09 Feb The Broken Horse

Part I

Feather Falls was the kind of place where nothing much happened. Tucked between dense forests and surrounded by rolling hills, it was best known for its handful of waterfalls that drew tourists in the summer and hikers in the fall. But beyond its natural beauty, it was a quiet, small town—the sort of place that felt hidden from the world.

And for twelve-year-old Sam, that usually meant one thing: boredom.

“You either play outside or you rot,” his dad liked to say. “Nothing wrong with getting some fresh air.”

Most days, Sam didn’t mind the woods that loomed behind his house. They were cool and shaded, with trees so old and thick that the sun barely pierced the canopy. The ground was soft with fallen pine needles, and the occasional squirrel or deer darted through, keeping him company. Sometimes, he’d hike all the way to the river that wove through the forest, and from there, he could follow it downstream until he reached the waterfalls that gave the town its name.

Today, though, something felt different.

The usual sounds of the forest—birds chirping, branches rustling in the wind—were strangely absent. Sam slowed his steps, glancing around as he adjusted the strap of his backpack, taking in the eerie stillness of the woods.

Then came the smell.

It hit him like a punch, sudden and strong, something rotten and sour. Sam wrinkled his nose, covering his mouth as he looked around for the source. He’d smelled dead animals before—squirrels or rabbits that didn’t make it through the winter—but this was different. This stench had a strange, sharp edge to it, as if whatever had died had been left to rot in the sun for days.

Sam hesitated, his instincts telling him to turn back, but his curiosity got the better of him. The smell seemed to be coming from deeper in the woods, just past the bend in the river where it widened and slowed, snaking through the trees. His feet moved almost without thinking.

The forest felt denser here. The smell grew stronger with each step, and Sam swallowed back the urge to gag.

Then, he saw it.

A large buck stood near the riverbank, its muscular body straining against something that held it in place. The animal’s legs scraped and kicked against the ground, but it wasn’t moving. At first, Sam thought it was tangled in some sort of net or trap, but then he saw the truth.

Something huge was crouched behind the buck, its long, jagged claws hooked into the animal’s hind legs. The thing was enormous, at least twice the size of the buck, with a horse-like body twisted at angles that didn’t make sense. Its limbs were too long, and spikes jutted out from its hips, sharp and dark against the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

Sam froze, wide-eyed, as he took in the creature. He’d never seen anything like it. Its body was covered in patches of dark, mottled fur, and its arms were long and slender, ending in clawed hands with fingers stretched too far. But it was the creature’s head that made his stomach lurch.

It looked almost like a horse’s head, but something was wrong. The eyes were too large, bulging from the skull, glowing with an unnatural yellow light. And its mouth… it was smiling. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to Sam. The lips were pulled back in a wide grin that showed sharp, jagged teeth, too many teeth for a creature resembling a horse.

But the worst part—the part that made Sam’s skin prickle—was the two other heads that writhed and twisted from its chest. They looked like something out of a nightmare, large, worm-like things slick with veins, their skin stretched tight over bones that protruded at strange angles. They moved with an unnatural, jerking rhythm, like they were fighting to break free.

Before Sam could even register what he was seeing, the creature’s chest heads lunged forward, tearing into the buck’s flesh with sickening force. The buck let out a blood-curdling scream, its eyes rolling back as the creature’s jaws closed around its body. Sam clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes locked on the gruesome scene.

The creature tore into its prey with brutal efficiency, its chest heads gnashing and snapping through muscle and bone. Blood sprayed across the ground, staining the riverbank, and the buck’s cries grew weaker until they stopped entirely.

Sam’s body felt frozen, his muscles locked in place as he watched the creature devour its kill. His mind screamed at him to run, to get as far away as possible, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was stare.

Then the creature’s yellow eyes shifted, turning slowly until they locked onto him.

The head atop its shoulders—the one with the horrifying grin—seemed to widen, as though it were smiling just for him. It watched him knowingly, as if it understood his fear—and relished it. The chest heads continued tearing into the buck, but the eyes on the false head never wavered, pinning him in place.

Finally, the terror broke through Sam’s paralysis. He took a step back, then another. And then, as though some unseen force had released him, he turned and ran.

Branches whipped against his face, his feet stumbling over roots and rocks as he sprinted through the trees. His lungs burned, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Behind him, he could still feel the creature’s gaze, that awful yellow stare following him even as he tore through the forest.

