Henry's Ridge

“My name is Bradley, it is December 13th and as of writing this I am thirty-four years of age. “ A man read aloud to his two companions, pausing to look to them to make sure they were listening.

“I am writing this so no one else will end up like the Richardsons. So everyone can know that their fears were real, and no one has to make the same mistake as I have.

I purchased this cabin last winter and when the snow thawed in the spring I moved in. What I did before this I will not go into here, just that I have been here for a little over 8 months. Everything was wonderful, spring up here on the ridge is great, peaceful. Plenty of wildlife and gorgeous scenery, it is truly magnificent.

Then, once the initial supplies and food began to dwindle I decided it was time to do some hunting. Maybe bag a nice deer, grab a few rabbits, might as well fish as well, there was a small lake, nearly a pond, nearby that was lousy with big mouth bass. I’d gone out, rifle slung over one shoulder, and followed the deer trails a little further up the ridge. I found a good tree to climb with thick sturdy branches and sat up there for awhile.

I had been hunting before, and I know this was not the way to do it, but I was having fun! I wasn’t starving, and if I didn’t get anything I could always go fishing or head down the ridge into town. Besides, climbing a little higher up to beyond the treeline gave me a fantastic view of the valley below. The way the little logging town below looked made me wish I had a camera. Then, as I scanned the ridge, I saw something strange.

Back the way I came, right where the woods break to a small grassy plateau where my cabin sits, something big was moving. It looked like a cross between a small elephant and a horse, it had that general shape and color about it. It was poking around the outskirts of the cabin, as if it were poking around. This didn’t sit well with me for obvious reasons and so I climbed down the tree and made my way back towards the cabin.

I tried to be as sneaky as I possibly could, but when I got to the outskirts where I first saw it, I couldn’t see a thing. Whatever it was had left it seemed, and my own investigation had proved fruitless in trying to find any footprints, or marks that things had been tampered with. I had an uneasy feeling, so I kept my gun with me, but decided to grab my fishing gear and hike up the plateau towards the lake and do some fishing. It was most likely nearby, possibly even watching me so at least at the lake I would be in the open.

Nothing happened however, nothing out of the ordinary at least. I caught a few bass, cut and cleaned them and went back home. Nothing was out of place still so I shrugged what I saw off as my eyes playing tricks on me earlier and went inside. I made my dinner, ate, and went to bed. I had plans to make an awning on the side of the cabin to store firewood under. The people before had been using one side of the deck based on a few cut logs being stacked on the right side when I first arrived.

That night I had gotten up with the intent on stepping out onto the deck to relieve myself when I heard what sounded like a horse. I was passing through the kitchen windows when I heard a snorting noise that horses sometimes do. As soon as it sounded I dropped to the ground and listened. There was some sort of clicking sound and whatever it was started to rub against the cabin underneath my kitchen window. Ether it had an itch to scratch or it was marking its territory, I didn’t know how horses worked. Either way, I kept low and  began making my way towards my living room, towards my gun. The horse may have a rider, and I had seen a lot of westerns and the like. Mysterious riders in the night were usually bad news.

By the time I got to my gun, having not heard any other sound than the horse, I realized it had stopped making noise. Still keeping low I crept over to my door, gun checked and loaded, safety off I crack the door open slowly and peek outside. Nothing on my deck that I could see, but the wind was blowing and the stench of rotting meat came rushing into my face causing me to gag audibly.

There was a loud snort from in front of me and I looked past the deck to my lawn, and from there to the edge of the woods. There was the same creature I had seen earlier in the day, bathed in the moonlight. It stood a little taller than any horse I had seen, it was a grey color, completely devoid of hair. It’s tail was just a nub and it had no mane. It snorted at me again, looking at me with eyes that seemed generally unconcerned with my presence. I stared at it for what had to be five minutes before it took its gaze from me and walked with slow deliberately careful steps into the woods, making no noise as it went.

The next day I traveled down the ridge into the nearby town and entered the general store. I was in need of some supplies, basic food mostly, and some seeds so I could start a proper garden. I gave the man there the order and headed over to the one other thing every town has, the bar. I was curious if anyone else had seen that monster of a horse before. The old saloon style bar was quiet, only two other patrons were there and one old man behind the bar pouring a beer from an unmarked tap.

The other two patrons looked over at me a little startled and both watched me sit down, holding up their drinks in welcome. I gave them a nod, ordered whatever beer they had in the well, and sat between the two men, about a seat apart from either. Without hesitation the man with the fresh drink to my left introduces himself as Terry, the man on my right follows suit, his name is James. They tell me they had seen me around and ask my name and if I was a new neighbor.

“Names Bradley” I reply “I moved up into that cabin on the ridge a ways up.” The other two nod and welcome me and the bartender sets my drink in front of me.

The bartender doesn’t say his name, but he has questions of his own. “So you live up on the ridge? How long?”

“About two weeks.” I say before taking a drink of what had to be the strongest well beer I had ever tasted.

“Are you here for the season?” asked Terry to my left.

“Nope, I am there for good. Always wanted a good reclusive log cabin ever since I was a boy.”

I was enjoying the chit chat but I was still curious about the horse I saw last night, thankfully James, to my right, asked for me.

“Have you seen ol’ Henry up there yet?”

The way he asked and his half drunken grin told me he knew about what I had seen.

“That crazy looking horse you mean? I saw him yesterday, and last night, he was poking around my cabin.”

James simply nodded. “That’s Henry.”

