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The Kelpie (Part Two)

A girl befriends a water-horse

By L.C. SchäferPublished 2 years ago Updated 11 months ago 10 min read
4
The Kelpie (Part Two)
Photo by Magdalena Smolnicka on Unsplash

Part one is here

Part Two - The Runner

It had been impossible to tear myself away from the strange horse. I didn't know if I would see it - her - again. Eventually, she threw up her head, ears pricking and nostrils flaring, exactly the way regular horses do when they see something very dangerous. (Like, for instance, a carrier bag caught in a hedge.) She pulled away from me, her curiously wide, flat hooves dancing back delicately over the stones. In a moment she was on firm ground, turning her rump to me and cantering away into the waves. Weird. I thought the tide had been further in than that. With a jolt, I realised how much light had left the sky. A heartbeat later I heard my mum's voice calling me.

"Jen? .... Jen? Jennyyyy! Jen!"

"Mum!" I scrambled down the rocks to run and meet her. Somehow, the soap bubble spell had burst, and the memory of Apollo came flooding back. The panic and guilt returned full-force, threatening to overwhelm me. It was hard to believe that just moments ago I had stood petting and talking to an equine sea-creature. For a minute I was half convinced I had imagined it.

"Jen!" Mum's voice was heavy with relief. I didn't slow. I kept running until I almost collided with her, and found I was choking back sobs.

"Are you OK? What happened?" Mum caught me and tried to calm and reassure me, but I was getting more hysterical by the second.

I couldn't bear to lift my face and look her in the eye.

"I lost Apollo," I said into her coat, through tears and snot.

"Oh!" There was a pause. "Oh.... oh, darling. You know what he's like. Perhaps you'd better keep him on his lead. Apollo! Come on! Whoazagudboy! Come on Apollo!"

Now I did make myself look up into her face. I shook my head.

"He's gone, Mum."

Despite myself, I looked around frantically again. It would be just like him to wait until this moment to stop eating a dead seagull or humping some tourist's leg, and come running up to us.

He didn't.

"Well," she said, brisk and practical, "How long since you lost him? I mean-" she saw my pained expression and she amended quickly to, "How long since he ran off?"

For a moment I tried to think how long I'd been with the water-horse, but I honestly couldn't guess. If not for how dark it had got, I could have said it was only five minutes. How odd.

"I don't know, Mum. Ages." Then I lied to her for the first time in a very long time. "That's what I've been doing all this time. You know. Looking for him." Now why did I do that?

Mum frowned a little, and I thought I saw worry skip across her face.

"It's OK," she reassured me. "Someone has probably just found him and taken him home. Remember that batty old fella last year had him locked in his house for three days. It'll be just like that. You'll see."

I trailed after her. All the way home, she kept up a stream of optimistic chatter about printing out some pictures and putting up posters. It didn't drown out the deafening certainty echoing throughout my whole body.

He's gone.

Dead.

Drowned.

And it's all YOUR fault.

++++

When we got home, mum breezed into the kitchen, soothing Dad's thunderous face by making excuses for me.

"Dratted dog's done his usual, Clive, can you see if we still have those posters saved from last year? Jenny's ever so upset about it, so don't you give her a hard time."

He stomped off to his study to wrestle with the printer.

"He's not mad," mum told me gently. "He was just really worried, that's all. We're relieved you're OK."

I nodded blandly, because I didn't have the energy to argue about it. A pork chop dinner - mine, probably - was congealing on the sideboard next to the sink. There were no other dirty plates or pans in sight, so dinner had been finished up quite some time ago. More guilt wracked me.

I still didn't quite believe what I'd seen. Here in the warm glow of our kitchen, with solid everyday objects around me, it all seemed so far away and unreal. Mum asked me if I was hungry. I shook my head. I wasn't really listening. I was on the beach, with the water-horse. I resolved then and there to go back and look for it.

"Jen?" Mum was looking at me expectantly.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are you hungry?"

"Not really. Sorry,"

"I'll make you a hot chocolate then, OK? And we can go out looking early tomorrow, before school, how's that?"

"Yes," I said. "Definitely."

The hot chocolate didn't taste of anything.

++++

My alarm went off at 5am. I stifled it as quickly as possible before it could wake anyone else. I hadn't been properly asleep anyway. I'd spent the night thinking about the water-horse. Trying to work out if I had imagined any of it. Thinking of names. Wondering what she might like to eat. Remembering that I was supposed to be thinking about Apollo, and then feeling guilty again.

It was dark, cold, miserable outside. There was a sprinkling of rain on my bedroom window. Good. That meant it was less likely that some insane person would be jogging along the beach. I felt in my gut that she wouldn't come if I wasn't alone.

There was something exciting about dressing quietly by the light of my bedside lamp, emptying my schoolbag, and sneaking downstairs, avoiding the squeaky floorboard. It was practically the middle of the night after all, and I was creeping out of the house on an adventure. I tiptoed to Dad's study to grab a sheaf of posters as a cover story. Apollo's face looked up at me reproachfully and I stuffed him in my bag out of sight. I found a torch in the bottom drawer in the kitchen and dropped that in there as well. I rummaged in the pantry for food I could offer her. Last night's dinner was still beside the sink - I scraped some of that into a tupperware tub. Maybe she might like the broccoli and mash. There were carrots in the bottom of the fridge. Apples in the fruit bowl. Porridge oats in the cupboard. Horses like oats, right?

