The Horse Ride

• Isabella McIlwee, Grade 8, Corinda State High School
• Short Story
• 2014

Excellence Award in the 'Write As Rain 2014' competition

If you like stories with dark forests, strange happenings, even cold black murder, this is your type of story. My name is Bobby, Bobby Murderson, and this is my story.
Horses. That 6 letter word. H O R S E S. Brrr. It sends a cold chill down my spine just thinking about it. Those long, uncut, unclean, daggy manes and tails. Their big, dark, miserable eyes. These are some features that the beasturus animal that causes me to be sleep deprived has. Unfortunately, to the rest of my family, they are beautiful, maintainable creatures. Knowing them, they would have read Black Beauty to think that about a creature so hideous. Or quite possibly, I was adopted, which would explain why we disagree so much on such a subject.
There was no going back. Dad had pushed me in with the horse. I was scared. I could hear the howls from a pack of wolves nearby. No longer could I see my dad. I was trapped. Carefully, I stroked the horse, hoping and praying that if I was nice to it, it would be nice back. Lodging my feet into the stirrups, I plopped myself onto the saddle. Fear filled my stomach and it tensed into a tight ball. Whoosh. We were off into the forest. My heart was racing so fast, that I was sure I was having a heart attack. Suddenly, the horse glided to a halt, as though it was in shock. The sound of tree branches rustling echoed through the distance. My mind was racing with possibilities of what the sound could be.
"Creak... Crash... Bang... Meow."
A black cat appeared on the path in front of me. Ominously foretelling the bad luck that would follow.
As we raced through the forest like a rally car on a V8 raceway, we approached a downhill slope. In order to slow the horse down, I pulled on the reigns, only for it to backfire and knock me off. Left dangling, I pulled myself back up onto the horse. After tugging on the horse's reigns, we developed a slow canter and continued through the forest.
As we neared the end of the path, it became dark and miserable. I looked down at the ground and saw the outline of a Killer Python slithering alongside us. It was preparing to intoxicate and potentially kill me and the horse. Reaching into my backpack, I grabbed my water bottle, skillfully knocking the snake away. Another tug on the reigns and the horse turned back.
At that moment, I felt a rickety, large hand clasp my shoulder. The wind had turned as cold as ice. I froze and remained as still as a statue.
Just then, a crackle of a man's voice filled my ears.
"Sorry son, the Merry Go Round is broken. You'll have to get off now."