I was unhappy at reading it, yet the story’s epilogue said that a family of friendly witches cast a spell to protect the area around the headless horseman’s haunting grounds so that no one could enter them on the night each year that he came out to hunt. At least that bit of the story would give comfort to the children who read it.
Tulip tree. Smashed pumpkin. Witching Hour. Halloween night.
My ears were ringing, and bile rose in my throat.
Chapter 5
THE CHASE
What sort of sick joke was this? Halloween night, a man in a dark cloak on a horse in the middle of the woods, looking down into a weird valley (that I honestly feel like wasn’t here before, but it must have been) at me.
Maybe pranks like this were why the town kept the kids in a school gymnasium instead of letting them go out to trick or treat.
I had no clue how I wound up in the middle of these woods when I was just on a four-lane straight road a few minutes ago.
I felt illogical. Off the rails. I yearned to find logic, so I could gain a reality foothold in what felt like an unreal situation. I always looked for logic, for an explanation when things seemed out of whack.
Some guy on a horse shouldn’t scare me. But it did, and I knew why. It was all of what’d happened tonight combined.
Plus:
A. I read a creepy mind-dementing story today.
Corrupted brain at the hands of demented seven-year-olds.
B. The scary-looking man in a cloak up there on a dark horse was looking at me. They’re both looking at me.
Yes. They were both looking at me. It was like the horse was in on the joke, as odd as that sounds.
They stood there shadowed, the moon high above them and in full view. Thick smoke curls weren’t just crawling around my ankles; they seemed like they were climbing like ivy up my body as well as surrounding the man and the horse on the hill. Connecting us. It was the strangest thing, this mist wrapping around me like fingers. Freezing cold fingers that swirled to snake and curl around me, and then reach back to twist around the man on the horse. And though I couldn’t see his face, I knew the rider was looking at me. So was his horse.
I stood there, absorbing the scene.
As my mind weighed out everything about the journey home so far, it became absolutely crystal clear that there was not one single funny thing about this ill-timed and possibly elaborate prank.
But, the tulip tree? That set off a prickling awareness, warning, something…alarm bells. Major alarm bells.
The rider kicked his heels against the side of the animal’s flesh, while flicking the reins in his grip and in a flash, the horse was at full gallop, heading straight for me. And I could almost swear the horse’s eyes were glowing red for a split second.
My mouth dropped in shock.
Galloping, no very nearly flying down a steep hill at a speed that seemed dangerous… for both the horse and the rider. I somehow got unstuck, realizing that there was no good reason why that horse would be running straight at me like that, so I spun, and I started to run.
It was cold. It was worse than cold. My feet pounded against the brittle and now frosted ground, pain shooting up my ankles, my calves. I was in dense bushes, and it was abundantly clear that I was being aggressively pursued.
I zigged and zagged through mist-thickened trees, astonished at how thick this mist was, so thick, it resembled spider webs. I heard those hooves pounding the dirt, getting closer and closer, heard how winded I sounded as I panted and grunted while running. I was afraid to look back, afraid it’d slow me down and that I’d see that he was right on my heels.
Out of nowhere, the landscape seemed to warp and the earth beneath my boots just slid away.
This caused me to trip over my own feet and go tumbling down a hill. Jagged rocks along the way didn’t slow me down. Instead, they made the tumble all the more painful.
Something sharp sliced through my striped tights, breaking the skin on my left thigh. My head hit something hard, a stump, I think, and it halted my progress just before the very bottom of the hill, where there was a fast-flowing creek. Narrow, too narrow to be a river, but wide enough to carry me away as it was very fast flowing.
Although it was dark out, it was as if the water glowed. And the glowing water looked very much like white water rapids. If that stump hadn’t stopped me, I’d have gone straight in.
Disoriented, I pushed up with my hands in the dirty, cold and frosty sticks and leaves around me and got to my knees. I took a minute, balancing on my palms, to catch my breath and will the wooziness from the fall away. My head throbbed at the back. I blinked and blinked, breathing hard.
