EXCLUSIVE TO TBM! A brand new story especially written for this site by DEAN VINCENT CARTER, author of The Hand of the Devil, Hunting Season and the forthcoming Blood Water.
Remember the “olde worlde shiny black coach pulled by four horses“ from About Trapped By Monsters? Now read on…!
TALES OF THE BLACK CARRIAGE – SANCTUARY
by Dean Vincent Carter
Howling…
I could do nothing but pray for an easy death – quick, painless, and without the necessity to confront face-on the horror that pursued me. Out of breath, dizzy from fatigue and lost, I could see no way out for me. I was the consummate victim now, the figurehead of the doomed. And then I heard it: the sound of hooves, and of wooden cartwheels rattling on uneven ground. I lifted my head up and struggled up the bank, clawing at the leaves and damp ground to heave myself forward. As I reached the rise I spied it, its lanterns banishing the night around it in twin halos like burning eyes.
The Black Carriage was twisting its way along the overgrown, forgotten road, heading who knew where. It was still some distance from where I crouched, and if I could move fast enough I might head it off before it passed and left me abandoned in the forest to be devoured by the panting nightmare that pursued me, still baying, still crying out for my blood. I dredged the strength necessary from the bowels of my will to haul myself back to my feet and propel me forward through the trees toward where I guessed the road must lie, all the while keeping my eyes on those lights, praying they would not change direction. Again there came another shuddering howl from somewhere behind me that made my head throb and the hairs on my neck prick up. Why was it taunting me? The beast was surely faster than I, could surely have caught me by now, and yet it remained ever behind as though waiting. But for what? Forward, moaning, stumbling, I espied the grey line of the road ahead and pushed on toward it, not wanting to look back, not for one second in case I saw it, that monstrosity. For it was indeed the sight of the thing that inspired more terror in me than anything it might do to me.
My arms were rent with a multitude of scratches as I dashed through the forest, pushing branches apart as I went, and then, there was the road. I stopped and turned in the direction of the carriage, just as it turned a corner and came toward me. I held my arms up and waved them, praying the horses would cease their motion. There was a cacophony of whinnying and exhalation as the animals reared up and stopped just in time to avoid trampling me beneath their hooves. The carriage rocked and swayed itself to a stop as I walked around to the side and saw a curtain move in the window, then a face. I knocked on the glass mouthing my urgent request to be allowed ingress. Another face joined that at the window, then another, but still the door did not open. I grasped the door handle and pulled but it did not yield. The occupants had no idea who I was, nor if I was someone they wanted inside their carriage. This I understood. All authors knew the secret of the Black Carriage and the sanctuary it afforded those on the run from the horrors of their own imagination. The occupants were safe, and opening the door to the carriage jeopardised that safety. I needed to convince them that I was no threat.
At once there came another terrible howl as of some huge wounded hound, crying in pain. But this was no mutt, this was my enemy, and it was closer now, practically upon me, ravenous for my flesh.
‘Gods, open this door!’ I ordered, but the faces remained unsure, troubled. I stepped back from the carriage and turned to look into the forest. I could feel it nearing the road, could hear its panting more loudly now, smell its musty animal odour. I could also hear the voices inside the carriage, debating the situation, deciding whether to allow me inside or carry on. I prayed the debate would not last long, and that the outcome would be in my favour.
‘Please hurry,” my voice wavered as I continued gazing into the darkness from whence I’d emerged. Just then the window slid open and a bespectacled face appeared.
‘Who are you?’
‘I don’t remember my name,’ I replied, for this was the truth. ‘But something terrible is after me. I am sure it will tear me apart any second now if you do not let me in!’
The man looked into the forest and asked:
‘What is it that’s after you? A monster?’
‘Yes!’ I insisted. ‘Something truly hideous.’ Another howl, this time louder, this time closer. The creature now had to be hiding in the undergrowth by the side of the road. The howl had almost rocked the carriage. The face in the window went pale. I turned from him to the forest.
‘Hang on,’ the voice came from the carriage. ‘We’re having trouble with this door. We’ll have you in here in a second.’
Something emerged from the side of the road, came forward, and I felt a ripple through my body. At once memories came flooding back, awful ones, catastrophic ones. My name also came back to me. Carter. Dean Vincent Carter. But this seemed an irrelevance now, an incidental detail among more vital revelations. There was another ripple, I coughed, gagged, then looked down to my exposed legs seeing before feeling the buckling of bones, the maddening growth of hair. As I ground my teeth they fell out one by one to be replaced by sharper ones that bit into my expanding tongue to draw blood.
Now I knew what had pursued me, what had been howling for my blood all those hours. It had been the horror within me, and it had finally caught up.
‘Close the window,’ I called out in a gargled, guttural voice. ‘And get on your way!’
‘But we can help…’
‘No!’ I insisted, turning to meet the eyes that gazed out at me from the window. The change of expression was further confirmation of what was happening to my poor body. ‘Get on your way, NOW!’ The window slammed shut and the carriage bucked forward as the horses received their orders. At once a white light blinded me and all sound disappeared. When my vision and hearing cleared I found myself suddenly atop the carriage, pulling and clawing at the roof, trying to prise it off as though it were the lid of a coffin. If I did manage to get inside then it would indeed become a coffin, for the thing that had control of me certainly sought to destroy those within. I roared my frustration and then, inexplicably found that I was back in control again. I was still a monster caught between man and wolf, but now the actions were mine and mine alone. I let out an awful howl that was part anger, part resignation, then leapt from the roof, back into the all-consuming darkness of the forest.
As the Black Carriage continued on its way I became determined to find a cure for my sickness, or else a way to permanently control it. For I was not the only one besieged by horror. I could smell the foul beasts that pursued that dark vehicle of hope, and I knew I could fight them. If only there was a way of controlling my infection, harnessing it. This I would learn, then I would find the Black Carriage once more and destroy those evil fiends that followed it.
THE END…?
