"The Eight O´clock Horses" by Emma-Jane C. Smith

“Go to bed now Bobby before it’s eight o’clock. You know what will happen if you don’t!” Bobby’s mother warned him as she switched off the television set.

“Mum! Will you stop with that, I’m too old for that story.” Bobby complained, upset with the constant and restrictive rule of an early bedtime.

“Bobby…” she said, her voice serious.

“All right, I’m going.” Bobby grumbled, getting up from the beanbag.

He headed up the stairs to his room with a look of abject displeasure on his face. As he slumped down heavily onto his bed he watched his alarm clock click over to 7:42pm.

“Rotten early nights.” Bobby muttered.

For a while he laid in bed thinking of the story his mum had told him nearly every night before bed when he was younger. The Eight O’clock Horses, one ebony, the other ivory. Black and white. It was an odd concept, Bobby thought, that some sort of ghost horses would come to take him away if he was not in bed by eight. Bobby pictured the horses in his mind, their glossy gleaming coats, their red eyes that could see through concrete walls, and of course long sharp teeth to pull him away to the Other World.

Bobby let out a snort. He did not believe in such wild and impossible things. Especially since he was sure his school friends had stayed up much later and they had not been visited by any dumb mutant horses. Bobby shifted around, seeking a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress.

It was a dark night that night except for the streetlight that shone brightly through the leaves of the tree that stood outside his window. Shadows flickered across the ceiling. Black and white. Sniggering at the foolishness of the old story, he rolled onto his side. But Bobby could feel the cold chills of fear down his spine. He debated for a moment in his mind whether to turn his lamp on for the night. But he never wanted to be thought a coward so his simply snuggled down into his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He lay there anxiously for a while before sleep came and took him.

Bobby dreamed that he was floating, hovering above his bed. Then he began to move slowly towards the bedroom door which opened itself to let him pass. Strange. Bobby thought. I’ve never had a floating dream before. Finally, he reached the lounge room, everything appeared to be normal and silent. As Bobby hovered, he felt uneasiness rise in his stomach. Something wasn’t right.

Then came a tolling sound and Bobby’s gaze immediately flew to the clock. It was eight o’clock! In a panic he tried to fly back to his room but some invisible force held him there, hovering. There was nothing to grab hold of and nothing to hide behind.

Suddenly, the noise stopped, giving way to an excruciating silence. For a breathless moment Bobby waited anxiously, his eyes wide with fear. Then came the only sound he dreaded. The whinny of a horse. Immediately, Bobby struggled to make himself fall to the ground so he could race back up to his room but it was no use. Hooves sounded loudly through the house, getting louder the closer they came to where Bobby hovered, vulnerable.

Then they were at the lounge room door. Two horses, one black, one ghostly pale.

“I was in bed!” Bobby cried out to them in panic, “It wasn’t my fault I’m here! Honest. I sort of floated here but I can’t control it… please don’t take me away! Please!”

The horses seemed to ignore his words and moved in closer, their teeth white and sharp like tigers’. They snorted, making puffs of hot, smelly breath into the air. When they were inches from Bobby’s hovering face, he could see the madness in their red eyes. The Eight O’clock Horses opened their mouths, bearing the teeth that could slice through brick. Bobby screamed.

And woke. Sweat slicked his face as he sat up in bed. He was sure his mother would come to his room to see what the matter was. Strangely, he heard nothing but the thundering of his heart in his chest and so he thought perhaps she had not heard. Bobby wiped his wet face with a sleeve and tried to calm himself down. He was too afraid to go to find his mother, the time on his alarm clock telling him that it was now 10:04pm in glaring red numbers. Trying to stop quivering Bobby snuggled further down in his bed, too apprehensive to sleep. But soon enough Bobby was, but thankfully, he slept dreamlessly.

The next morning Bobby walked cautiously downstairs for breakfast. His father sat reading the morning’s newspaper at the dining table, while his mother was frying bacon, eggs and tomato in the kitchen. The food’s greasy smells filled the morning air with a noxious yet tasty aroma.

“Ah, Bobby,” his father greeted as Bobby sat down, “Good to see you. It’s been quite a few days hasn’t it. How have you been while I was away?”

“Okay,” Bobby mumbled as he began to nibble at the food his mother had already placed before him.

“Look Bobby, I know you’re upset that I wasn’t here over the weekend to spend time with you. But my work requires sacrifices every now and then,” his father said, mistaking the cause of his son’s gloomy mood.