I heard a huff.
The horse.
My eyes moved up and I spotted that horse at the top of the hill I’d just tumbled down. I saw the rider in profile. My vision was a bit fuzzy, but he sat there, looking down.
The rider, who I could only see the silhouette of, as he wore a long and hooded cloak, pulled on the reins and then he and the horse disappeared from my field of vision.
Did he give up? Where did they go?
I stared at the space they used to occupy for a moment and then took stock. My leg? Bleeding. It stung. I rubbed the back of my head, where I found a big bump. It was freezing cold and my hands were a bit scraped up, too --- not to mention filthy.
I had leaves in my hair, mud and dirt all over me.
I need to get out of here, get away from that psycho on a horse!
I’ve gone deeper into some woods down in some sort of valley. Where does that river lead? I don’t know this area at all. I did know I had to find a way to go up, as I had no idea where that rapidly flowing waterway lead, and it could be dangerous. Up was where my car was. Up was where I came from.
I fumbled to unzip and then reach into my purse, which was on me cross-body (thankfully, or I’d have lost it during the fall), and pulled my phone out again. 16% power. No signal.
Damn it!
It said it was 11:59 PM.
No. That can’t be. Surely, ten or fifteen minutes or longer have passed.
I pushed away the thoughts that tumbled through my brain, somersaulting into a very scary place that would do nothing but make my panic increase.
I began the climb up, noting that it had gotten even frostier and colder out. I turtled my icy hands inside my jacket and attempted to grab at sticks and low-hanging tree limbs to aid in the climb.
The blood trickling out of the gash on my thigh was both hot and cold and soaking my tights. I had no choice but to keep on climbing, though. I had to get back to my car, where I could lock the door, where I could try my phone again, maybe it would start. Maybe someone would drive by and give it a jump or drive me to town.
My foot slipped on the frosty muck, sending me to my knees where they encountered jagged rocks. I grunted and got back to my feet, thirsty and cold and, more frightened than I have ever been in my life.
If I went downstream, I didn’t know what was down there.
If I got up, would I run into that man on the horse again? He wasn’t out to help me. He was clearly out to frighten me or possibly even hurt me.
It was just far too cold to hunker down for any length of time, so I had to keep moving.
I got to three quarters of the way up and slid, losing my grip on the ground and the brush I’d grabbed. I slid half way down again, landing on all fours, muddying my knees even more.
I whimpered and crawled, using my hands, using my nails, without the protection of my jacket sleeves. I grunted as I clawed my way up, gripping and moaning with effort as if my life depended on it. It felt like that might be the case!
Miraculously, I finally got to the top of the hill and found myself on level ground again. Relief flooded me as I fought to get my bearings.
Which way did I come from?
Left. I came from the left.
I decided to head that way, teeth chattering, my whole body aching. My head felt a little bit woozy, but I kne
w I couldn’t stop. I had to keep going. My feet moved slowly through what was now muck, which was caked on my boots, slowing me down. A lot.
I lifted out my phone again. 4% power. 11:59.
“God, what in the fuck is going on?”
How was it still 11:59?
I heard a huff and hooves clopping on the ground. I spun around and saw, not even fifty feet back, the horse. The cloaked man.
Shit!
“Um, I’m lost,” I called out. What did I have to lose? Besides everything? What other choice was there?
He was so close to me, surely he could catch me. But, maybe he would give up the silly prank and help me. If he’s just making a joke out of things because of this town and that local legend… I won’t know if I don’t ask.
“Can you stop fucking around here? Can you help me get to town or let me use your phone?”
The answer came in the form of the horse rearing onto its hind legs, the rider pulling back.
The horse’s eyes glowed like they were red lightbulbs and the whinny that came out of its mouth was the most foreboding sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
If this was the reply to my plea for help, I’m in serious fucking trouble!
