Ghost Horse

Revised. Original story in "Ghostly Glimmers."

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

It was one of those red autumn days when the leaves fell on the ground and I would have to rake them up around my small trailer. Sparse hardy grass grabbed the leaves and clumped them in untidy piles. Little wisps of toilet paper, plastic cups, and bags made the leaves look dirty and tired.

I swept the concrete steps in front of the small market and gas station where I worked. Sweeping up the debris around my trailer and the station was only part of my duties. I worked behind the counter and my shift started at 1 p.m. and would end in the early evening hours when it turned dark.

The gas station was far away from the lights of Reno. It was one of the last stations off highway 50 before the long stretch through the desert. We were busy during the day and evenings. 

I had taken over the cash register from the day clerk and my head was down as I counted the cash in the register when someone cleared his throat. 

I closed the cash drawer, making sure the lock clicked, and then looked up.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

A dark man in overalls with intense brown eyes looked down at the drawer, and then glanced up into my eyes. The butterflies stirred in my stomach as the silence lengthened. His gravelly voice cut through the silence as he asked for beer. I pointed to the far corner and relaxed as he turned his back. I looked outside to see if I would recognize his car.

A white Honda, illegally parked across two parking spaces, was the only car there. A woman’s white face peered at me through the glass. The woman had that scared sad look that I recognized from my late mother’s face. She had a reason to be scared because my mother’s boyfriend stabbed her, leaving her for dead. By the time the paramedics arrived she was truly dead. 

I had found her at the end and heard her last words, “Karen, I’ll always be with you.” 

Slowly I lost my innocence from foster home after foster home. It was not a life for a kid, any kid. So the woman reminded me of my mother. It was not my problem, not my monkeys. I was more worried about the man in the overalls. He gave off bad energy so I watched him through the mirror.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

I was relieved when the dark man paid for his beer and left. I was sure he was going to rob me. That oppressive feeling left when he left. I rubbed my arms until my heart slowed down and then took a deep breath. Maybe it was the glimpse of the woman or the tattoos that trailed up his neck that had spooked me. I was safe. It was all in my mind.

I went through the stockroom doors to cut open boxes and stock the shelves. I lifted a heavy box and dropped it on a table, and sliced it open with a box cutter. While I was working I heard a slight whicker. 

At first I didn’t notice the sound, but I heard it again. I knew that sound. It was a horse.

Before the death of my father, our family owned a large ranch. I had started with ponies and when I was old enough I had owned a horse. I loved that horse.

Every summer we would ride through the desert, stopping at the canals so the horse could drink, and then visit our neighbors. I was always in trouble because I would steam my mom’s freshly baked bread and give it to them. Many of them were old and rarely left their homes.

Mom couldn’t get angry because she would get calls from them, thanking them for the bread. It also meant that my punishment for stealing her bread was to learn how to make my own bread. 

And then that life was gone. If I thought of the golden years, I would weep. 

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

After pulling the packing from the box, I carted it to the refrigerator and stocked the sodas and teas. The next box would be beer, probably. The candy in red and blue gaily waved at me as I bumped the shelf. I picked up the bags, restocked them.

The door jingled merrily. Sandy came in and sang rather than talked, “Hello Karen.”

I answered back and smiled at her. She was a bouncy girl who liked to skip school. She grabbed some gum and handed me some quarters and nickels.

Another jingle and she was gone.

I worked quickly as I stocked the shelves. I slowed down when I started putting up the magazines. Someone, probably one of the young teens, had mixed up the magazines. A playboy was in front of one of the home design magazines. I could just hear the horrified gasp of one of the pillars of the community if she found it like that.

I put the playboy under the counter. It was like anywhere else. If the motorcycle magazines or anything with skin was in the open, the younger boys would try to get a peek. If you creased it, you bought it. So I always watched the beer and magazines. 

It was bad enough that the teenagers could get adults to buy them beer. If I actually let them buy it, I would be in so much trouble. It was a good thing I knew most of the younger troublemakers by sight.

Telling them that I would tattle to their parents didn’t scare them anymore. I had to run them out of the store and if that didn’t work, I would threaten to call the police.

One young’un told me that I was a bitter woman and that his father let him read his skin mags. 

I told him. “Then read your father’s.” 

A few of the teenagers I ran out of the small store were smoking something that I didn’t recognize. It had a nasty smell. I knew it wasn’t cigarettes because we didn’t sell too many to the locals. They bought theirs from the Indian store. The kids probably smoked the butts, which was not too different from the other generations. I didn’t think about it much. My entire world was here.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

Was I ever that young? I suppose so. I had had to take care of myself for a long time. The one lesson I had learned was that no one cared for what happened to me, especially the fosters, especially the State.

I made my own luck.

My good luck is that I found this job as a caretaker and clerk with a trailer. I had a home, a bed, and work. I was saving money. It wasn’t much. 

The wind picked up, sending the leaves over the sidewalks. Soon I would have to rake them up again, this time putting the leaves and debris into bags. I could do that now because I wouldn’t see too many more locals until evening. There hadn’t been too many out-of-towners. Even then they pulled up to the gas pumps, used their credit cards, and then were gone.