“No, it’s alright, Dad.” Bobby reassured him. The brief conversation ended, silence yawned to fill its gap.

For the rest of the week Bobby made sure he was in bed well before eight o’clock. On Monday he went to bed fifteen minutes before eight, on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday he was beneath the covers well before seven-thirty. It wasn’t until Friday night that he slipped into bed at the earliest time, seven pm. Anxiously, Bobby waited for sleep to come… but it didn’t.

It seemed a long time that Bobby lay there, dreadfully awake. The dream he had had about the Eight O’clock Horses affected him deeply, even though he was loath to admit it. All of a sudden, something pulled Bobby out of gloomy contemplation. He felt the urge to make use of the toilet. Bobby’s eyes travelled to his alarm clock; it glared back at him, telling him it was 7:55pm in burning red numbers.

“Oh no!” he whispered to himself, “I’ll never be able to hold it until tomorrow morning!”

Bobby knew that his mother would be furious if he wet the bed, so, gathering his courage, Bobby ran for the bathroom. He told himself he would have to be faster than fast. Bobby’s feet thundered on the wood as he ran. When he arrived he lifted the lid with a clink.

At last he was nearly finished then he felt a frozen chill run down his spine. Why was it so cold all of a sudden? He wondered. He looked around as he flushed the toilet; the bathroom mirror had begun to frost over. Bobby stared at it in shock, terror leeching into his face. His time was up.

The Eight O’clock Horses melted into shape out of the frosted glass, and became more detailed the longer Bobby stared. He was frozen to the spot. He could see huge serrated teeth set into large snouts, their blood red eyes looked at him with a freakish rage. He knew they were coming for him and Bobby felt his apprehension heighten.

“Oh no!” he whispered. At his words his legs seemed too come back under his command and he raced quickly for his room. He tried not to make too much noise as he ran on the wooden floor. His mind filled with panicked chaos.

When Bobby reached his room he launched himself at his bed and frantically began to pull the sheets up over his shaking body. The horses came after him; their hooves loud as were their noses as they heaved frosted smoke into the air. Bobby laid there, his eyes opened only enough so that he could see them. He prayed they would think he was asleep and go away.

They stood in his doorway, blood dripping from their maws as they gnashed their sharp ivory teeth. Then they trotted slowly into the room, searching with their eyes of hot flame. Bobby shrank under the covers, desperately praying that they would leave. Suddenly, one of them sniffed the air and then snorted. They walked closer to the bed, their hooves making echoed sounds on the bedroom floor.

When the horses finally trotted over to the bed, frothy and bloodied saliva dripped from their mouths onto Bobby bedcovers. Bobby could feel the horses’ hot breath on his face through the heavy blankets. First the black horse reared, then the white. Their hooves beat the air above his bed, threatening to strike him repeatedly until he was dead. Then with a stab of terror he felt them rip off his bed covers and lean in so that their angry faces were inches from his. If Bobby hadn’t already relieved himself, he would have wet his bed.

“P-please don’t hurt me.” Bobby whimpered, curling up into a tight ball.

They ignored him and then, with a flash of sharp teeth they each grabbed a mouthful of Bobby’s pyjama shirt and proceeded to pull him off the bed.

“Noooo!” Bobby wailed and they dragged him down the hall. “Mum! Dad! Help me!” he called but neither of them came.

“I must be dreaming again,” he whispered desperately but knew it wasn’t true. This was far too real to be a dream.

Then Bobby saw where they were dragging him, back to the bathroom. He let out a horrified scream, remembering the story his parents used to tell him every night before bed.

The Eight O’clock Horses were demons from the Other World who preyed on human flesh. They preferred young children and came to take them if they were out of bed after eight. Supposedly the doorway between the worlds only opened after that time.

The black horse would tear at your flesh and through magic, make you insane as if it were eating your mind. The white horse, a ghost horse would devour your flesh and soul.

Bobby let out a shrill scream as he was pulled unwillingly through the bathroom mirror. There was no way he could escape his fate.

The Other World was a world of black with a chilling fog that sedately drifted on a non-existent wind. There were no other shapes or forms besides his and that of the horses who had brought him such bad luck.

With a sudden flick of their tails, both horses let Bobby go. Bobby turned to watch them, trying to stop his involuntary quivering.

