Tag: Short Story

Black Beauty’s Revenge

On By C.C. WinchesterIn Horror Stories, Short StoriesLeave a comment

            My heart raced when York came to my head at the front of the carriage to tighten the bearing rein. Each time it happened it was almost more than I could bear. My neck and back screamed in agony as he forced my head higher and higher. I tried to focus on memories of my younger days, happily running in the fields with the other colts.

            My mother would often tell me that I was well bred, and I should always do my duty with no biting or kicking. I didn’t want to bite or kick York anyway because it was my lady who made him do this. He had tried to explain to her that it was too hard on the horses, but my lady insisted on riding in style as she called it.

            My new carriage partner, Max, was stoic as usual when York went to his head and cranked it up as well. After my friend, the red mare, Ginger, had fought kicking and rearing when York tried to raise her head to unnatural heights, she was replaced by Max. Max was solid black like me, so my lady was happier to have matching carriage horses at any rate.

            I tried to greet Max, but I was struggling to breathe, so I just emitted a pitiful grunt. He didn’t respond at all. I took it as no insult though since he had been subjected to the bearing rein for several months now, so I was sure it had taken its toll on him.

            My lady was taking longer than usual to approach the carriage as she stood at the top of the steps of the great house barking commands at the staff. Apparently, there was to be a great celebration later that evening. Max and I had no other recourse than to stand quietly as our chests heaved with each struggle to take in a breath. I could hear York grumbling, saying things like, heartless woman, monster, and the like. Max remained silent. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, my lady approached the carriage. That was no relief for Max and me however, as we would now have to canter whilst struggling to breathe. At least, it meant we were closer to a relief from our agony and a return to our stalls though.

            That evening, after a hearty helping of mash and a rubdown by York, I dozed quietly in my stall. I was awakened by a gentleman I had never before seen. He opened my stall door and though his lips didn’t move, he spoke to me. I heard him in my head. I became frightened since this was a new occurrence for me. I started to raise my front legs into a full rear when he placed his hand on the side of my neck. I immediately felt calm, dropping my front hooves gently back to the earth.

            “Follow me,” the gentleman said in my head.

            “Where are we going?” I asked, but followed him anyway. It wasn’t just that I had always been taught to be obedient, but somehow, I trusted this tall, handsome, stranger.

            “We’re going to a party.”

            I followed him as he led me to the great house. It was ablaze in bright light. Candles and lanterns lit up the porch and entire house. It was a warm summer evening, so all the windows and doors were open.

            He led me to the side of the house. He turned and faced me and placed his hands on either side of my face. He whispered something in another language, one that I had never heard before. I felt great energy surge through my body. Instantly, all my aches and pains were gone. And there was something else; I felt powerful, but light as a feather at the same time.

            The gentleman transformed right before my eyes into a black horse. It was Max, my old friend. “You are one of us now, Beauty. We are called Nicor. In ancient times we took the form of dragons when we shifted, but dragons don’t blend in well with humans, so we decided to mimic our cousins to the north, the Kelpies. They have thrived for multiple millennia because they blended in so well.”

            Max transformed back into a human. “Wait here. York and my lady will pay for what they did to you.”

            “No, not York. He argued with my lady. It pained him to hurt me, Ginger, all of us.”

            Human Max paused. “Very well, as you wish.”

            “What will you do?” I called out into the night because Max was gone. I didn’t have to wait long though. My lady was laughing as Max held her waist and guided her to where I stood. Max held her because she stumbled from time to time but laughed when she did. I had never seen her in this state before.

            “Beauty is here to take you for a ride, my lady,” said Max supporting her as she looked at me.

            “Why, he’s wearing no tack, not even a halter.”

            “He’s a gentle beast, my lady.” Max lifted her onto my back. She was still laughing.

            When Max transformed into a horse, her laughter stopped. She tried to slide off me, but she was stuck fast because of the magic. Max galloped away and I followed. Our pounding hooves were like a crescendo keeping time with the screams of my lady.

            I dived into the depths of the lake right behind Max. My lady’s mouth was still gaping as she sank to the depths of the lake, but her screams were heard no more.

            I followed Max deeper into the lake, eager to meet my new family. We were no longer corporeal as our spirit forms flowed beneath the waters. One day soon I would return to the stable and free my friends, Ginger and Merrylegs.

