Beware The Inn

Beware The Inn

Dickon strolled whistling down the edge of the path with a small knapsack on his back.

“Young man, can you spare a crust and some water for an old man,” he heard a voice say from ahead of him.

When he got to the feeble old gent, he offered him a drink from his water bag and a heel of bread from his pack.

“I have nought but advice to give in return,” the old man said.

“I’ll gladly take any of that I can get!”

“Not far yonder is an inn. It bears a sign with a pale horse on it. No matter how weary you be, do not go inside!

Most of all, do not accept a plate of food from anyone who offers! It is a hanted place and evil to the foundations. Promise me!”

The old man begged pitifully; Dickon tossed off a promise. But Dickon, being a storyteller of some renown, was intrigued by what the man had said.

“Sounds like a story I need to tell.” he decided.

By the time he saw the feeble light from the inn, the man was footsore and beyond weary. Delicious smells teased his nostrils and made his mouth water. Without thought, Dickon pulled open the door and went in.

Shortly, a bloodcurdling scream rang out. The door flew open and a bloodied, naked man dragged himself out. The look of absolute horror on his face would have told the story of his ordeal, if anyone had seen him.

The inn walls began howling. Then, a fiery pale horse came out the door and trampled what was left of Dickon into a red stain in the dust. When the old beggar found it the next day, he shook his greying head sadly as he passed.