The Horrors of the Horned Horse Inn
Once upon a time, in the minute, old village of Francevisa, nestled at the bottom of a steep slope leading to the almighty runes of a fallen castle, there was an inn. Known as the Horned Horse, the tavern was a haven for weary travelers seeking warmth and respite from their long journeys. Whispering through the winding roads and echoing through the dense woods, tales abounded that the inn was not all as it seemed. The walls, they said, carried more than just the scent of roasted venison and burning oak.
One gloomy December night, a ragged stranger trudged into the inn, seeking shelter from the bone-chilling, winter winds. The stranger was an incidental anthropologist of sorts. He curiously watched the people, collecting their stories, deciphering their secrets, and he sought the dark masterpiece that was the Horned Horse's tale.
The innkeeper, a man with a shadowed past and wrinkles curated by years of hard labor, greeted him. When asked about the inn's eerie reputation, he replied, My dear guest, every shambling structure in this feeble village carries a past darker than the night you've wandered in from. The difference is, this inn remembers it.
As the night embraced the world outside, the innkeeper weaved the tale that shrouded the Horned Horse in a cloak of dread. Years ago, the inn was the sanctuary of a dreadful witch, who was notorious for her excruciating spells and shrilling laughter. The villagers, they said, could hear her fiendish cackling echo across the woods.
One horrifying night, the witch was burned alive by the angry mob of villagers, right at the very place where the inn stood now. Legend had it that her horrid scream was trapped within the old timber walls of the inn, cursed to be replayed each midnight. As the last of the witch's life faded away, she swore vengeance, From dusk till dawn, each soul that resides here shall bear witness to my terror.
The stranger listened, engrossed, his eyes wide with curiosity rather than fear. As the clock struck midnight, a deafening silence coated the inn. Then, a sudden wail echoed. Though muffled by the thick wood, it was undeniably harrowing- a sound not of this world. It was a woman weeping, and then, the shrilling, spine-chilling scream.
The stranger's veins clambered with a cold, terrifying thrill. He hastily exited the room, only to see a shadowy silhouette standing at the far end of the hallway. It was a lady dressed in outdated attire, veiled under the shadows. Her sobbing filled the corridors. The stranger, in his bewilderment, reached out to her, only to see her vanish into thin air the moment he touched her.
He flipped back, catching the sight of the innkeeper at the corner of his eyes, gesturing him to return. The stranger slept uneasily, the wails and screams echoing in his dreams. And when dawn broke, the grotesque events of the night seemed like a hazy nightmare.
The next night, as the clock struck the devil's hour, the wailing started again. The stranger ventured out once more, intending to capture the lady's sorrowful sobbing in his tape recorder. However, this time, the silhouette was closer, and he could clearly see traces of burning on her skin, patches of charred black mixed with her fading flesh.
She raised her arm towards him. Her touch felt icy cold. His fingers trembled as he kept the recorder near her stone-cold lips. She whispered weakly at first, and then broke into a shrilled cry. I seek vengeance.
The stranger, frozen with terror, ran back to his room, slamming the door behind him. He replayed the recording, each word, each cry filled him with petrifying dread. The story had become a stark, chilling reality. He hastily packed his belongings and left as soon as it was daylight.
From then on, the tales of the Horned Horse grew wilder, ghastlier, ensnaring more curious souls in its terrifying grip. The local folks often claimed to hear a man's voice now, a low whisper, mingling with the witch's shrills, making them shudder at midnight. And so, the nightmare of the Horned Horse Inn lived on, suffocating its visitors with its ghastly past.
In the fascinating yet frightful world of the supernatural, beware dear reader, for curiosity might sometimes lead you into the dire arms of the undead. In the pursuit of the extraordinary, one must not forget that there exist beings, the horrid memories of whom, when disturbed, might just breathe life into their eerie vengeance.
