The Haunted and other short stories

Black Smoke

          The day was growing late when I scanned the horizon. It contained only an empty void of endless yellow grass dancing before us. The vastness caused my heart to drop. I longed for the distance to shorten. The warmth of my family’s embrace had been abandoned for far too long. Checking the horse’s cinch, I tightened it one last time before swinging back up. The dun gelding shook its head in impatience. The beast longed for our safe haven as well. A light pressure from my legs and we were off. Pounding of hoofs were filtered from my mind as we ran. My body melded with the gelding. I was flying over a golden ocean. We were going home. Salvation was growing closer.

            When the breeze had cooled and the sky took on a rosy glow, we began to slow. My dun companion could take more, but there was no need to push us. There were not many more miles to go. I wiped the sweat off my brow. “Just a little farther, old boy,” I said humoring the horse. Throughout the trip I had taken to conversing with the gelding; there had been little else to do. I had grown fond of the horse, which had been a gift from my wife, but I was looking forward to two-way conversations this evening.

            Then the first sign of civilization came into view; tendrils of smoke rose in the distance. The sight of the smoke billowing brought to mind the image of my wife and child scurrying around the kitchen. They would have been glancing out the window while waiting for me to return. My wife would have killed a chicken. It would have been roasting over the fire. My young fair-haired son would have been setting the table. Our reunion would have been bliss.

          It was when my fantasy had run its course that I noticed the problem. Unlike the times before the sight of smoke had come too quickly. As we came closer it grew into a monstrous black cloud. I found it unfortunate that I understood its meaning. This was not the first time the smoke had come into my life. I had prayed not to see it again. Sliding from the horse, my knees buckled under me.  The world spun above. The smoke was ever present in my vision.

         Awhile later the sun had set. I built a humble fire for warmth. My blanket roll sat under me. The horse was unsaddled, but restless. I was surprised that I did not feel the same. Shouldn’t I have been cursing the heavens or sobbing for forgiveness? Instead I lay soundly. The crackling fire was deafening and the stars shone too bright. As I closed my eyes, I felt air enter then exit my chest. So this was hell. I knew two things: my trip had ended, and I could not go home. The night passed by with me counting every breath till light illuminated my surroundings. It seemed as though decaying meadow had swallowed up the world. My horse and I were remains of a passing dream, and the endless grass whispered the truth of the black smoke; the dream was no longer.