Suddenly, the horses began to change. Wait a minute. Bobby thought. This wasn’t part of the story his parents had told him. He was puzzled and yet allowed himself a glimmer of hope. Still frantic to get back to his own world, Bobby turned back to the mirror and banged his fists on it. He screamed loudly for his parents to come. From this side he could see into his bathroom, the stark white tiles, and the tidy folded towels in the corner. With all his might Bobby wished his parents would at least hear his pounding in the mirror and come to investigate.

“Bobby,” came a voice from behind him.

He turned, recognising the voice.

“What…? How…?” Bobby asked.

Before him stood his parents, his father in a jet black suit and his mother in a clean white dress.

“I don’t understand,” he told them, his mind in a whirl.

“You know Bobby, we warned you not to be out of bed later than eight o’clock,” his mother told him.

“Yes, now you must suffer the same curse as us. At eight every night you too will become a horse, a monster, like us,” his father added.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“A long time ago someone placed a curse on us and we became monsters. When you were born we were desperate to stop it happening to you. So your father and I placed a spell on your bed. As long as you stayed in there from eight o’clock at night to dawn the next day you were safe,” his mother explained to him, sadness creeping into her voice.

“Why haven’t you told me before now?” Bobby asked, feeling betrayed.

“Would you have believed us Bobby if we had been allowed?” his father asked, “I know you son, you would have tested us. You would have stayed out of bed after eight o’clock. Then the curse would be upon you. We told you that bedtime story to keep you cautious enough to stay where you were safe. But the real reason we keep the truth hidden from you was that we were forbidden to tell you. Those who are not afflicted by the curse must not be told of its existence, nor its terrible power.”

“Are you telling me that I’m going to be one of those horrible creatures for the rest of my life? From bedtime to dawn?”

“Yes,” came the short reply.

Suddenly Bobby doubled over. His stomach in pain.

“What’s happening?” he asked, his eyes wild.

“You know what’s happening, son,” his father said, his voice different.

Bobby looked up at his father, his teeth were growing long and sharp. He looked at his mother and she was changing too. Another bolt of pain leaped through Bobby. He felt as if his insides were literally doing summersaults. Bobby put his hands to his face. He felt sharp teeth, an elongated nose that was widening into a snout. Then his looked down at his hands, they began to harden, shrinking into hooves just like his feet.

“Mum hel-!” he called out frantically. His words were cut off. He could no longer speak!

He was an Eight O’clock Horse. A cursed boy. Changed.

Finally, it was over. Bobby stood with his parents. Their black and white coats gleaming.

Time to go back to our own world Bobby. Came his mother’s voice into his mind.

She led the way back through the bathroom mirror. Her hoofed feet as if by magic, easily stood in mid air to make it through the porthole.

Am I to go to bed now? Bobby asked, wondering how he could sleep on his bed while he was such a horrible equine monster.

His father’s red eyes moved to look at him.

Of course not. He explained. It is part of our curse that we must do a certain task every night. Otherwise we will be cursed for all time, not just after bedtime.

Then what must we do?

Eat. Came the short reply.

Isn’t it a bit hard to do cooking while we’re horses? He asked.

Who said anything about cooking? Follow us.

Bobby followed, his hooves sounded noisily on the carpeted and wooden floors. His parents led him out of the house and down the street.

Won’t we be seen? Bobby asked. What if someone calls the police?

They cannot see us unless we let them.

We’re here. His mother announced as they reached a strange house.

With a snort his father led them to the side of the house to the one window that had light shining from it. Bobby looked in. He saw a boy about his age, yawning as he watched tv. The clock hanging on one of the walls told the time to be 8:30pm.

Bobby’s father turned to him.

Son. You must make the kill.

What?! Bobby exclaimed, horrified.

This is what we eat, what we must eat to preserve us. He is out of bed after eight o’clock. You must kill him!

Bobby swallowed, not believing this was happening. It was too unreal, to strange.

Do it Bobby, do it or you will remain like this forever. His mother told him, urging him on.

No! I can’t! But even as he said the words a strange feeling crept over him.

Bobby’s mouth opened and he began to salivate. He hungered for blood, for fresh, young meat to sink his teeth into. He wanted blood to drink to quench his almighty thirst. Eat… He muttered to himself.

Bobby could no longer resist the compulsion to feed.

He began to climb through the window. The last thing the child saw was a grey horse with glowing red eyes…. And the last thing he felt was pain.

To every little boy and girl out there…. Bed before eight or the curse will get you!

MUWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!

The End