When he reached the edge of the woods, he didn’t slow down. He bolted across his yard, up the porch steps, and flung himself inside, slamming the door shut behind him. His hands shook as he locked it, his body trembling from head to toe.

What he’d seen in the woods wasn’t just some strange animal.

Part II

Sam sat on the edge of the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, the television casting a faint, flickering glow across the darkened living room. The low hum of the local news droned in the background, but he wasn’t really listening. His mind was still in the woods, replaying the scene in endless loops: the way the creature’s glowing yellow eyes had found him, the slick, worm-like heads tearing into the buck, the awful sound of bones snapping.

He’d tried to tell his parents before they left for the night, but his dad had just chuckled and brushed it off. “Guess you shouldn’t be watching so many scary movies, huh, champ?”

His mother had paused for a moment, concern briefly furrowing her brow, but then she’d kissed his forehead and told him he’d feel better after some sleep.

They’d left him with the empty house and his racing thoughts. Sam felt an uneasy tension, his eyes darting between the front door and the windows.

The quiet grew thicker, filling the space around him. Sam hugged his knees tighter, straining his ears for any sound outside. The woods pressed up against the back of the house, dense and foreboding, shadows pooling just beyond the porch.

Then came the tapping.

It was faint at first, like claws scratching against wood. He froze, his eyes snapping to the window beside him. The tapping stopped. He held his breath, waiting, listening, but all he could hear was the soft hum of the television.

Just my imagination, he thought. Just nerves.

But then it started again. This time, louder, more insistent, like something trying to scrape its way inside.

Sam swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and forced himself to look at the window. The glass was dark, reflecting only the faint glow of the TV and his own wide-eyed face staring back at him. Just beyond the glass, something was there, watching him, waiting for him to look away—he knew it.

Another sound shattered the silence — a heavy, thunderous thud against the front door. The whole house seemed to shake with the force of it, and Sam nearly fell off the couch in shock. He stared at the door, frozen.

It can’t be…

Slowly, he got to his feet, every instinct screaming at him to run, to hide, but he couldn’t look away from the door. A shadow passed across the small circular window in the center of the door, stretching and shifting in the dim light. And then he saw it: the long, twisted neck, the monstrous head with its sickening grin, and those terrible yellow eyes staring straight at him.

The Broken Horse.

It had followed him.

The creature’s mouth stretched wider, peeling back in a grotesque smile. Its teeth gleamed in the darkness, and its eyes seemed to bore straight through him, as if it could see all the way to his soul.

Another loud thud shook the door, and the lights flickered. Sam’s legs trembled, his body going cold with fear.

He knew he should run, should hide, should do something, but his feet were rooted to the spot. The creature pressed closer to the window, its face filling the glass, those horrible eyes watching him with a dark, twisted satisfaction.

Then, suddenly, everything stopped.

The hum of the TV cut out. The clock on the wall froze mid-tick. The lights in the room dimmed and stayed that way, suspended in a strange half-flicker. Then Sam realized that time itself had stopped. He looked around, confused, feeling like he was trapped in a dream.

And then he saw it. The creature hadn’t stopped. Its eyes were still moving, still watching him, unaffected by the strange stillness that had overtaken everything else. It was just standing there, waiting, as if savoring his terror, enjoying every second.

Sam felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He was trapped, paralyzed—and unable to look away.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, time resumed.

The lights flickered back on, the hum of the TV returned, and the house felt normal again. Sam stumbled back, gasping, his body shaking from head to toe. He tore his gaze away from the door, struggling to catch his breath. When he dared to look back, the creature was gone. The window was empty, and the front yard was quiet and still.

He was alone.

Part III

The next day, Sam couldn’t focus at school. His mind replayed the events from last night over and over, every moment vivid and sharp. The creature’s yellow eyes, the way time had stopped, its grin in the darkness—all of it haunted him. It felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from, and the world around him seemed dull and unreal by comparison.

At lunch, he found his best friend, Ethan, sitting by the window in their usual spot in the cafeteria. Sam barely touched his food, his mind elsewhere.

Finally, after a long silence, he leaned across the table, his voice low. “I saw something last night, Ethan. In the woods.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced. “Come on, not another of your monster stories again. Haven’t we outgrown that?”

“I’m serious,” Sam whispered, leaning in closer. “It wasn’t like any animal. It followed me home, Ethan. It was outside my house… It froze time. I don’t know how, but it… it did. Everything stopped—except for the creature.”

