The Gaunt-Faced Rider

Marla shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her as the fierce wind tried to rip it away. The muddy road pulled at her boots and made the walk miserable. She had been on her way from her home town to visit her uncle’s manor when a wicked tempest swept in suddenly and caused her buggy to crash in a ditch by the side of the road. She had decided to leave the buggy behind and come back to try to salvage it when the weather was better, and so went trudging through the storm and the forest, hoping she could get to her uncle’s manor before the storm killed her or she passed out from exhaustion. She wished she had brought a hat. Her beautiful bright red hair was getting drenched by the rain that lashed against her face.

A crash of lightning startled her and as the thunder rolled away she suddenly noticed the sound of galloping hoofbeats approaching quickly from behind. She stepped off the road and looked back and saw a rider on a great pale horse as white as the moon riding along the road. The rider reined in his horse as he drew near to Marla. The rider was clad all in sable, with black boots, a long black coat that flapped in the wind, and a wide-brimmed black hat. He turned to look at her from atop his horse and tipped his hat, careful not to take it fully off in the pouring rain. Marla was struck by his thin, pale features. His eyes were dark and sunken, set deep in his head, and his pale face seemed like merely skin stretched over skull. He had no hair on his face, not even any eyebrows above those deep sockets. For some reason, though he struck her as odd she was not afraid of him for it.

He reached out a gloved hand to her and said in a deep, echoing bass timbre like a low wind passing through a cave, “Terrible weather for travelling alone. It seems like you might appreciate a ride.” She took his hand and he helped her up onto the pale horse, sliding into the saddle behind him. It was odd. She did not often feel comfortable around other people, even including family and their friends, and yet she was unusually at ease with this complete stranger. She could swear she had never met him before, for appearances less strange than his would stay in her memory forever. Yet somehow something about him seemed familiar and inviting.

“Where are you headed tonight?” he asked, twisting around slightly to look at her with deep-set, shadowy eyes.

“I’m headed to Agstin, my uncle’s estate near Greenford.”

“You have good luck ,” he replied. “I’m already heading there. One of the staff has fallen terribly ill.”

“Are you a doctor?” She asked. Then a grim thought came over her and she added with concern, “A priest?”

“No.” Came his solitary hollow reply, and before she could question further he turned back around and cracked the reins. The horse began galloping with startling speed and she had to hold on around the rider’s slender waist to stay in the saddle. They seemed almost to fly along the ground, trees and rocks melting into a dark green blur as they whipped past in the night. Their speed made the wind more fierce and it chilled to the bone. Marla curled up as much as possible, trying to hide from the cutting raindrops behind the rider’s body.

Eventually Marla saw the towers of her uncle’s manor rise up on the horizon as they sped towards it. They rode in along the neatly paved road and came to a halt outside the great house. Marla slipped gracefully down from the huge white horse and looked up at the gaunt-faced rider.”Thank you, sir,” she said, and then realized she didn’t even know his name. “Who are you?” she asked. The rider did not answer her question, merely saying, “Farewell, Marla, until next we meet.” and he trotted his horse away as she was rushed inside by two house servants.

Marla never forgot his face, nor his mysterious parting words. As he had said, she would see him again, many more times than she had ever anticipated that night.