Spooktober Story Fest: Farriers Fate

The heavy scent of sulfur filled his nose when he walked into the barn. An icy chill slid down his spine as he raised his lantern. A figure stood in the center of the barn. The farrier moved toward it. “You sent for me, sir?”

The figure in black let out a breath from the stump of his neck. Once there was a head there surely. Now only gore and bone, the creature gave off an odor of decay mixed with rose petals. He raised his arm and extended a long finger toward a stall.

The farrier nodded with a half bow before moving to it. He never knew how to address the coachman. The thing must have some kind of supernatural sight to guide The Black Coach on its nightly collection of spirits.

The beast in the stall raised its head as the farrier stepped into its domain. Its muscles flexed under the onyx skin as a hoof stomped and scraped the stall floor.

He reached out a hand and stroked the nightmares neck. It turned a blood red eye to meet his. The farrier looked away before it could see into his soul. Those eyes could make a man relive his deepest pain.

He set down the bag of tools and pulled on the thick heatproof gloves. They were cumbersome at times but better to deal with the discomfort and aggravation of the gloves than to have his hands burnt with the heat the beasts gave off.

Perhaps the heat of their bodies that caused the metal to twist and warp on their hooves.  Their manes and tails looked like hellfire dancing as they ferried the coach. Fables have said they were fallen souls such as himself. Others guess they were created from hellfire in the great pit. Or perhaps it was better not to know. His soul knew too much of this place already.

He lifted the hoof between his thighs to examine the warped metal shoe. As he worked to reshoe the demon horse his mind recalled the night the coach came for him. Not to take him to the next life, that would have been a blessing.

He stood over the corpses, his hands dripping in blood and gore. The last victim had taken their final breath and he stood over the body, watching the eyes fade as the soul left the body. It was then he hard the thunder of hoof beats.

He turned and ran down the alleyway, turned corner after corner until the sound faded. When his lungs started to burn he stopped and leaned against a trash bin to catch his breath. He was sure he’d escaped his fate. Until, he felt the darkness around him move.

The farrier looked down the alley and there sitting at the end, waiting for him. The Black Coach, the nightmares stomping and shifting impatient to get on with their task.

The Coachman walked headless over the cobbled ground toward the farrier. What happened next was too much for his mind to bare remembering.

The Coachman’s cold fingers sunk into his body and tore out his coward’s spine.

 The dark creature now used it for his whip. The farrier was cursed to serve The Black Coach, until his soul paid for his evil deeds.

He finished with the last tack and dropped the hoof with hands that trembled. He gathered his tools quickly to go back into his abyss until the next time he was needed. This would be his fate for a long time to come. 

Spooktober Short Story Fest Day 3

It was nearly dusk and he was completely turned around on the forest trails. He hoped he was going in the direction of the cabin.

After a few more minutes walk he could hear the  soft swoosh of water rushing over rocks.

His lungs took a calming breath and let it go slowly. There wasn't a creek anywhere near the cabin. He was lost. The canteen was almost empty, he should fill it while he had the chance.

The sky turned pinkish gold as he made his way off the trail toward the soft splashing sounds. Hope filled him as a soft voice humming blended into the sounds of the creek. Maybe it was another hiker and he wasn't as lost as he thought.

He stepped through the brush toward the song to the rocky edge of the creek. His hand gripped a hanging tree limb to keep his footing on the moss slickened stones as he picked his way along the edge. He kneeled on a flat rock and watched bubbles float upward as he held the canteen below the water line.

The bubbles calmed as the last of the air was replaced with refreshing cool liquid. He capped the canteen and cupped his hands to scoop up a drink and bathe his face and neck. 

As his hands dipped under a face appeared in the water not his own.

With an unmanly yip he jumped back and looked behind him. No one was there. He sighed and shook his head. "I've been out in the sun too long today."

As he stood the humming became louder, clearer. He turned and saw a young redheaded woman, she sat on the rocks at the creek edge with a washboard.

He blinked, was she there before? Maybe he was just too tired from the long walk to notice. He watched her pick up a large bar of soap and rub it up and down the board as she continued her song, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

She had to live near by. "Excuse me.... Miss?"

She picked up a shirt from her basket and started to scrub up and down over the washboard. He stepped forward and lost traction on the damp stones. He hit the ground  hard enough to see stars. His eyes watered with the ache in his head as he sat up.

The woman had stopped her song and now looked at him as she turned the shirt and continued to scrub. She turned back to her work as she spoke. "Does it hurt?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Not really, I think I just showed how much of a city boy  I am." His lips curled in a soft grin. "I'm completely turned around on these trails. Do you live near the campground?"

She glanced up for a moment then rinsed the shirt in the creek and examined it carefully. In the dying light he could see the white shirt was still stained.

 She sighed and began to  scrub it up and down the board again. "I live in the wood."

He raised a brow at the short answer. Maybe she was one of those Rainbow People he was always being told to be cautious of. They traveled to different areas sometimes camping out in the forest like a wild hippy commune. Maybe she her family was a bunch of cannibal axe murderers on the run or weird apocalypse get back to nature groupies.

If he was lucky she had a phone and he could call for help before she went all Blair Witch on him. "It must be nice to live out here in the quiet. Could I use your land line to call someone to pick me up? My cell is useless out here and I am totally lost on these  trails."

She continued to push and pull the cloth over the board. "There is no phone."

His spine tingled as he moved closer to her, more carefully over the rocks this time. He  made a silent promise to pay more attention to signs and maps next time if hiked. "There's no phone? Could you give me a ride back to camp? I'll be glad to pay you for the gas and trouble. I'm sure you get a lot of lost hikers up here."

She held up the shirt, in the dying light, the dark stain glistened. He thought it looked larger than it had before.

 The woman seemed satisfied as if it should be worse not better."You're not lost, Thomas." She began to sing a little louder this time as she worked the cloth once more.

He swallowed, how did she know his name. He rubbed his arms as gooseflesh covered them and chill filled him to the bone. "I really need to get out of the woods, my friends are going to wonder where I am. Is there someone that can give me a ride to camp or town?"

The woman's lips curled ever so slightly. "Soon, he will come for you, Thomas."

She stood her hair flowing around her as she turned and pointed. "Don't worry so, you're not lost."

Thomas felt a knot of fear in his throat as he gazed down the line of her finger. His knees felt weak as he walked back to where he had slipped. He looked down at his own face, eyes open, blankly staring at the rising moon. Blood still glistening covered the rock beneath his head. "No... this... isn't real."

She put a dainty blood speckled hand on his shoulder. "Some fairy tales are very real, Thomas."

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his pulse beating in his ears. "Who is coming for me?"

She turned and picked up her basket with its bounty of stained clothing from those she had called for today. Silently she stepped back into the wood disappearing from sight.

He looked up and down the rocky bank as hoof beats began to fill the empty night air. Thomas stood frozen at the sight of the black coach drawn by a demon horse with red eyes. As the coach drew near he could hear the woman singing again. Only now the soft  sweet song had turned into a wail.

Story A Day Challenge Day1

The air at the edge of the Between was crisp and bit the skin. Nightmares stamped hooves and dug at the earth. Ian's fingers absently traced the faded scar across his throat, "Easy girls, the call will come soon enough." 

The bright lights of the world below were a temptation to the dullahan as he wondered what it be like to walk among the busy streets with the humans. The Banshee's call brought him back to the present, his hands gripped the reigns of the black coach, "Onward mares, we've a soul to fetch."