In the 19th century, Lisnabrague Lodge, located just outside Loughbrickland, was home to a wealthy landowner named William Fivey. Fivey was a prosperous man with extensive property holdings and several mills to his name. Yet despite his wealth, he had one consuming flaw: he was an obsessive gambler. Horse racing was his great passion, and he owned and trained several horses himself, frequently attending race meetings in the hope of striking it rich.

However, his gambling habit soon spiraled beyond control. Much of his fortune had been squandered, and Fivey eventually found himself in serious financial difficulty. Convinced that only a final, decisive wager could save him, he pinned all his hopes on his best racehorse. He personally trained the animal, utterly convinced it could not fail.

But fail it did. When the horse lost the crucial race, Fivey’s despair turned to fury. Facing complete financial ruin, he took the horse home and, in a moment of rage and bitterness, locked it inside its stable without food or water. He then bricked up the doorway, condemning the unfortunate animal to die slowly of starvation.

In the aftermath of this cruel act, Fivey’s life collapsed. To settle his debts, he was forced to sell all his remaining horses, his furniture, and even to rent out Lisnabrague Lodge. His fall from grace was total.

Yet the story did not end there.

Since those dark days, countless people have reported seeing the ghost of a horse galloping up the long avenue to the lodge on bright, moonlit nights. The apparition is said to move silently, as though racing toward a goal it can never reach. During the Second World War, soldiers stationed at the lodge also claimed to witness the same spectral creature — suggesting that the tragic fate of Fivey’s favourite horse left an imprint that has echoed through the decades.