Ethan’s eyes widened slightly, catching the fear in Sam’s face. He looked uncertain but leaned in, his voice softening. “Okay. Let’s say you did see something. What do you want to do about it?”

Sam looked away. “I don’t know. I just… I need to know what it was.”

After school, Sam headed straight to the library, his heart racing as he walked through the familiar doors. Inside, the library was quiet, with only the faint rustle of paper and the soft hum of the air conditioner breaking the silence. Mrs. Hawthorne, the librarian, sat behind her desk, her glasses perched on the end of her nose as she typed on her computer.

She looked up as Sam approached, a faint smile crossing her face. “Well, hello, Sam. Don’t see you in here too often. Looking for something specific?”

Sam hesitated, glancing around to make sure they were alone. “Uh… yeah. I was wondering if you had any, you know, old records. About… strange sightings around town?”

Mrs. Hawthorne studied him, her expression shifting as if she understood something unspoken. She gestured for him to follow, leading him to a back corner of the library filled with dusty binders and boxes. She pulled out a worn manila folder labeled Local Sightings and handed it to him.

“Most of what’s in here is just old stories,” she said, her voice soft. “Local legends, folklore… But there are a few oddities.”

Sam nodded, clutching the folder tightly. He found a table in the corner and opened the folder with trembling hands. Inside, he found faded Polaroids, each one blurry and indistinct. Dark shapes moved in the shadows, caught just out of focus. He turned one over, squinting at the handwriting on the back.

Taken by J. Mitchell, 1987. Disappeared three days later.

A chill ran down Sam’s spine. He sifted through the rest of the folder, finding article after article about strange sightings. In each case, the witnesses had either vanished mysteriously or been found dead, their bodies mangled beyond recognition.

One photo caught his eye, grainy but familiar. The same creature he had seen, twisted and monstrous, with that horrifying, unnatural grin. Even though the photo was out of focus, he recognized those yellow eyes staring out from the page.

Underneath, a small, handwritten caption read:
“The creature they say should not exist… a glitch in reality.”

The words lingered, stirring a deep sense of dread. If this thing was an error—a thing that shouldn’t exist—what else could it do? How could he escape something that defied reality itself?

He closed the folder, his hands shaking as he prepared to leave. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and gathered his things, turning to say goodbye to Mrs. Hawthorne.

But just as he stood, a cold, thick silence fell over the room.

The soft hum of the air conditioner stopped. The clock on the wall froze. Every sound, every movement, had ceased. Sam felt that same eerie stillness creeping over him, like he was in a bubble suspended in time.

And then he saw it.

The Broken Horse stood in the middle of the library, its tall, twisted form looming between the shelves. It was closer than it had ever been, its yellow eyes fixed on him with a dark, knowing hunger.

Sam’s mouth went dry, terror rooting him to the spot as he watched the creature move—slowly, deliberately—toward Mrs. Hawthorne, who was frozen mid-gesture, completely unaware of the creature’s presence.

The creature approached her, its movements almost languid, as if savoring every moment. Sam wanted to scream, to warn her, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. All he could do was watch as the creature extended one of its long, clawed fingers and slowly raked it across her cheek.

A thin line of blood appeared on Mrs. Hawthorne’s face, the bright red a stark contrast against her pale skin. The creature paused, watching her momentarily before lifting its clawed finger to its mouth. Its eyes never left Sam as it tasted the blood, its false head grinning wider, the mouths on its chest gnashing and writhing, hungry for more.

At that moment, Sam understood the truth. The creature was toying with him, showing him how easily it could harm or kill anyone it wanted. If it decided to, it could tear him apart right then and there, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The creature tilted its head, its twisted grin widening as if enjoying his fear. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it stepped back, melting into the shadows between the shelves. Time resumed, the clock ticking, the faint hum of the air conditioner filling the silence once more.

Mrs. Hawthorne blinked, reaching up in surprise as her fingers touched the fresh cut on her cheek. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked at the blood on her fingers.

Sam opened his mouth, about to tell her what he had seen, but stopped. The look in her eyes told him she already knew.

They stared at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She didn’t ask him to explain, and he didn’t offer. There was nothing left to say.

“Take care, Sam,” Mrs. Hawthorne whispered. He nodded awkwardly, gathered his things, and headed for the door.

