A Horse of the Deepest Abyss

He came on a horse borne of black wind, and hooves of obsidian, with eyes as fathomless as the void. He dismounted in the village square and walked his horse, people stopped to stare at him as he tied his horse to a post next to the bar. Inside the bar he sat on a stool and didn’t say a word to anyone, not even the barman. He wasn’t given a glass yet he was drinking from one, drinking a slightly brown and milky liquid that filled the room with the sent of spices from places beyond the sea. When he was done he placed the glass on the bar and left, once more mounting his horse of midnight dreams. The glass sat on the bar, cleaner than ever and with no hint of the smell that had been so pungent moments before. People said he drank the smell rather than any liquid, people said he was a ghost and that was a drink that was drunk in the past long before they were born. Some said he was cursed to live in two worlds, leaking one into the other in each moment. He rode the horse out the village and to a small cottage in which a widow lived. She showed him a room for himself and a pen for his horse of the deepest abyss. He must have said something to her for the widow curtsied with a blush as she lead him in. Neither were seen for the rest of the day. Rumours buzzed excitedly through the air, he and the widow had had an ‘interesting’ night. The widow didn’t really care about her husband’s death, forgetting about him and her vows as soon as the stranger had come. The stranger had tricked her into letting him into her house so that he could steal the gold everyone swore the widow kept hidden beneath an apple tree that stood in her garden. They didn’t care that the ‘tree’ was an orange tree as apple trees are more symbolic. If you asked ‘of what?’ they would probably blunder for a moment before saying: “Symbolic of religious stuff, you know with the big birds with halos and those reptile things.” Well one person would say that at least but that person would say a lot of things like that... 

The air hummed with whispered rumours as the widow fetched bread from the bakery, she still wore mourning black and came to church to place an orange blossom on a polished grave. This changed the rumours only slightly as when people have their mind set on something they can find the most ridiculous ways to make current situations bend to their mind. The man had enchanted her last night in order to take what he wanted. The man was her dead husband but she didn’t believe him, and other romantic nonsense. The widow tried to ignore the whispers but when your standing in line and the ladies behind you start gossiping about the stranger in your house and yourself, there is little your mind will let you do other than listen in. Besides it was about her anyway.

The man rode into town, hair and clothes dishevelled as though he has gotten dressed in a hurry. His horse’s mane had a few wind-knots like fairy braids. He dismounted in the square and he went into the bar. He sat down and said something to the barman who brought a plate of eggs. He walked over to a table where the shepherd sat, he put the eggs in front of him and spoke a few quiet words. The shepherd grinned and shook his hand. The man must have done something to the widow. Why else would he have been kicked out? Did he find the gold under the apple tree? He told the shepherd he'd give him some of the gold in return for a sword! He told the shepherd they were related. The man left the bar, the shepherd by his side. They mounted their horses and were off. The next day the shepherd came back into town and spoke with the local men over a pint of beer, "The man is of evil origin. I let him help with the sheep and they all did exactly what he said, but Jojo my best sheep dog was yapping at him and chasing him like he was a foul pig crossing into my farm. All of his clothes are the same and his horse never eats, it just stands there waiting for him to come out. I saw it fly! Just for a moment it soared over a log and forgot to land, he said some stern words in its ear and the thing just dropped right out of the air."

Now the people knew what they were dealing with. A Witch is always much simpler to deal with than any other type of Creature. They went out in the night, they tied the man with silver string and slashed his horse's life away with a flash of a blade. They brought the wood to the village square and they brought an old boat mask, mouldy from the lake air. The man opened his eyes before the gleeful faces, pitchforks and torches whose flames licked at the night air. The widow watched, eyes wide in horror as the man was tied to the stake. The shepherd felt his stomach drop as with a cloud of darkness made solid the man vanished. For a moment it reformed in the shape of a man, it looked towards the dead horse lying on the ground and began to cry. With every sob the shape of a man dispersed into the night, joining the shadows and leaving the sound of a broken heart echoing in their ears.

They buried the horse, the thing that was once beautiful, full of mystery and life- now nothing more than a shell beneath the dirt.

All because rumours flew like birds through a small town.