There was nothing around, not for miles, except a couple of decrepit old farm houses that at first glance could be mistaken for abandoned. Even those though, were few and far between. The fields stretched on for what seemed to be an eternity, with no fences or barns or even trees to break them up. Tired dirt was peppered with the remains of last year's corn and soybeans, and dead grassy ditches held what remained of the last snowfall. It was a bleak landscape, the kind that made you wonder what drove someone to live in such a place, and it stretched on for hours.
But if you were to drive the road that took you through the heart of Illinois, watching theendless, never changing scene that flashed by your window in a gray and brown blur, you would eventually come upon something decidedly out of place.
A line of twenty-six plaster and wooden horses paraded across the field, held up withiron fence stakes. They would have been beautiful at one time, when they were first made. But that time was long past, thirty, forty years ago, and now they only stared blankly across the fields in varying states of decay. The paint, once vibrant, had faded and chipped away. Posts tilted madly, driving one headfirst into the earth and another colliding into his brothers. If seen in a cheerier setting, perhaps their open mouths and wide eyes would have made them appear to be whinnying with joy at the chance to gallop freely across the flat prairies. But in the grey winter of Illinois, with the mist curling over broken corn skeletons and clouds threatening rain gathering overhead, their eyes seemed wild and they appeared to be screaming at some threat unseen.
If you continued, there was a small town to be found three miles down the road. The locals did not talk about the horses, or approach them. Travelers who inquired as to their history when they stopped at the gas station were met with strained laughs and simply told that no one knew how long they'd been there, and no one had the heart to remove them.
It was December 17th when Joe and Callie were making a small road trip from Wisconsin to visit Joe's Illinoisan relatives. Although it would have been more convenient to take the interstate in most cases, an unseasonal amount of construction work being done had led them to the decision to take the "scenic route" as Joe called it. Callie didn't exactly consider endless brown and gloom scenic, but Joe wasn't much fun to ride with when he was driving stressed, and the construction had had him a little road ragey.
"Joe honey, can't we pull over soon? I'm starving. And I have to pee, I probably shouldhave skipped that last coke," said Callie, doing a little dance in her seat. Joe didn't take his eyes off the road but handed her an empty bottle from beside him.
"Har-dee-har," said Callie, shooting him a glare. He looked over to her and cracked up.
"You're adorable when you act mad," he said, ruffling her hair.
"Yeah yeah, it's hilarious," she said, batting his hand away. "But I'm serious, it's been four hours since we last stopped, I'm getting stir crazy."
"Hey, I'd love to, but I don't know if you've noticed - we are in the absolute middle of nowhere. As soon as we come up on something we can stop."
Callie sighed and crossed her legs. Joe gave her a smile and squeezed her hand. She gave in and gave him a small smile of her own, and leaned over to put her head on his shoulder.
"Fine, I suppose that's fair. But make it fast. I could eat a horse."
It was not ten miles later when the tiny town appeared over the horizon. Town might have been a bit generous. Village was probably more accurate, although that still was pushing it. A small collection of houses in various states of disrepair clustered around the lone all-in-one gas station, coffee shop and general store. The streets appeared completely deserted as they rolled into town, and all the windows seemed dark. A slight breeze blew some loose trash down the empty street like urban tumbleweeds and a mangy dog dashed before their car to slink away into the safety of an alley.
