A Spooky Story for Halloween

This is a true story about a pony we rescued many years ago ……and it’s a true one!                                                   The first time I saw the oddly marked black and white filly was at a market.   She had backed herself in the corner of a pen and looked terrified.   The  horse meat merchants were out in full force and I knew this raggedy looking pony would have no chance.  She wasn’t friendly or pretty enough to attract the few pet-pony buyers there, most of the horses, young or old were going to end their days being weighed in.

When the filly was brought in to the sale ring I resolved to bid for her.   She rolled her eyes at the crowd and plunged wildly.   ‘Who’ll start me at 50?”  the auctioneer asked.   Eighty pounds was my limit, it was all I had with me.    The horse meat men had a go but lost interest at £65.   The filly was mine for £70.

Most rescued horses settle down fairly quickly at the sanctuary – good grazing, plenty of food, titbits and gentle handling.   This one was definitely different.  I called her Mystic, because she had an odd shaped crescent star on her forehead.   It was also because she really was an wild and spooky creature.  She was light on her feet and given to cantering up and down the field, without any reason it seemed to me.  Other times she’d hide in a thicket of bushes and stand there for hours peeping out.  Give her a horn on her head and she could easily have been a unicorn.

It was just before Halloween when Mystic came to us and by All Soul’s her strangeness was noticeable.   She wasn’t sociable and wouldn’t have anything to do with the other horses.  They didn’t care for her either and mostly avoided her.  Occasionally I thought there was someone standing in the trees with her.  It was a young woman wearing dark clothes.  I asked my father if he’d seen anything but his eyes were too bad and by the time he’d fetched his glasses the woman had gone.

I’m not given to fanciful thoughts about Halloween but after all it is All Soul’s Night when the dead may come alive again.  I’ve never thought it a particularly frightening time but animals sense an atmosphere that we can’t feel so just to be safe we always fetched everyone indoors.

The cats were in, the dogs too, the chickens shut up, goats securely fastened in the barn and all the horses were in a stable …. except ….. Mystic.   I went out with a headcollart but could I catch her?   No chance.  She was galloping and rearing and plunging and dashing into the trees.  Then I thought I heard someone calling her name.  Mystic.  M-y-i-s-t-i-c!   I followed, brambles snagging at my coat, determined to catch up with whoever it was   There was someone up ahead, I caught a glimpse of a slim figure weaving through the trees with Mystic at her side.  One moment I could see them, the next they had disappeared.

Suddenly there was a crack of thunder and the sky darkened.  One moment it was clear and now I could barely see a step ahead.   The air crackled with electricity and I stood stock still and looked around.  I didn’t recognise where I was. The wood was full of eyes, green, yellow, squinting full of malice and all focused on me.   It was a trap.  I’d been lured here for a horrible purpose and I knew that I didn’t want to see the figures behind the eyes.   What was that smell in the air?   I couldn’t figure out, something fetid, old and musky was out there.   Mystic was nowhere to be seen.  My legs were fixed to the ground, I tried to lift them but I couldn’t and the ghastly eyes were coming  closer and closer, hemming me in ………..

My chest tightened and I began to find it difficult to breath.  There was another peal of thunder and a flash of lightning zigzagged in front of me and broke the spell.  Woosh!  The eyes disappeared and I turned and ran, not stopping till I got back to the yard.  I was covered in sticky burrs and scratched by brambles.  I had never been so pleased to see the house lights and know I was safe.
‘Where’s Mystic” my dad asked.  This was typical of him.   It was never ‘are you alright‘ but always ‘is the hoss alright!”   ‘When I had my breath back again, I told him what had happened.   He looked sceptical.   “What do you think?  The witches have taken her?”  I nodded.  “It is Halloween.”
He shook his head.   ‘It’s the storm, she’ll have been scared and jumped out. Leaves blowing play tricks.  We’ll go and look for her in the morning.”   He stomped off to bed, muttering that I’d left a pony out.
I didn’t think I’d sleep but the moment my head hit the pillow I was fast on and didn’t wake till first light.   I dressed quickly, dashed downstairs and ran out to the fields to look for Mystic.   She was nowhere to be seen.  I even searched our neighbours land to see if Dad was right and she’d jumped out.  There was no sign of her.
When I went back into the yard I started checking on the ponies, feeling upset and worrying about what had happened to Mystic.
There was a soft whinny from the end stable. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  It was Mystic, shaking her head and stamping and prancing as usual.   “Where have you been?”  How had she got into the stable?   The door was securely bolted at top and bottom.   I went in to her and had another shock.   Mystic’s lovely long silky mane was completely knotted.   Not just tangles but thick impossible to penetrate twists and plaits.
My Dad came over to see.  “What can have done this?”  I asked him.   He looked pale now.   “Look how she’s been ridden,” he answered slowly.   Mystic was streaked with sweat.   “You were right, it’s a witch has done this.   I’ve seen it before a long time ago.  She’s been riding her, all night long by the look of it.  She’s a witch’s pony now and she’ll be out with them every Halloween.”    Mystic stamped her hoof as if to agree.

This is a true story. Mystic always went off galloping with the witches on All Soul’s night and came back in the morning with her mane in knots.  I never again tried to follow her, best to just let her get on with it.
We asked all our neighbours and no one had seen Mystic that night or caught her and brought her home or locked her in the stable.   The dogs hadn’t barked which they would have done if anyone had come up the yard.  
My Dad used to say that I’d imagined the eyes and that the awful smell was a fox, but I’m not so sure.   i like to stay inside by the fire on Halloween.    Apart from getting sweated up Mystic never suffered any ill effects from her nights with the witches and she lived to be 27 years old.