Old Man Jeffrey always said that if any father wanted the perfect gift for his daughter, he need look no further than the badlands on the outskirts of Horseshoe Pass. The town was named for the herds of horses crossing the great plains nearby. Tonight, Maurice was determined to get his daughter her own pony.
“It ain’t safe to go at dark,” Old Man Jeffrey said. “The herds ain’t right at night.”
“Your eyesight striking fear into ya?” Maurice asked as he lit a lantern. It’s glow revealed the front of Jeffrey’s porch and its decades of rickety wood.
“Listen, Maury!” the old man said. “You know I ain’t yer daddy, but that lil girl a yours ain’t gonna be keen on seeing her pa wander into the badlands for the last time in her life.”
“Horses gotta sleep.” Maurice lifted up a rope. “That’s when I get my pick of the litter.”
Old Man Jeffrey’s one good eye was shrouded in darkness. His blind eye was the only thing visible. “The day herds gone down to prairie. You stuck with the night pack, and you don’t want them.”
“Why, Jeff? You think I can’t tell good from bad under the moon?”
“Dammit, Maury! Those horses are wrong!” Jeff said. He struggled to get to his feet. Maurice moved to help him but he waved him off. “You’ll see. Then you come back and apologize.”
“I got nothing to be sorry about,” Maurice said as he tipped his Stetson and started walking towards the badlands.
Jeff shook his head. “I know. You always gotta have the last word. Even on your headstone.” He looked down at the ground, seeing nothing under the moonlit night.
The lantern bobbed at the edge of the desert sands as the fine crystals of dirt blew back across the feet of Maurice, trying in vain to push him back. He stood at the outskirts of Horseshoe Pass, as many men and women had before. He couldn’t see their previous trails, covered by time and sand, now hidden to obscure fates witnessed only by the slowly widening eye of the growing moon.
He couldn’t see the bones of previous creatures, gnarled and twisted, reaching upwards just underneath the surface of the shifting sands. Every footfall landed upon more long-forgotten beasts, compacting the sand and grinding their bones into the very dust consuming the desert ground. Maurice had no knowledge of what he breathed into his lungs, for if he had, his mind would stand in such shock that his lungs would cease to breathe.
The man came to a halt underneath the grasping branches of a long dead oak. It stood as a silent guardian in the midst of the growing sand storm. Maurice tied a rag around his mouth and lowered his hat, treading ever slower as he continued walking forward. The loud crunching of slow and deliberate footsteps echoed on the branch-strewn ground. The snapping of the wood give him a start and he thought not to stare down, lest he see himself walking upon something other than bone-dry bark.
He tripped upon something beneath and caught himself with a swear. His lantern swung and creaked at him with rusty hinges. But as the pendulum swing of the squeaking metal lodged itself in his ears, he heard the same deliberate footsteps moving forward just in front of him. Heavy and powerful, they stomped with a slow irregularity. Something lumbered just beyond the veil of light and Maurice felt his heart seize upon the thought. It had to be a horse. Nothing else was that big around here. He moved to grab the lasso upon his belt as a shadow crossed at the edge of the light.
The man’s eyes could see so little in the flailing sand clouds threatening to engulf him. Try as it might, the desert could only watch in silence as its attempts to hinder Maurice were made in vain. The giant thing towered on four legs, moved onward and then was gone.
Maurice gaped under the rag and thought what horse must be big enough to stand head and shoulders above him. He’d never seen such a beast out in the badlands during the day. Perhaps the night herds were far more rich in breed and strength. Excited at the thought that he could find a superior horse his daughter could use, he strove forward and followed the steps.
The shadow moved ahead of him, creating a trail of craters in the ground, only to have the sandstorm swallow them whole. It snorted and a massive exhale of breath blew a cloud of sand away, leaving a clear area where the head of a great stallion appeared and then vanished into the torrents of sand.
Something in its manner of movement caused Maurice pause. The horse trailed off into the storm and the stomping began to fade. He shook his head and strode forward into the maelstrom. The stomping of hooves reached his ears again over the whistle of wind. And then more. And more.