Upon reaching them, he bolted.

She didn’t try to stop him.

Part IV

Sam didn’t stop running until he was halfway home, his chest burning, his legs trembling from the effort. He gripped the straps of his backpack tightly, his mind racing as he replayed what had just happened at the library.

The Broken Horse hadn’t just shown itself—it had demonstrated its power. Time had frozen again, and it had taken its time to toy with Mrs. Hawthorne, leaving her with a cut she didn’t see coming and a look in her eyes that Sam would never forget. She had known. She had understood exactly what had happened, even without him saying a word.

Sam burst through his front door, slamming it shut behind him and throwing the deadbolt. His parents were still at work, and the house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. He leaned against the door, trying to steady his breathing, but the silence felt suffocating.

He dropped his backpack on the floor and made his way to the living room, collapsing onto the couch. His body felt heavy, his limbs leaden with exhaustion, but his mind wouldn’t stop racing. The creature wasn’t just some mindless predator—it was intelligent. It was purposeful. And it had marked him.

The library folder sat on the coffee table where he’d dropped it the night before. He reached for it with trembling hands, flipping through the pages again. Each story, each photograph, was a reminder of what he was up against. Disappearances, deaths, people torn apart and left as unrecognizable heaps of flesh and bone.

One photograph caught his eye: a blurry image of the creature in the woods, its head tilted toward the camera. The caption read: Taken near the Feather Falls River, 2001. Witness found dead two days later.

The words witness found dead seemed to leap off the page. Sam’s stomach churned as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Everyone who had seen the creature had either disappeared or died shortly after. Everyone.

The room suddenly felt colder. He clenched his fists, his mind spiraling. What was the point of running if it would come for him anyway? The Broken Horse wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard of before—it didn’t follow rules, didn’t leave a pattern that made sense. It was a mistake, a glitch, and somehow, it had decided he was next.

Sam glanced toward the window, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the curtains. The woods beyond his backyard loomed dark and silent, the trees casting long, spindly shadows across the ground. Fear twisted in his gut, but with it came a growing determination. He couldn’t just sit here, waiting for the creature to come for him. If he was going to survive, he had to do something.

But what?

* * * * * *

That night, Sam lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His parents had come home hours ago, but he hadn’t said a word to them about the creature. What could he say? They wouldn’t believe him, just like they hadn’t believed him the first time. To them, he was just a kid with an overactive imagination.

His mind drifted back to the library, to the way the creature had drawn blood from Mrs. Hawthorne and tasted it, as if savoring the act. The way it had looked at him afterward, its chest heads snapping their jaws hungrily. It had wanted him to know that it could kill him whenever it wanted. That he was powerless.

Sam sat up abruptly, his hands clutching the blanket. He couldn’t just wait for it to come. If the Broken Horse wanted him, then he’d have to face it on his terms.

Throwing off the blanket, Sam got out of bed and grabbed his flashlight from the nightstand. He pulled on his sneakers and crept to the window. The woods loomed just beyond the backyard, dark and foreboding, but he knew what he had to do. If he didn’t end this now, it would never stop.

He opened the window as quietly as possible, climbing onto the soft grass. The cool night air sent a shiver down his spine as he switched on the flashlight and made his way toward the treeline. The beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating the twisted trunks and gnarled branches of the trees.

Sam stepped inside and followed the familiar path to the river. The flashlight’s beam wavered as his hands trembled, but he pressed on, his jaw set with determination. He didn’t know what he would do when he found the creature, but he couldn’t let it control his life. He had to take a stand.

The river came into view, its surface glinting faintly under the moonlight. Sam stopped at the edge of the water and scanned the trees. The forest around him was eerily still.

And then he heard it.

The sound of claws scraping against bark was faint but unmistakable. Sam’s flashlight snapped toward the source of the sound. The beam of light caught movement between the trees—something tall and twisted, with glowing yellow eyes.

The Broken Horse stepped into the clearing, its false head grinning at him, its yellow eyes glinting with malice. The chest heads wriggled and snapped, their mouths opening and closing hungrily.

Sam stepped back, his hands trembling as he held the flashlight steady. The creature tilted its head, its grin widening as it watched him.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the rush of the river behind him, its current carrying the cold weight of inevitability.

