watch. A magnificent timepiece that will remain with you your entire life.” Yet the boy shook his head firmly. He dared not, or would not. The tree grower understood that he would have to do it himself.

Several days later, the boy told that the ghost child had commanded him to say that the tree grower must take the book. The following evening, he walked to the tree in moonlight. His hands grasped at air, but felt... something. Something indefinable. It felt like silk, like paper, yet simultaneously like nothing. For hours he tried to hold the invisible object, but his fingers slipped through the void each time.

Eight days later, a fierce storm raged over Stevoort. The tree grower, traveling through the rain, passed the oak tree once more. What he saw froze the blood in his veins: a dog, large and dark, appeared from nowhere. But this dog had no paws. The creature seemed to glide upon the wind itself, its naked form radiating menace. In panic, the tree grower struck at the beast. It vanished into smoke.

Afterward, he heard rustling in the hedges around the oak for a long time, but nothing more appeared before his eyes. The tree grower remained forever convinced: the invisible world had punished him for his greed. He would never again attempt to seize the treasures of the ghost child.