More icy tendrils of fog wrapped around me, and I was afraid I’d turn into a solid block of ice at any second.
Shit.
I took off running again and for the longest time, that huge black horse just stayed reared on his hind legs, making that awful, awful sound. How the rider held on so long was beyond me…
And then the ground began to shake as it galloped toward me.
I was running.
How could I outrun a horse? A giant powerful horse. With glowing red fucking eyes, no less! It was simple. I couldn’t. It was only a matter of seconds, likely, before I got caught and faced my fate.
All the years of avoiding the horror films, the darkness in the world, and here it was right behind me like I’m destined to be the distressed and fated damsel in a horror film.
There was still that hill beside me. As hard as I fought to climb it, it felt like it was my only chance.
I saw a clearing, heading straight down toward the creek, so I decided to drop and roll a little, but the slope took over and I had no control over how fast I tumbled down. I rolled and rolled
hitting rocks and feeling sharp things rip into the fabric of my clothing, snagging my jacket, wrenching my hair along the way.
My body stopped way too close to the river for comfort. The sound of rapidly moving water thundered in my ears, frigidly cold water actually splashed my face. I tried to scramble to my feet, but it was shaky, so I only got to my knees, crying out in pain and feeling so very weak. Tears streamed down my face.
What on earth am I going to do? Follow the river? Which way?
I heard that horse again.
Shit. Fuck!
Horses have always sounded like something wonderful to me. Would I ever hear a horse make that noise again and not feel chilled down to my soul?
Would I make it out of here alive to even hear the sound of a horse, to see the sun in the sky again?
I spotted him, coming on that horse, not up on that hill. Nope; galloping toward me, following the flow of the river. I got up and turned to run downstream. I was crying, my run more of a stumble, with burning in my lungs, aching in every muscle of my body, and a full awareness of my bleeding hands and bleeding leg. My feet pounded the mucky cold ground hard, but then my ankle twisted at an odd angle as my foot met a stump and it absolutely killed.
I tried to keep running, aware that he’d strangely not caught up to me yet, though I wasn’t able to run very fast, especially against a horse and certainly not with twisted ankle, but I did not dare to look back.
Shit, my ankle seriously fucking hurt!
He was playing with me. He could’ve caught me by now. He was enjoying this too much to let it end so soon. Fucking sicko!
Finally, the river seemed to bend, and I had hope that somewhere around that bend would be something, anything that would give hope of getting out of this situation. This crazy, whacked, nightmare of a situation.
Nightmare. Yeah, a nightmare.
That’s it. It makes sense now!
I’m having a nightmare. I’m going to wake up in my bed, fine, absolutely fine. It’s not dark. I’m not in the woods all raggedy and muddy and bleeding. Time isn’t frozen. I’m not being pursued by a man in a dark cloak on a horse with red glowing eyes. It’s November 1st and I’m in my own bed with my autumn quilt that’s covered in leaves and cute little pumpkins. I just need to wake up.
Wake up, Isabella!
Everything inside of me was telling me that I needed to keep running and not turn around, though I heard the water rushing, heard the horse’s hooves pounding as if he was at full gallop. I blinked in astonishment as I caught a glimpse of smoke curling, not toward me like that creepy mist, but toward the sky, as if from a chimney. There was a faint light, too. A cabin! A little cabin sat near the creek’s edge with… yes! --- smoke curling from the chimney and weaving through the trees toward me. That meant someone was there. Having a fire. Someone! Someone who can help me!
Hope. Glorious hope.
My phone was suddenly ringing from my purse. My phone? Signal! Do I have signal?
I fumbled through my bag for my phone as I ran.
No, not my ringtone…
It was my timer done alert, a xylophone trilling sound. I got it into my hand and saw the screen.
No signal. 1% power.
Timer: Done.
Done what? I didn’t set a timer. It’s 12:00 midnight.
Not 11:59, finally, but I know, I know it has been way more than a minute.
What’s going on? What, what?
