He must have been about eleven or twelve at the time. Every day Francis cycled past the Murphy farm house on his way to and from school. He knew nobody lived there. The large empty windows and rusting gate still made him feel uncomfortable but he was much too old now to be scared of such things. Still, that afternoon, he was very surprised to see the old man and woman standing at the gate. The man waved him down. ‘Do you like kittens?’ the man asked. ‘Of course,’ Francis replied. ‘Well, recently our cat had three lovely kittens,’ the man said ‘but they must have wandered off. Our son, Tomas, is out the back looking for them. If you help him find them, you can keep one for yourself’. The man lifted the gate to let Francis through.
The boy was about the same age as himself. ‘I think the kittens have gone up into the bog,’ Tomas told him. Francis knew he could not help to find the kittens there. His father had warned him, many times, never to go near that bog. It was full of hidden drains and swamps. ‘I have to get home. I cannot help you,’ he told Tomas. The boy looked back; disappointment edged on his face. ‘Maybe, you could come back another time and help me’. ‘Yes, of course,’ Francis stammered as he turned and ran back to his bike. Later, that evening, he told his parents about the kittens. His parents exchanged puzzled looks. ‘You were right not to go into the bog,’ his father eventually said.
He has been living in the City for thirty years now. Since his mother died, he has tried to visit home more often. Long evenings spent chatting with his father in the old kitchen. This night his father mentions the Murphy farm house. ‘Did you ever hear what happened there?’ his father asks. Francis shakes his head. ‘Well, long before your time, Murphy inherited the farm from his father. He brought his wife and young son back from England. They were there less than a year when the boy disappeared. They said he went up into the bog looking for a kitten’. His father continues: ‘For weeks after the search was called off you could still hear his parents up in the bog calling out his name. Day and night. The grief nearly killed them. Eventually, they left and went back to England’.
It is getting dark as Francis waves goodbye to his father. Normally, he turns right for the main road. This time, he turns left, up towards the Murphy farm house. He parks his car across the road and climbs over the old gate. He calls out to Tomas who is standing in the shadow of the house. ‘You have come back to help me find the kittens?’ Tomas smiles. ‘Of course,’ Francis replies ‘I told you I would’. He follows the boy over the ditch and up into the dark bog.