I raked them up, feeling like my life was just a job. 

As the moon rose, the darkness brought back the what ifs. What if my parents had stayed alive, would I have gone to college? Would I have been stuck in this dead-end job? Would I be happy?

All the would-a, could-a, should-as danced around in my head. In the darkness I couldn’t see the small spiny cactus or the tumbleweeds. They were still there just like the thorny thoughts in my mind.

The darkness was the worst. Too bad I didn’t have a TV to distract me as I waited for my relief. The night clerk would be here soon and I could warm up dinner and let my mind dull as I watched TV.

A cold wind slid across my cheek, making me shiver.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

The sound of horse’s hooves on the tile floor of the small space seemed to come closer. Why I could hear a horse and why I would think it was in the store made me question my sanity. The radio, a country western music station, blared away. I felt strange. I had no one to call, no one to confide in.

My only friend died years ago when we had to sell the farm. The golden tail and skin of the Palomino horse still stamped into my mind as I thought of her. Lady. Lady. Every time I thought of her, even now, was a stab to the heart. She was my horse, and I was her girl.

That last bittersweet summer I dreamed that we rode down dirt roads through the hills and run away together. It was a good dream. We would go so far away that no one could find us. But when I started to make my plans and looked at the maps I realized that I couldn’t care for her.

Most of the desolate spots had little vegetation and bad water. A hundred years ago wagon trains had died from dehydration on those trails. I was not ready to die. I was not ready to see Lady die such an excruciating death. I never saw her again.

I blew out a breath. The door jingled as a customer came in.

Lady was probably sent to the meat packer in Chico. She was not a young horse then. Even if she had lived, the new owners were not going to waste hay on an older horse. She was gone as soon as we left. I cried so many tears for her that I was all cried out. I was too old to cry for a horse.

The intense dark man from earlier stood in front of me at the counter. I knew it was bad news. Why couldn’t he wait one hour and then the night clerk could have dealt with him. His return was not good. I shivered, but I went into full terror when I saw his eyes.

His eyes were black.

A cold breeze chuffed against my neck. It was the same sound that my horse made when she wanted affection. I used to reach up and stroke her neck. She would lean closer to my ear and murmur into it. The thought of Lady calmed my nerves.

When I saw his eyes go black, I hesitated a minute which was my undoing. There was no time to run into the store room and lock the door. He reached over the counter, grabbed my neck, and dragged me across the counter. He threw me against the shelves that I had just stocked. My head banged against them and I blacked out a minute.

When I came to, I blinked. His tattoos pulsed and squirmed with a purplish light. I tried to stand and run, but I couldn’t feel my feet. Before I could panic, the man grabbed my hair and pulled my head up. His face was close to mine.A

“Do you remember?” He gave my head a shake. “Do you?”

His laugh was hollow. I would have been more scared if I wasn’t already in full terror. He dropped my head and it banged on the tile. Then he patted my head.

“Poor Karen. You don’t know what this is about.”

I didn’t. I had no idea. I couldn’t think through the pain. I was pretty sure he had broken my back. I didn’t know this guy. He was obviously a gang member. I didn’t smoke pot, or take drugs of any type. I was not into baggy pants or waving arms. I was not into violence and killing. 

This man was going to kill me.

“It doesn’t matter,” he grinned. “Your parents tried to hide you. I saw you once as a child. I offered to buy you. You were useful then. You aren’t now.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. I couldn’t wipe my face. All I could see was his tattoos and his fingers turned into claws.

I heard a sound. It was Lady. I stared at the man. If I could hold out for just a half hour, the night clerk would call the police. He would be here soon. If I could just hold on–

“My name is Haustfel. You will remember it until the end.” His laugh was harsh and his brown eyes burned into me. 

He began cutting with his claws. The first cuts were like paper cuts. Then he went deeper and deeper. Blood spurted into his hands. He liked his fingers and cut again. At the end I was screaming. 

I didn’t understand that someone who had only seen me once would hate me so much or love my blood so much. As my spirit separated from my body, he sliced my neck and drank the last of the blood. He was the last face I saw.

For a moment I saw him glow white and then he went purple again. He screamed in agony. Before the night clerk came, he walked out the door into the darkness.

I was floating and watching my body, when I saw the night clerk walk into the mess of blood and flesh. The clerk, white and shaking, called the police. He stayed near the door until the officials came. The place turned into a hive of activity. I lost interest when they placed my remains into a black bag.

It was over, but I was still here.

I felt a chuff against my neck. A palomino horse stood behind me and dropped her head against my shoulder. She didn’t have a bridle, but did have a saddle.

“Lady,” I said. “Good girl.”

I stroked her nose and she blew in my face.

I put my foot into the stirrup and leaped into the saddle. It fit me perfectly. No need to adjust the stirrups. I patted Lady’s neck. Lady threw her head, snorted, and we raced away. I could see her hooves spark.

The world I had occupied disappeared. We raced past deserts, past mountains, and past the heavy structure of life. Finally we would run away, but Lady was the one who was prepared.

I almost wanted to thank the crazy man. The clouds drifted underneath us. Lady moved beneath me.

We were free.