There’s a place in the Scottish Borders that most folk pass without a second glance. Just a huddle of cottages, a few working farms, and a racing stables where horses snort and stamp in the early mist. It’s called Marchleuch, and while it might not shout its name from the rooftops, it holds its secrets tight in it’s soil.

The locals don’t make a fuss about the stories here, they’re practical people – early risers, wellies by the door and a constantly suspicious eye on the weather. But now and then, when the wind turns oddly warm or the dogs whine at empty corners, you’ll hear someone say, “Aye, the leuch’s been seen again.”

It’s a light that’s not a torch or a lantern. It can’t even be explained away as moonlight. It’s like a gleam that moves almost as if it’s thinking. Intelligent. A flicker where no one should be.

Riders up at the stables have sworn blind they saw it once hovering near the old dry stone wall, just where the pasture dips down. One lad even tried to follow it, thinking it was a trespasser. His horse reared, wild-eyed, and refused to go a step further.

They say that Marchleuch marked a boundary. Between lands, between Lairds, maybe even between worlds. The name itself means exactly that – March means a border, and Leuch means the light.

The light at the edge.

And there’s always been something about this place. Calves born early but strong. Crows that never settle on the ridge. A bonfire one May Day that refused to go out until it had burned a perfect ring in the grass.

Mostly though, it’s the light they talk about. Appearing before bad weather. Flaring when a stranger comes. Once, years back, a stablehand went missing for three days – turned up dazed but unharmed, muttering about “the light walking across the fields.”

Ghost lights, Will ‘O The Wisp, Ignis fatuus, Jack ‘O Lantern?

The ghost of a witch? A monk? A Reiver?

People in Marchleuch don’t ask questions they don’t want answered. They get on with it. Horses to train, lambs to tend, fences to mend. But when the gloaming comes and the hills turn to shadows, you might see the curtains twitch.

Just in case.

Because even now, the March Light walks.

And it knows the boundary better than anyone.