Once, this quiet towpath hummed with noise. The iron machines clanged, and Lancaster's great mills clattered endlessly.

The history is faintly remembered, but the stories are forgotten.

The workers once told tales of creatures within the iron mills. Clapcans, they were called. Shorter than boggarts and uglier than hobgoblins, these little beasties lived among the clanking machines. Maybe they guarded them, or maybe they just thrived on the noise. Workers saw them as good luck, leaving scraps of rusted iron and tin for them to find.

Now the machines are silent, and birdsong fills the air. But stand still and listen, and you might just hear a faint whisper of a Clapcan, clattering and clanging in the distance.