A Nest of Nightmares

‘It must be the Indian curse,’ she said. She tried to smile, but she felt an unease which she knew could build into an open dread.

‘Do you suppose this is what the spirit who haunts this land is supposed to look like?’ Derek asked.

‘What else?’

‘Odd that it should be a horse, then, instead of some animal indigenous to the area. The legend must have arisen after the white man – ’

‘But it’s not a horse,’ Marilyn said. ‘Look at it.’

‘It’s not a horse exactly, no,’ he agreed, standing and dusting his hands. ‘But it’s more a horse than it is anything else.’

‘It’s so fierce,’ Marilyn murmured. She looked away, into Kelly’s eager face.

‘Well, now that you’ve cleaned up the barn, what are you going to do?’

‘Now we’re going to catch the horse.’

‘What horse?’

‘The wild one, the one we hear at night.’

‘Oh, that. Well, it must be miles away by now. Someone else must have caught it.’

Kelly shook her head. ‘I heard it last night. It was practically outside my window, but when I looked it was gone. I could see its hoof-prints in the snow.’

‘You’re not going out again?’

The children turned blank eyes on her, ready to become hostile, or tearful, if she were going to be difficult.

‘I mean,’ Marilyn said apologetically, ‘you’ve been out all morning, running around. And it’s still snowing. Why don’t you just let your food digest for a while – get out your colouring books, or a game or something, and play in here where it’s warm.’

‘We can’t stop now,’ Kelly said. ‘We might catch the horse this afternoon.’

‘And if you don’t, do you intend to go out every day until you do?’

‘Of course,’ Kelly said. The other children nodded.

Marilyn’s shoulders slumped as she gave in. ‘Well, wrap up. And don’t go too far from the house in case it starts snowing harder. And don’t stay out too long, or you’ll get frostbite.’ The children were already moving away from her as she spoke. They live in another world, Marilyn thought, despairing.

She wondered how long this would go on. The barn project had held within it a definite end, but Marilyn could not believe the children would ever catch the horse they sought. She was not even certain there was a horse out in that snow to be caught, even though she had been awakened more than once by the shrill, distant screaming that might have been a horse neighing.

Marilyn went to Derek’s office and climbed again into the hidden window seat. The heavy curtains muffled the steady beat of Derek’s typewriter, and the falling snow muffled the country beyond the window. She picked up another of the small green volumes and began to read.

‘Within a month of his arrival, Martin Hoskins was known in Janeville for two things. One: he intended to bring industry, wealth, and population to upstate New York, and to swell the tiny hamlet into a city. Second: a man without wife or children, Hoskins’ pride, passion, and delight was in his six beautiful horses.

‘Martin had heard the legend that his land was cursed, but, as he wrote to a young woman in New York City, “The Indians were driven out of these parts long ago, and their curses with them, I’ll wager. For what is an Indian curse without an Indian knife or arrow to back it?”

‘It was true that the great Indian tribes had been dispersed or destroyed, but a few Indians remained: tattered and homeless in the White Man’s world. Martin Hoskins met one such young brave on the road to Janeville one morning.

‘ “I must warn you, sir,” said the ragged but proud young savage. “The land upon which you dwell is inhabited by a powerful spirit.”

‘ “I’ve heard that tale before,” responded Hoskins, shortly but not unkindly. “And I don’t believe in your heathen gods; I’m not afraid of ’em.”

‘ “This spirit is no god of ours, either. But my people have known of it, and respected it, for as many years as we have lived on this land. Think of this spirit not as a god, but as a force . . . something powerful in nature which cannot be reasoned with or fought – something like a storm.”

‘ “And what do you propose I do?” asked Hoskins.

‘ “Leave that place. Do not try to live there. The spirit cannot follow you if you leave, but it cannot be driven out, either. The spirit belongs to the land as much as the land belongs to it.”

‘Martin Hoskins laughed harshly. “You ask me to run from something I do not believe in! Well, I tell you this: I believe in storms, but I do not run from them. I’m strong; what can that spirit do to me?”

‘The Indian shook his head sorrowfully. “I cannot say what it may do. I only know that you will offend it by dwelling where it dwells, and the more you offend it, the more certainly will it destroy you. Do not try to farm there, nor keep animals. That land knows only one master and will not take to another. There is only one law, and one master on that land. You must serve it, or leave.”

‘ “I serve no master but myself – and my God,” Martin said.’