Sam tightened his grip on the flashlight. If this was it—if this was where it ended—he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Part V

The Broken Horse stood at the edge of the clearing, its enormous frame casting an unnatural shadow under the faint glow of the moonlight. Sam could see every grotesque detail in sharp relief: the twisted limbs, the jagged spikes protruding from its hips, the unnatural grin stretched across its false head. But it was the chest heads that terrified him most—the way they writhed and snapped, their gaping mouths dripping with a slick, dark fluid that glistened in the dim light.

The creature began to move. It didn’t charge or rush at him like a wild animal. Instead, it stepped forward methodically, as if savoring his fear. Each movement was calculated, the crunch of its claws on the forest floor echoing in the stillness.

The flashlight shook in Sam’s trembling hands. He wanted to run, but he knew there was no point. The Broken Horse was faster and stronger, and it could stop time itself. He was outmatched in every way.

“Why me?” Sam’s voice cracked. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What do you want from me?”

The creature tilted its head, the motion almost inquisitive. Its glowing yellow eyes locked onto his, and Sam felt his legs weaken for a moment, as though the gaze alone could pull the strength from his body. The chest heads snapped and wriggled, their mouths opening and closing in silent hunger.

Sam took a shaky step back, the flashlight beam flickering as he struggled to hold it steady. The river behind him roared in his ears, its current swift and unrelenting. He could feel the cold spray on his skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his fear.

The Broken Horse stopped a few feet away, its twisted form towering over him. It leaned closer, its false head grinning wider, the teeth glinting like shards of glass. Sam could do nothing but stare into its awful, glowing eyes.

And then it happened.

The world froze.

The sound of the river disappeared and the wind stopped. Even the faint rustle of leaves fell silent. Sam looked around frantically, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. The creature had stopped time again.

It moved toward him. Sam couldn’t budge, couldn’t look away as the Broken Horse reached out one of its long, clawed hands, its sharp tips catching the faint moonlight.

Tears stung Sam’s eyes as he stood frozen, helpless, the creature’s claw grazing his cheek. The touch was surprisingly light, almost delicate, but it sent a shiver down his spine. The creature tilted its head again, as if studying him, and then slowly brought the claw to its mouth.

The chest heads snapped and writhed, their mouths opening in a silent, eager frenzy as the creature tasted his blood. The false head grinned wider, its yellow eyes gleaming with malice.

Time resumed with a sudden jolt. The sound of the river roared back into his ears, the wind rustling through the trees. The Broken Horse was still there, standing just a few feet away, its chest heads snapping hungrily.

Sam stumbled back, his foot slipping on the slick rocks near the riverbank. He barely managed to catch himself. The creature didn’t move. It just stood there, watching him, as if waiting for something.

Sam’s fear turned to anger. He was tired of being the prey, tired of being helpless. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to meet the creature’s gaze. “Why don’t you just kill me already?” he shouted, his voice breaking. “Isn’t that what you want?”

The Broken Horse tilted its head again. For a moment, Sam thought he saw something like amusement in its glowing eyes. Then, without a sound, it turned and began to retreat, its long limbs carrying it back into the shadows.

Sam watched it go, his chest heaving with every labored breath. He didn’t understand what had just happened. The creature could have killed him, but it hadn’t. It had tasted his blood, shown him its power, but then it had left.

The forest was silent again, the shadows deep and impenetrable. Sam stood there for a long moment, the flashlight beam shaking in his hands as he tried to make sense of what he’d just experienced.

When he finally turned to leave, his legs felt like lead, his steps unsteady as he made his way back through the woods. The events of the night replayed in his mind, each moment etched into his memory. The creature’s grin, the way it had tasted his blood, the hunger in its chest heads—it all felt like a warning.

As he approached the edge of the woods, the familiar sight of his house came into view. The lights in the living room were still on, a warm glow cutting through the darkness. Sam felt a surge of relief as he climbed the porch steps and let himself inside, locking the door behind him.

Part VI

The days after Sam’s confrontation with the Broken Horse blurred together. He went to school, ate his meals, and tried to act normal around his parents, but nothing felt right. The creature’s presence lingered, its glowing eyes and twisted grin burned into his memory.

At night, sleep became impossible. Every gust of wind outside sounded like claws scraping against the walls. He kept his flashlight by his bed, clutching it tightly as if it could somehow protect him.

But the Broken Horse didn’t come.

Not at first.

Three nights after the incident at the river, Sam woke to the sound of tapping. He bolted upright in bed, his ears strained to confirm what he’d heard. The tapping came again, louder this time, and his blood ran cold as he realized it was coming from the window.

