The Demon In The West - An Original Work In Progress

Chapter One (Part One of Two): The Turning Of New Leaves

As every life ends, a new one begins an endless cycle that will continue even after we all die.

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The sun begins to rise on the vast, dry horizon, casting the valley in shades of umber. The plants crumble underfoot the large mare. The rider continues wearily, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. They come to a stop under an old tree, with carvings all over its bark, each of which shares its own story, not unlike the many travelers who have passed it. Its limbs sprawled high into the sky providing shade for the two of them.

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I can hear my heart still pounding in my ears from when I left. My whole body seems to cave in from fatigue, but I can't rest now. My gaze drags to where my shoes rest inside the stirrup, scanning the dirt stains on the light evening gown I wear. I brush the disheveled and sweat-drenched strands of hair back into the now-messy bun and wipe my hands off on the gown fabric.

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They were riding for far more than an hour when they slow down at the crossroads, the rider leaning forward to observe the wooden signpost there with a poorly engraved title, "OATSTEAD".

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It was the name of a small town, and possibly the means to an end, the means to settle down and start a new life here, if they had wanted to live here – in the calm countryside, far enough from their poor city life – leaning solely on the support of a man. They had not wanted that for themselves ever again. They had hoped the saying wasn't true and that history wouldn't repeat itself yet again. Although perhaps it would and only whatever ethereal being above or below could tell the fate of this person.

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In this part of the forest, the trees are denser, the canopy obscuring most light from the heavens above. Every two paces brought upon another thin trunk, reaching high overhead almost like a bony hand reaching out of the depths of the earth and writhing against the morning breeze. Finally, patches of sunshine seep through the canopy of leaves, scarcely providing a source of light. No matter, it was there.

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Miniscule versions of glades brought into sight homey cottages fairly spread out on their descent through the woods.

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My heart thuds faster like the hooves battering the ground the further we ride through the forest, an aching throb that leaves me on the edge of dismay. I'm not so sure why my paranoia kicks in now, for I know that the monsters on earth take to the cities, I, of all people should know; for one has taken me as their spouse before.

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A cacophony of howls, erupting within the forest, distorted and echoed rang out in the near distance. The massive mare rears onto its hind legs, storming off the weathered dirt path, as its hooves pound against the dirt, it stirs up the brush of leaves underfoot, leaving me gasping and fighting to stay in the saddle.

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A barrage of branches whips past the rider, tearing and tattering their draping gown. The fragile silk of which their evening gown is composed of splits like the petal of a flower. The bristled fur meets the smooth hands of the rider as they attempt to soothe their unruly mount. Their short trembling fingers glide over the mare's side. They hadn't expected much from their effort, as they were panicking as well, but soon the horse calmed and they made their way back to the dirt path.

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A sigh escapes my lips, my thoughts racing wildly. I brush my wind-blown hair back into the mess of a bun with one hand, the other in control of the reins, keeping the mare steady.