The Haunted

It was a terrible, unholy sound, unlike anything he had ever heard. All of his men were roused out of sleep by the monstrous cries of the animals, and many of them began crossing themselves and praying, rising to their knees, begging God to protect them from the evil that was here. The more practical soldiers grabbed their swords and prepared to defend the camp, but the horses were already loose and running, still screaming, their voices like that of old women being slaughtered, and the soldiers were forced to chase after them. Huerta remained at first, to make sure that they were not under attack, but when it became clear that there was no assault, and that the crazed horses had chewed through the tethers on their own, rather than being released by men, he ordered six of the praying soldiers to stand guard, while he followed the men chasing after the horses.

The night was dark, and while the moon was out, little of its light illuminated the world below. The group of men who had started off before him had brought a torch with them, and after picking up one for himself as well, Huerta followed their bobbing, weaving light through the weeds and low brush, over small knolls and hollows.

Twenty horses. They had twenty horses altogether, and every one of them had taken off in the same direction, as though chased by something.

Or drawn by something.

He caught up to his men before they found the horses, and all of them stumbled upon the animals together. The steeds were still screaming, but the sound here carried strangely, and it seemed that they remained quite a way off. So it was a surprise when Huerta, who was in the lead, passed between two unusually full and prickly bushes, only to see his torchlight fall on the animals’ bodies.

They had set upon one another. They were rolling on the ground, fighting, a writhing mass of muscle, hair and hoof that in the flickering orange light looked like one giant multiheaded monster. Some of the horses were already dead, their stomachs bloody and bitten open, chunks ripped out of their necks and flanks, their flesh being eaten by the snapping mouths of their fellow steeds. It was an aberrant and unnatural sight, one so shocking and sickening that the men who happened upon it stood motionless for several precious moments, unsure of what to do. It was Huerta alone who retained his wits, who rushed forward and ordered his men to do the same, to grab whatever they could—tether or mane—and try to separate the furiously battling animals. But that was easier said than done. The horses were larger than men, and, struggling, biting, kicking, rolling over one another in the darkness, screaming, they were nearly impossible to separate. By the time the soldiers had pulled two of them away from the heap, the others were either dying or dead.

With their last breaths, some of the fading horses were viciously biting into their brethren, their flat, square teeth cannibalistically ripping into the rough flesh surrounding them.

Huerta ordered the men holding the ropes that had been lassoed around the necks of the two rescued horses to take the animals back to camp. He had no idea how they were to continue on with nearly all of their pack animals dead, but he would find a way, even if soldiers had to act as slaves.

The dust that had been kicked up by the melee had started to settle, and his eyes peered into the slowly clearing gloom. He was not sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. For behind the sluggishly stirring mound of dying horses was a small hut, the first sign of man they had seen since coming over the hills. It was a strange sort of structure, made from dead branches and sticks, a primitive shelter more akin to the wild growth of the surrounding wilderness than any form of human habitation. Had it not been for the reddish glow emanating from within, he might not have even noticed it.

He did notice it, though, and he did not like it. The unusual construction of the hut bothered him in a way he could not explain, and that reddish light seemed hellish. His first instinct was to turn away and take his men as far from this place as possible. But he was a leader, entrusted by the king to explore this northern land, and it was his duty to investigate all that he encountered, no matter how unnatural.

Still, it would be imprudent for him to further endanger any of his men. This was something unknown and very likely dangerous. The best approach would be for him to enter the structure and determine whether any peril awaited, and for his men to wait outside, ready to respond should he require them to do so.

Huerta handed off his torch, gave his instructions, then, sword drawn, crouched down and entered the hut.