Monster

On By C.C. WinchesterIn Horror Stories, Short Stories2 Comments

            When I was ten years old, I had watched, helpless, as the monster killed my mother. Now, ten years later, I almost pitied him in his weakened state. But I had no time for pity, forgiveness. I don’t know why the vile, smelly creature let me live that day ten years ago. But I had promised him that one day, I would be the one to kill him and I was here to make good on that promise.

            The room I found him lying in reeked of beer and cigarettes. I guess that’s what his kind subsisted on between their bloodthirsty hunts. He was lying on a small mattress in the corner of the room…mouth open and in mid snore. It was one of those nasty sounding, phlegm producing types of snores belonging to a creature who is succumbing to some illness, or very old age. But the monster wasn’t that old for his kind, so maybe he did suffer from some affliction.

            He opened his eyes, but in his delirium thought I was someone else.

            “Bring me some water,” he croaked and closed his eyes again.

            I didn’t move. I stood there watching him and listening, but no one else was in the crappy, little, run down house. He resumed his death rattle snore. I decided I needed a little fresh air. I left the room and exited the house through the front door. I stood on the front porch of the old house and spread out before me was the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. A mixture of different shades of pinks, oranges and reds streamed across the western sky above the grove of Cedar and Fir trees that blocked the view of the house from the long, winding, country road. The house was secluded, which made sense since his kind preferred to remain isolated from society.

            As I watched the sunset, the old John Denver song came back to the forefront of my mind…sung so many years ago in elementary school. Country road, take me home…to the place, I belong… I didn’t belong here, but I guess he did…his kind.

            I turned back toward the house. It was small, and the wood was grayed out from years of exposure to the elements because there wasn’t a drop of paint to protect it. There were a couple of Texas live oaks on either side of it and the skeletons of dead bushes in front, under the windows on either side of the porch. This had been someone’s family home long ago, but now the monster desecrated its memory.

            The light was fading fast, so I walked back into the house to finally exact my revenge and feel the closure I desired so much…after all these years.

            I walked back into the dank, musty, bedroom. He was sitting up…a gun in one hand and a beer in the other.

            “Who are you?” he asked.

            “You don’t recognize me?”

            “Um, no. Should I?” he asked as he took a swig of the stale beer and pointed his gun at me.

            “So, you’re going to murder me too? And you’re using a gun? You were a little more hands on with my mother, but I guess you’re weaker now,” I said, taking a step toward him.

            “I don’t murder…” he began as he was overcome with a violent coughing fit and dropped the gun, while managing to hold onto the beer.

            I stepped closer and snatched the gun from the floor. The monster laughed and downed the rest of the beer before smashing the bottle against the wall beside the mattress and then pointing the broken, jagged, end that remained toward me.

            “I won’t go down without a fight,” he said.

            “No, your kind never does,” I answered.

            “My kind? I’m no monster. I save lives.”

            “Not a monster?!” I shouted, “You save lives?! You murdered my mother! She was innocent!”

            “I don’t kill innocents. Only evil scum. Those that deserve to die. I’ve always been careful not to kill those that do no harm.”

            “My mother never hurt anyone!”

            “Look boy, if I did kill your mother, she deserved it. You just weren’t aware of your mother’s crimes.”

            I wanted to kill him right then, the self-righteous bastard. But I needed him to remember. I wanted him to know who I was.

            “Think back old man, to ten years ago. Do you remember murdering a young woman in her own home in front of her ten-year-old son?”

            The monster just looked at me with dead eyes.

            “You can’t remember a ten-year-old boy who made a promise to you?”

            It finally sinks in. I see it in his eyes. But there is no fear in them, just realization.

            “Well go ahead and kill me. It’s better than the Big C anyway, as Stephen King likes to call it.”

            I just stare at him, while he stares back. This is not how I envisioned it. I raise the gun and point it at his face. He just sits there. I shoot him and it’s over in an instant. I look at his lifeless body slumped over on the aging mattress and I feel nothing. Ten years of hating and hunting, but I feel numb. Closure is not a thing.

            I walk up to his lifeless body, letting the gun drop from my hand and summon the six-inch claws to extend from my fingertips. I then drive them into his chest and pull out his heart. It’s still beating as I rip into it with my fangs and devour it.