I’d gotten closer to the cabin, within several hundred feet, I’d guess. My breath came in gasps and my dirty face was covered in half-frozen tears.
The hooves got louder behind me, closer. It made no sense that it sounded like running at a full gallop and yet it hadn’t overtaken me.
“Helllllllllp!” I shouted as loud as I could, bending toward where I wanted my voice to travel, to the cabin, but my voice came out barely above a hoarse croak. I willed it to travel far enough to be heard, willed the door I could now see to open, and for someone to come out to help. Maybe with a gun to scare off the guy on the horse.
Please. Please!
I willed it, but it didn’t work, because that’s when I felt it. They were now alongside of me instead of behind me, keeping pace, yet the horse’s feet galloped, and I wasn’t running fast, so it made no fucking sense. Smoky mist fingers snaked around me at my shoulder height, more fog came from the horse’s nostrils,. I glanced at the horse and his red eyes were terrifying, so terrifying I couldn’t even maintain eye contact, so my gaze darted upward to the rider. I saw a black dirty boot, dark brown trousers, and gloved hands holding reins. I looked up higher and I couldn’t make out his face. It was just dark.
“Why? Why are you ch-chas---" I asked, breathlessly. And before I got out the “ing me?” part, he leaned over to the side, reached down, and shackled my arm with his grip.
I’m about to be trampled by this horse. I can’t wrench my arm away!
I tried to keep my feet moving, but it was no use, because I was lifted by my arm, my feet kicking in mid-air… and OUCH! It felt like my arm was about to leave the socket. He hauled me across the horse, and then, balancing on my belly in front of the rider, I noticed immense heat coming from that horse’s back.
It was so hot under my stomach, it was as if I was riding on top of fire. The heat seared through me, warming my frigid body quickly. I looked up through my messy hair that was all over my face and saw nothing. No face. No head. Nothing.
I blinked. I blinked at nothing. Nothing in the hood. His hand was on me, holding me in place as the horse ran at full speed. His other hand held loosely to the rein.
I don’t know if I screamed. I don’t know, because I guess I blacked
out.
Chapter 6
THE CABIN
My eyes opened, and I blinked a few times and tried to take in my surroundings.
I was on a small, round rug in front of a crackling fire with a thick (kind of itchy) tan blanket over me. Adjacent to the rug I saw rough unfinished wood plank flooring that looked the same as the log walls around me. Behind me stood an old upholstered beige chair.
I sat up, aware that my tights were ripped even worse. In fact, the left leg had a large rip through those tights at the thigh, showing where my leg was bleeding. It looked like it had been separated from the space around the gash and it was ripped so wide that only a thread stopped the rest of the fabric from falling and dropping down to my ankle. A damp off-white cloth lay over the cut and the aroma was of antiseptic, a cloying scent, that felt like it was directly inside my nostrils. My tights and boots were covered in mud.
Where am I? Who performed first aid on my leg?
As I pondered the surroundings, it rushed back in. All of it.
The horse. The man chasing me, who lifted me. The faceless headless man. Like the storybook.
An embroidered and tasseled pillow sat on the floor beside me. My head had been on it when I woke. The blanket was over most of me, but my sore leg had been left uncovered. Looking at my hands, it was evident someone has wiped them. They weren’t spotless; dirt was caked under my nails, but my hands were nowhere near as mucky and dirty as they were, and my hands also smelled like antiseptic, covered in scratches.
My coat was off and sat with my bag, the strap draped over the chair back.
I continued to take in my surroundings, a long high table against one wall that had a window, and beside that was the door. On the other side of the door was another window with a wooded high-backed bench with cupboards and drawers. The cabin had a small square table and one simple wooden chair as well as the chair behind me and that was the extent of the furnishings. I craned my neck to look over my shoulder, past the chair, and saw a ladder that lead up. I craned my neck farther, seeing a darkened loft.
The Horror of our Love: A Twisted Tales Anthology Page 14