[Moon-dæg] Writing of Pale Horses

Context
Horse Play
Closing

{Smoke rose from his silhouette like steam from a sewer grate. Image found on the blog Mystery Fanfare.}

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Context

One of the early stories from my time with the writing group here in town, tonight's bit is a little noir. The exercise that lead to its being committed to paper simply asked for a first person piece.

It might be partially inspired by Sarah Palmer's vision of a white horse in the middle of the second season of Twin Peaks. In fact, in keeping with that show, the bizarre-ness might or might not be real.

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Horse Play

Suddenly I saw a white horse pacing behind the curtains. They were drawn but the iridescent fur drew on the sun's fading strength (and the moon's gaining power) just as the snow did, and shone through the window's thin veil. Its silhouette gave me pause and I stood in the middle of the side walk, gawking over side walk snow banks and into the house.

If anyone else had been out walking that night they might have stopped as well. Or slowed down to gather details before calling the police to report a suspicious character staring into windows.

The animal faded from my sight and I took a step closer to the house. Blinked. It was gone. The window was empty.

In my delirium of curiousity I walked over the snow covered yard to close the distance between myself and the pane. Foot prints didn't matter. There was a horse in there. At least there might have been. I had to find out.

With my feet firmly rooted in the snow in front of the covered flower bed beneath the window sill I leaned forward and set my hands onto the rough stone sill. I could feel my gloves stick to the cold of it. My face nearly grazed the glass. My eyes were filled with the curtains' dull floral pattern and the shapes and shadows of things beyond. On my left I also saw the sun, reflected. Tucked behind houses as it was I knew that I needed to act quickly. Where was that horse?

A snort and a stamp caused me to whirl around so quickly that I nearly fell head first into the sill. Thinking of that possibility and trying to grasp what I saw before me set my heart pounding.

The man sitting astride the horse addressed me in an accent that would have wooed queens.

"Terribly sorry sir - but I do fear that my polo ball has fallen into those bushes."

I tried to keep my eyes off the mallet he held in one of his hands. The horse stamped. I felt my palms dampen.

"Oh. In the bushes. What's it look like?" I knelt and pretended to look.

"Small. Red. Ball-like."

I didn't need to turn around to see the look of growing suspicion that I knew was on his face. That would have been a rookie mistake. And I knew I was no rookie. Horse or no he sure was lucky that these were my old jeans. The trip to Missoula hadn't just been about business.

He said something in that accent of his and I could hear him getting closer. I noticed the horseman's shadow riding up and over my own. As much as I tried to convince myself that this was all just about a red ball I knew the truth. I knew I was trapped.

"Oh, do hurry on there." His horse whinnied to show its support for its rider.

I brushed against the side of the house now. Crawling among the shadows that hid the ball - I was delusional, ball, what ball? - as well as any first rate hacker could hide a data file.

Before the man and his horse could close off my escape entirely I closed both fists around the snow and slush. This would take speed, precision. Quick thinking after it was done. I hoped my week away hadn't dulled my senses too much. I rose, whirled, and threw.

Both fistfuls hit with a piff more satisfying tha any deli pastrami on rye and I dashed past - though that bastard horse almost pulled me down with its tail. I knew that I was scot-free when the man's curses were gentler than the breeze and just as incoherent.

At the next block I slowed and patted my pockets, unsure that nothing was lost. I reached into the one on the inside of my coat and pulled out the book concealed within. The image on its cover of a man in a round brim hat and full-on suit sitting behind a cluttered desk while a woman with bare shoulders wearing beads and short hair spoke to him reassured me that all was still there. That all was still all right. That my time off hadn't dulled any senses. There had to be a horse.

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Closing

On Friday, definitely be sure to check in for my looking for the likeable (aside from Samuel L. Jackson and Luke Wilson) in Meeting Evil. Then on Saturday, watch for an Annotated Links, followed by the week-in-review/week-ahead entry on Sunday.

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