Authors: Cynthia D. Grant
The White Horse (16 page)
I told my mother: “The white horse has to go.”
“No,” she said.” He's a wonderful pet.
He loves me and he's beautiful and gentle.”
Enchanted, dreaming, Mama was blind
.
She didn't see what we were seeing
.
The white horse watched us with ravenous eyes
.
Soon there would be nothing left but us for him to eat
.
One morning we found Mama on the kitchen floor
.
Her eyes were empty and her hair was wild
.
Bobby got scared and started crying
.
“Mama, make the white horse go away!” he said
.
It reared up beside him, fierce teeth flashing,
its hooves lashing out, striking Bobby's head
.
Bloody tears trickled from my brother's eyes,
waking Mama, breaking the spell
.
“What have I done? He could've died!” she cried
.
We rushed him to the hospital. Doctors bandaged his head
.
“What happened?” they asked, their faces angry
.
“He fell,” Mama lied, fear and shame in her eyes
.
Bobby didn't say anything
.
When we got home the white horse was hiding
.
Mama knelt and held us close
.
“I'm so sorry, children. Can you ever forgive me?
Tonight I'll make the white horse go.”
He sidled out shyly, after dinner, his sleek coat
gleaming like living snow. Mama was sitting at the table
,
paying bills. He nuzzled her with his velvet muzzle
.
“Go away,” she said. “You hurt my children.”
“Come fly with me,” he whispered. “You know you love me
.
“I'll take you where you want to go.”
“No,” she said. “My children need me.”
“You need me more.” The white horse bit her
.
She screamed in pain and struggled against him
.
He bit again, his teeth like needles
that caged her wrist and pierced her skin
,
tattooing her with beads of blood
.
“All right!” she cried. “I'll meet you outside
.
Just let me say good-bye to the children.”
“Be quick.” He galloped out, huge hooves pounding
.
Mama slammed and locked the door behind him
.
His eyes filled the windows. The thin panes shivered
.
“
LET ME IN! I PROMISE I'LL BE SMALL!
” he roared
.
“No!” mama said. “You can't trick me anymore!”
She stuffed rags in the cracks where he'd first snuck in
.
The white horse heaved his crushing weight against the walls
.
His icy breath shrieked down the chimney
.
He pleaded. Me screamed. His hooves thundered on the door
.
All night he raged like a storm, a fever
.
When the sun came up, the white horse was gone
.
Mama and the house were still standing
.
Bobby and I were afraid to go to school
,
afraid the white horse would sneak back when we left
.
“I promise you, children, he's gone forever,” Mama said
.
She sent us off with lunch and hugs and kisses
.
That day I couldn't pay attention in class
,
scared that Mama and the white horse were flying
,
so high this time, we'd never find her
.
“What's the matter with you?” my teachers asked
.
After school I found Bobby and we hurried home
,
racing through the streets, Bobby holding my hand
.
From way down the block we could see our house
.
All the windows were glowing like candles
.
“Oh, no!” Bobby cried. “The white horse has come back!”
I held him and said, “Please don't worry anymore.
I will never let him hurt you. I will keep you safe forever.”
We were so afraid to open the door
.
But the light inside the house came from Mama's eyes
,
shining with a mother's love, pure as fire
.
She gathered us into her arms like flowers
.
We never saw the white horse again
.
About the Author
Cynthia D. Grant has published twelve young adult fiction novels since 1980. In 1991 she won the first PEN/Norma Klein Award, for “an emerging voice among American writers of children's fiction.” Over the years, Grant has received numerous other distinctions. Unfortunately, her Massachusetts upbringing prohibits her from showing off. She lives in the mountains outside Cloverdale, California, and has one husband, Eric Neel; two sons, Morgan Heatley-Grant and Forest Neel-Grant; two cats, Kelsey, an orange tom, and Billie, a barn catâbarracuda mix; and Mike the Wonder Dog, who packs two-hundred-plus pounds of personality into a seven-pound body.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1998 by Cynthia D. Grant
Cover design by Liz Connor
ISBN: 978-1-5040-1361-1
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
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