He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t stop himself. His hands trembled as he reached for the flashlight and clicked it on. The beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating the curtains. He stood slowly, his legs shaking, and pulled them back.

It was there.

The Broken Horse stood just beyond the glass, its tall, twisted frame barely fitting within the edges of the window. Its false head grinned at him, the yellow eyes gleaming like burning coals. The chest heads writhed and snapped, their mouths opening in silent hunger.

Sam stumbled back, his flashlight shaking in his hands. The creature didn’t move, didn’t try to break through the glass. It just stood there, watching him, as if waiting for something.

“Leave me alone,” Sam whispered. “Please… just leave me alone.”

The creature tilted its head, the grin on its false head widening. For a moment, Sam thought it might actually listen, but then it lifted one clawed hand and pressed it against the glass. The sound was sharp, like nails on a chalkboard, and Sam flinched, covering his ears.

And then it was gone.

One moment, it was there, and the next, the window was empty. Sam stood there for a long while, staring at the glass. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

* * * * * *

Over the next week, the sightings became more frequent. The Broken Horse appeared in the woods outside his house, its glowing eyes cutting through the darkness. It stood in the shadows at the edge of the schoolyard, just out of sight of the teachers and other students. It even followed him into town, its twisted silhouette visible in reflections in shop windows and puddles on the sidewalk.

No one else seemed to notice.

Sam tried to tell Ethan, but his friend only shrugged, thinking it was another one of Sam’s “stories.” Even Mrs. Hawthorne, who had clearly known more than she let on, had grown distant and uneasy. When he tried to talk to her, she’d simply shaken her head and told him to be careful.

The sense of isolation was overwhelming. Sam felt like he was the only one who could see the truth, the only one who understood the danger. And the worst part was knowing that no matter where he went, the creature would follow.

It wasn’t just haunting him. It was hunting him.

* * * * * *

It was on a Saturday night, just as the sun was setting, that Sam decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his flashlight and a heavy wooden baseball bat from the garage, his hands trembling as he stared out at the woods.

“If you want me so bad,” he muttered under his breath, “then come and get me.”

The forest was dark and silent as he stepped onto the familiar trail, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the shadows. Soon, the river came into view, its surface dark and churning. Sam stopped at the edge, his chest heaving as he scanned the trees. The flashlight’s beam flickered over the branches, the gnarled roots, the rocks along the bank.

And then it appeared.

The Broken Horse stepped into the clearing, its twisted limbs moving with unsettling grace. The chest heads snapped and writhed, their mouths open and drooling, while the false head grinned wider than ever.

Sam stood his ground. His legs shook, but he refused to back down. “You want me? Fine. I’m not running away. Let’s finish this.”

The creature tilted its head, as if amused, and began to move toward him, the ground crunching beneath its claws. Sam raised the bat, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle.

When the creature was only a few feet away, it stopped. Time froze again.

Sam felt the familiar stillness settle over the world, the sound of the river disappearing, the wind ceasing. The flashlight hung mid-flicker in his hand, its beam suspended in the air. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink as the creature stepped closer.

The Broken Horse loomed over him, its false head grinning down at him, its chest heads snapping hungrily. One of its claws reached out and hovered just inches from his face. Sam braced himself for the worst, but the creature didn’t strike.

Instead, it leaned in closer, its yellow eyes burning into his. The mouths on its chest gnashed and snapped, but the creature didn’t attack. It was toying with him, savoring his fear, reminding him of its power.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

Time resumed, the sounds of the forest rushing back into his ears. Sam collapsed to his knees, the bat falling from his hands as he gasped for air.

* * * * * *

Sam never saw the Broken Horse again, but he felt its presence everywhere. In the shadows of the woods, in the quiet moments of the night, in the stillness that sometimes settled over the world. It was always there, watching, waiting.

He didn’t tell anyone what had happened. No one would believe him, and even if they did, what could they do? The Broken Horse wasn’t something that could be stopped. It wasn’t something that could be understood.

It was a glitch, a mistake, a thing that shouldn’t exist. And yet, it did.

As the weeks turned into months, Sam learned to live with the fear, to carry it with him like a scar. But he never forgot the creature’s grin, how it had tasted his blood—or its hunger.

And he knew that one day it would return.

And when it did, he worried, it would finish what it started.