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The 10 O'clock Horses

A fierce howling wind tore at the bay. Clawing grey waves grappled for purchase on the shore. From the receding tide, foaming masses of powerful muscle erupted. They're magnificent beasts of storm wrought white, save their crushing amber eyes resembling dwindling coals. They were Hell's stormfront. The church chimes declaring the tenth hour ceased; hundreds of hollow hoofbeats resonated through the empty streets. A unified, shrieking cry made the children's blood run cold. The resigned moonlight dripped down; finely chiselling the hunt's darkly beautiful features; they surged forth, creating a living nightmare for the unlucky souls awake at stormfront hour.

by Sophie Deis-Horton (0)
Fowey River Academy

Competition - Grim Tales

Copyright remains with the author.