“There were people living in that cabin before you, The Richardsons, they were feeding him, apparently he likes the scraps of whatever they killed up there, deer, fish, wild turkey in the fall, what have you.” Terry explained. “We didn’t know anything about Henry except that he was up there and he never comes down here. So we figured we don’t go up there either.”

“So it’s some kind of cannibal horse monster? My little zombie horse or something?” I ask.

“Yeah, something like that. They were saying it doesn’t really mind them, wont come near them, when they are outside, but will circle the cabin when they are in there trying to find scraps from their kills. They finally began dumping them outside the kitchen window.”

Well, that would explain why he was hanging out there when I passed by that night, and why he was rubbing against the wall.

“Did they say why they left?”

The Bartender and Terry exchanged looks and James, frowning shook his head.

“They didn’t. They disappeared. The snow gets bad here in the winter so they stocked up so they could hunker down for the winter. After the majority of the snow melted we went up there to check on them but they were gone without a trace. No one was there. We had a search party and everything.”

“What do you supposed happen to them?”

“We tell the kids it was Henry, not the nicest thing, we know, but we don’t want them going up there just in case it really was Henry.” Terry said with a shrug.

“How long has Henry been around?”

“Longer than us.” Terry replied again. “If you look at maps of the area before this little town was built the ridge is still named “Henry’s Ridge”. Seems he’s been around for hundreds of years if you can believe that.”

“Not really.” I say before pounding my drink. Something felt wrong about all this and these three were certainly part of it. “Well thanks for the info fella’s. I’ll be around from time to time and stop by for a drink. You boys have a good one, I gotta get back up there.”

“Alright then, nice to meet you, you be careful up there.” Terry said shaking my hand. James and the bartender simply gave me a nod before I am out the door to collect my things and head home.

Reflecting on the men’s words that night I still couldn’t believe the horse known as Henry was some kind of undead creature. A horse with some form of mange perhaps? Or some strain of rabies? Could horses get either of those? Even if not, it was easier to believe than undead horse, even if that did explain the smell.

I didn’t see Henry for almost a month after that night. I had been eating dinner one summer evening when I heard heavy breathing coming from the kitchen window which was open just a crack to let out some of the stuffy summer air. I only noticed the sound after the stench of rotting flesh hit my nostrils. I meant to try and continue eating but the smell was too horrible and I had lost my appetite. I didn’t have a much in the way of trash up here, had to make everything reusable, and I wasn’t about to feed the horse so I simply threw the remainder in the fireplace to burn later that night.

Henry screamed at this, or the horse equivalent of a scream, and when I looked he was gone from the window. I closed the kitchen window and decided I would not be traveling outside of my home for the rest of the evening.

Henry appeared exactly one month later outside the window. I was preparing dinner and actually got to see the beast approach. It walked slowly but with purpose as it approached the kitchen window. It was hot but the second I saw the horse I closed the window and watched it. I no longer had any doubts that this was a zombie horse. In the light of day I could see the dried, cracked skin hanging onto the prominent bones, the horse, from its mane to its tale had a bright red stripe of seared flesh like it had been burned straight down the middle. Flies buzzed around it, and it made no motion to try and stop them. It only had one pale white eye, the other looked as if it had rotted out.

In a sort of shock I went about making my meal, ignoring the snorts from Henry. I pretended he wasn’t there. I ate my meal despite the smell that now seeped into the house choking my senses. After I finished I went and sat in my living room and read until the smell faded, which meant, I hoped, Henry had gone too.

This happened once a month, and the more I ignored the creature the more things began to change. Summer ended, fall began, and Henry became what I can only describe as aggressive and desperate. It began, at first, tapping it’s hooves against the walls, and rubbing harder against the wall at the kitchen. Thankfully with the colder weather the smell wasn’t as apparent, but when Henry showed up he didn’t leave until almost morning. Pacing the house he was constantly snorting, whining, and generally annoying me to no end.

When it showed up at the end of October I fired warning shots with my rifle, but Henry continued walking as it always did, right up the window. Like it was completely unaware of what I was doing. This time, after I did not feed it my scraps again, it walked onto my porch and tapped its head against the glass of my windows. It would nibble at the door handle, like it was trying to get it to open and get in. I spent two hours with my rifle aimed at the door ready to fire on the creature before it finally turned and walked off into the forest like it always did.

It did not show up last month, and the snow has piled high. I have supplies through the winter but I don’t think I will last. Henry has come every night this month. He brays loudly as he gallops hard around my house. His hooves echo as if against the hard ground though he treads upon about two feet of snow as if it wasn’t even there. He’s changed, he’s become more than aggressive, he seems angry, and it might be several days of little to no sleep but I swear his eyes are now glowing with an unearthly light.

I will not last like this, and I feel like he is testing the cabin. Either I have to go out and face him or he will come in here. I will not sit and wait for death, I will do what I can to deny it. In the wilderness it is kill or be killed and damn it I aim not to be the latter. If anyone finds this burn the cabin. Don’t let anyone else make the same mistake I and The Richardsons have in buying this land.”

Terry sighed as he set the paper down and looked over to James and the bartender.

“We can’t let this get out Terry.” The bartender said in a stern voice.

Terry nodded and crumpled up the paper, throwing it in the fire place and setting a match to it. When it was burned to a crisp he took a poker and scattered the ashes before turning to James.

“Okay, let’s look for the deed. We’ll call the realtor tomorrow and let them know the land is for sale again. We cannot have Henry wandering down into the village again.”

The other two nodded and silently went about their search.