He crept close to the sound and saw smaller forms visible in the tumultuous wind, each moving in the same direction, each moving in perfect step. They marched as one, slow, dreamlike symphony of wavering equine forms. Maurice stepped close to a smaller one he could only assume was a mare and eyed her leathery orange coat. Her yellow hair was in patches atop her head. She began to turn as a snapping of bones signaled the movement of her neck.
Maurice didn’t think. His body immediately moved to her opposite side as she stared off into the sandy nothingness in confusion. He moved around her and deeper into the group of unseen horses. His heart raced. There was something very wrong here. But a part of him was too stubborn to quit. That large horse had to be of prime stock. If he got it, he could open up a horse ranch for his daughter. Then, maybe she'd finally stop asking about her mother.
The further he trekked into the sandstorm, the more he saw the small, horse-like creatures snapping their necks in his direction. Their eyes were shrouded in the bursts of sand, making it impossible to see their gazes. Maurice moved quickly, wondering if the next snap he heard would be a creature leaping upon him and tearing the bones from his body. He shook his head. His mind could not wander. These horses were sick. They were dying. Had to be. He was enamored with the stallion. He had to find it and get out.
And all at once, the sand began to clear. He stopped and his lantern swung limply, making such a loud racket in the stillness of the dark that his heart ached with its tension. He grabbed it, burned his hand and yelped in surprise as it swung freely once more in rebellion.
There was snapping and cracking sounds all around him. A long drawn-out hiss issued from every direction. Raspy breathing filled his ears from all around. The edge of the light stretched forward, but it could not cut the darkness filling the air. The stomps were now getting closer, all converging on Maurice. The rasping of mares filled the night, gurgling and straining as they moved forward. He saw them. They could not see him. But they knew he was there. Sand pooled from their eye sockets and dripped onto the ground at their hooves as their steps compacted into the desert floor. Their mouths stretched open, sending forth waves of dark-stained effluence with coughing breath.
Maurice ran. Every step slowed as his boots caked with the gore hidden in the piles of sand beneath his feet. He fought his way onto the road with panicked screams. He saw the path back home and turned as he ran.
The stallion, all blood red and draped in a cloak of ever-shifting desert winds, snorted in glee as the two pinpoints of pale moonlight cut through its gaze and into Maurice’s heart. It brought the storm with it. It reared up and opened its maw, wide and all-consuming, before stomping down and walking forward ever so slowly.
Maurice screamed and dropped his lantern, smashing it on the ground. He ran, fleeing the fiery gaze following him with every step.
Maurice could not see the sand creeping into his boots, but he felt it cut his skin. He felt the dry valleys of death consume the lifeblood within him as he struggled to run forward. He panicked gait became a loping stride as a hacking cough overtook his lungs. His eyes tears up as they shriveled, blinding him to the pools of sand falling from his eyes. He coughed up bile and fell.
No one knew here Maurice had gone. His daughter was inconsolable the night of his disappearance. She held Old Man Jeffrey, who swore under his breath in attempt to fight back tears. “Damn...fool...” He scratched at the eye that has shriveled up long ago and coughed a raspy cough. “Why didn’t he listen...”
Soon after, Maurice’s daughter went home to find a surprise. A beautiful, red stallion stood in the barn. His bright green eyes and loving gaze comforted the young girl as she held him tight, wishing her dad had seen him. Old Man Jeffrey didn’t know what to say when the horse moved a hoof around the little girl to hug her back. Over the shoulder of the little girl, the red stallion’s eyes stared with mad, unblinking glee at the old man.
Somewhere in the desert, a father stood up. He limped across the sands towards the ever-stomping herd. Stumbled over the bones of long-forgotten creatures. Passed the gnarled grasping branches of the dead oak tree. Into the shuffling chorus of horse and human alike, wandering in unison across the moonlit night.
Author's Note
Writing Time to Complete Story: 85 minutes
Drafts: 1
Written: Mon, Sept 19, 2016
