Hobblenock 002
Dear reader,
My name is Hobblenock and I'm a hob-goblin of the horny variety. My duty to write about what I have seen and what I know while clamped into my special high chair by she ( who I must obey ). My next story is about a woman who's circumstances change dramatically and is ultimately transformed. Some might say for the better and some would say for the worst, but who's story continues in further writings.
As I look into my crystal ball I can see that all will be revealed,
'Heah, Heh, Heh!' If you see what I mean.
Female Persuasion
In an average town, on an average street, in a average house sat an average looking woman; her expressionless face lit by the harsh light from the television set. She stared at the moving images without any reason or interest and wondered what her life would have been like if she had made some better decisions.
Tiredness began to creep up on her and the thoughts of regret began to dissolve into nothing. She started to become detached from the surroundings as the cheap entertainment began to hypnotise, drawing her heavy eyelids down into darkness.
Her mind was aware of a vast and vacant void which contained a distant, yellow light that swung from side to side like a pendulum. A clattering and scraping sound like metal against metal accompanied its swaying motion, increasing in volume as the light gradually moved closer. The light grew more intense and filled her mind's eye, the vision becoming blinding and unbearable, the deafening sound of metal was too much for her to take. It was like being caught in the full beam of a lorry hurtling towards her with its ear-splitting horn signaling her imminent demise. She began to panic, desperately wanting with all her body and soul to escape from the nightmare of her semi-conscious state.
Her body jolted and her eyes snapped open, she could feel her heart still thumping franticly inside her chest, but was relieved and thankful that somehow she had managed to return to the familiarity of her living room.
The woman on the sofa was left stunned and puzzled by what she had just experienced. Her waste of a husband showed no reaction, still remaining slouched in his armchair watching a football match, looking like a man suffering from a serious attack of lethargy. His right hand loosely held on to a can of beer while the rest of his pathetic body remained barely visible, almost consumed by the upholstery that surrounded him. A pair of legs dangled lifelessly to the floor, looking like they had lost the ability to support his own small and unremarkable frame. He remained unaware and unmoved, helplessly stuck in football land without wanting a return ticket back to existence.
She sighed to herself and got up from the sofa to get a drink of water as she knew he would be no great comfort or much use to her, which was much like he had been in most of her married life.
The bright moonlight entered through the narrow kitchen window, partially lighting the room with its surreal, lunar radiance. It was bright enough for her to see clearly without the aid of extra light, enabling her to acquire a glass for a well needed drink.
But it was a drink she would never have and the glass dropped, shattering into tiny fragments on the floor as she stared directly out of the window to a sight that made her wonder weather she was still dreaming.
At the end of a long, poorly maintained garden was a grassy bank and on it stood a large, dark shape that stared directly through the window at her. The moonlight captured the creatures outline in a series of elegant curves along its thick, long neck and down its back to the strands of hair that made a tail.
It was the recognisable shape of a shire horse, framed in the top half of the kitchen window, standing motionless while the animal's black mane flayed around in the stiff, night breeze.
It was surprising but not entirely improbable as the end of the garden led onto a large field that was privately owned, but which had never contained horses before. All she had ever seen in the field was kids playing and people having picnic's in the many years she had lived there. It was likely that it could have been abandoned by someone, but the horse didn't seem too distressed, remaining unnaturally still as if patiently waiting for her.
The back door of the house opened and she cautiously walked down the garden path to approach the animal that still remained completely stationary.
Large amounts of rubbish and rubble where clumsily negotiated before finally tackling the back fence in just a nightdress, shoes and coat. She landed with a heavy thump at the base of the grassy bank then scrambled up its steep incline to stand breathlessly beside the strange horse that showed no reaction and no movement even when standing next to it.
The night was turning in to the small hours of early morning. The houses of the neighbourhood and beyond could be seen with the aid of the streetlights that scattered the local area. The horse stared outward as if observing the peaceful scene of people in their deep slumber.
She stroked its long nose affectionately, the touch feeling like the texture of bristled velvet under her fingers.
"Are you lost?", she said. Stupidly realising there would be no reply but asking anyway.
The horse finally showed signs of life, turning its head to the side to stare at the woman. The animal's movement seemed slow and controlled, its big, dark eyes looked at her and she looked back into them to feel a connection that linked them both. She saw the sky and the clouds that resembled fractured slate, the moonlight piercing through the multitude of gaps in the detailed reflections in its eyes. The familiar hypnotic sense came back and she sank deeper into the vision to hear a clam and distant voice.
"You are the one who is lost. Follow me and don't look back ... Never look back again..."
She quickly snapped back to reality as if someone had just flicked on a switch. The horse turned almost mechanically and began to guide the apprehensive woman who was compelled to follow.
She travelled across the field as the brisk night breeze buffeted around her nightdress, causing it to lift and fall like the movement of a jellyfish. The air began to chill her legs but she was unconcerned, feeling a strange sense of surreal detachment as the strangely behaved horse led her into a strikingly familiar scenario.
An old, disorganized fence travelled erratically around the fringes of the field. It stretched into the distance then curved around towards the horizon to act as a boundary to a dense patch of small, untouched woodland that mushroomed behind it. A gypsy caravan was parked near the roots of the dark, mangled woods, its lantern outside glowing and swaying on a metal chain that it was attached to.
Her insides froze at the sight but the panic was subdued, compelled to continue by whatever force lay inside the caravan. The trees greeted her with their rhythmic rustling like the sea against the sand, along with the lantern that clattered its beat outside the entrance.