I'm not a runner by any stretch, but I flew down to the beach that morning. My heart was already racing and my blood was tingling. I had to do something with all that fizz. I was brimming over. I couldn't wait to prove to myself that I was not mad. She was real. She liked me. We were going to be friends. As I ran, I decided on a name for her. Guinevere. It means "white wave". It was perfect. I hope she likes it.

I ran faster.

I made a beeline for the spot I had encountered her before, forcing my steps and my breathing to slow. I still thought of her as a horse, still making the same accommodations as for a prey animal that is likely to be easily spooked.

How will I call to her?

I stood on the same spine of rocks, looking out to the ocean, pulse still thundering in my ears. I felt a bit silly. Maybe I did dream her after all.

I squinted at the waves, which seemed gentle today. Or listless. Is the tide coming in, or going out? Does she need the tide to be coming in? I remembered the sight of her dappled behind the day before when she cantered away from me. No. Maybe it helps, but she can manage on land.

A flash of blue lycra caught my eye. One man was insane enough to be out running in this weather. Probably concerned for the health of his heart. Or having a midlife crisis. I had no expectation at all that Guinevere would come to me while he was there. I watched him jog past my vantage point and willed him to go faster. Go on, mister. Go and have a low cholesterol breakfast and polish your new red car.

He disappeared from sight and I stared after him in the poor light to make sure he had really gone. Time stretched out, pinning me on the knife edge of an interminable pause. She will come. I know she will.

My pulse was in my ears again, like the drumming of hoofbeats.

It's her. She's coming.

I saw her head first, mane blowing in the ocean breeze, and her too-intelligent eyes fixed on me, even at this distance. From where I stood, and with her legs completely obscured by the sea-spray, she looked like a normal horse. Beautiful.

She flowed towards me with purpose. She looked even real-er than she had the day before. Her flanks bulged oddly and I wondered for a moment if she was expecting a foal. But then all at once she was crowding close to me, and I was caught between her breath and her watchful eyes.

"I've brought you something," I told her softly, wishing I'd brought something to comb her mane with. First I offered her the mints that were in my pocket, offering them on a flat hand like you're supposed to. The sight of her teeth made me recoil - they were bigger than they had any right to be. Pointy, too. They looked razor-sharp. She's not a horse. I really realised that fully in that moment, and felt a little nervous. Just what am I feeding here? Her hard stare almost felt like a telling-off for flinching, and I took a couple of steps back. The next moment, the warmth of her snuffling breath and the silkiness of her nose smoothed away my qualms.

"I know what you'll like," I breathed, and pulled out the tub with my cold pork chop in it. Her ears pricked forward, and she snatched it greedily from my hand, nicking my thumb. I decided not to risk my fingers near those teeth and pushed the open tub towards her. She ate like a giraffe, splaying her front legs and stretching her too-long neck.

I must keep awake. I must watch the waves and the sky and count my heartbeats. I mustn't get caught out like yesterday.

++++

"Jen! You're going to be late for school!"

I dashed through the kitchen and up the stairs two at a time.

"Sorry!" I called down, "I was looking for Apollo and I lost track of time!"

Well. The second part was true.

Mum tried to tell me off, insisting she'd meant we go looking together. I think I pulled off my "whoops, I didn't realise" act, but maybe it was just that I'd been so upset. Or that there wasn't time to scold me properly or I'd miss my bus. Or maybe it was because she was too upset herself. But I was so wrapped up in my own stuff I didn't even notice.

I've never changed for school so fast. I crammed my books on top of Apollo's disapproving face, rinsed my teeth with mouthwash and accepted a slice of toast off Mum on my way out of the front door.

I caught the bus by the skin of my teeth.

At breaktime, I dumped the LOST DOG fliers into the bin behind the bicycle sheds.

++++

Our little town was on local news that evening. A man had gone missing. His girlfriend had found one of his trainers on the beach. They were interviewing her at the spot where it had been found, and I recognised that stretch of the beach immediately. The spot where I befriended Guinevere was a little way back, but that spine of rocks was unmistakeable. The photo they showed of the missing man even looked a little like the jogger I'd seen. I pushed away the thought that was germinating in the back of my mind. Don't be silly. It was pretty dark. You couldn't see him properly. What are you even worried about anyway?

I couldn't articulate it. Not even to myself.

You can read Part Three here 👇

Young Adult
4

About the Creator

L.C. Schäfer

Book-baby is available on Kindle Unlimited

Flexing the writing muscle

Never so naked as I am on a page. Subscribe for nudes.

Here be micros

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Sometimes writes under S.E.Holz

"I've read books. Well. Chewed books."

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insight

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

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Comments (2)

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  • Leslie Writes11 months ago

    Oh, damn! It is NOT a horse. You are building the suspense so well here.

  • Donna Renee11 months ago

    😱😱😱 what!!? The details sprinkled throughout this really make it real! —On to the next part!

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