The Things Betwixt...

The Nightmare.

"Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"  Honorable Mention 11 - 21 - 2015

It came upon a wicked, windless night that I found myself alone in that derelict house wherein I gave pursuit to the pale rider. Ne’er before had I spied such ghastly a man. He was mounted atop a horse, not a proud Shire nor a powerful Arabian, but a dead thing it was. Hollow and sunken was its skin like the rotten husk of a neglected gourd. As I spied its lucid aura my blood ran thick and cold like half-frozen streams.

Why then did I follow? There lies that space betwixt the thoughts of the waking and the silence of the dreamer that a voice whispered to me. Harsh and cold it was when it implored me to make pursuit.

Hence, I ran through a mire of decayed roots and gnarled branches to the shell of a home in the dark. My shoe had fallen somewhere in the swamp, but I was scarce to notice as I stood before a decrepit door. Its frame failed and the rotted wood was low and I was forced to duck beneath.

Therein that oppressive dark room, sat a table veiled beneath an age of dust - undisturbed save but a streak. Claws raked across that gray powder, but stopped at a lonesome teapot. New it was, and elegant its invitation.

Ice was its touch as I gripped the handle. A whistle escaped its spout, and as it billowed about that cold room the pale rider revealed himself.

Hooves pounded the earth outside as he gazed upon me.

He embraced me whilst he hissed, "Welcome home, my son."

The porcelain shattered as I dropped the pot, and spilled black blood on the floor.

Therein, I awoke to the memory of my late father; the man I’d killed - bludgeoned with his beloved teapot.

Word Count - 300