The cobbled streets of Ironbridge, a town draped in the shadow of its ironclad factories and steam-powered carriages, held a secret. But tonight, that secret stirred from the dark corners of the mist-laden alleyways, where gas lamps flickered faintly and the fog rolled in like a shroud.
Elara, the constable’s daughter, a slight girl of twelve with wide, inquisitive eyes, had always kept to herself. Her father, the town’s stern but fair constable, had recently made enemies in Ironbridge. A gang of ruffians, known for smuggling stolen goods through the steam-choked canals, had been caught and jailed. Among them were the fathers, brothers, and uncles of some of Elara’s classmates. For them, Elara became an easy target—an embodiment of their anger.
Three older girls, Evelyn, Callista, and Bronwen, blamed Elara for the loss of their loved ones. They harbored a cruel, seething hatred for her, especially Evelyn, whose father had been the gang leader. For weeks, they tormented Elara in the shadows, waiting for their moment to strike with more than just cruel words.
One evening, after her music lessons, Elara walked the narrow streets alone, clutching her violin case tightly to her chest. The mist curled in from the river, thickening with every step she took. She had hoped for peace on this walk home, but fate had other plans.
Just before she reached the marketplace, a rough hand grabbed her shoulder. "Not so fast, Elara," Evelyn's voice hissed from behind.
The three girls dragged Elara into a shadowed alley, where the fog hung thick and low. Her heart raced, thudding against her ribs like a drum. The air was damp, suffocating, and the echoes of distant machinery clanged through the night. The girls circled her like predators.
"Your father took everything from us," Callista sneered, her eyes gleaming with malice.
"We’ve waited long enough to pay you back," Bronwen added, her fists clenched, shaking with anger.
Tears welled up in Elara’s eyes as she pressed herself against the cold stone wall. She felt trapped, as if the alley was a cage closing in on her, the iron bars tightening. "I didn’t do anything to you," she pleaded, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"You’re just like him," Evelyn spat. "A coward."
But before they could lay a hand on her, something strange happened. The air grew colder, the mist thickening into an unnatural fog. From the depths of the night, there came a distant, echoing sound—a low, haunting whinny that sent a shiver down their spines.
The sound grew closer, louder, until the clatter of hooves echoed down the cobblestones. The three girls stopped, looking around, confused. Then, from the heart of the fog, it emerged.
A dark figure, towering and spectral, took form—a horse, but no ordinary steed. It was a creature of nightmares, a spectral mare with eyes that glowed like embers in the dark. Its mane flowed like wisps of smoke, and its hooves, ethereal and silent, seemed to hover just above the ground. Steam billowed from its nostrils, and its body shimmered, half-formed from the mist itself, as though it were part of the night.
The night mare.
Evelyn, Callista, and Bronwen shrieked, stumbling backward. The creature’s gaze locked onto them, and its eyes bore into their souls with a fury that was both ancient and vengeful. It reared on its hind legs, letting out a blood-curdling scream that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. The fog swirled violently around it, and the sound of grinding gears and screeching metal seemed to emanate from within the beast, as if it carried the wrath of Ironbridge’s forgotten machines.
The girls fell to the ground, their faces pale as death. Evelyn's lip quivered, and Callista’s legs trembled so violently she couldn’t stand. Bronwen wept openly, her bravado shattered in an instant.
As the night mare’s burning eyes flickered over them one last time, the girls scrambled to their feet, tripping over one another in their frantic dash to escape. They fled the alley, screaming, leaving Elara alone in the thickening mist.
The ghostly horse turned its head toward her, its eyes still glowing, but the harsh fire had softened. Elara, though terrified, did not run. The creature seemed to regard her for a moment, its form shifting and flickering in the dim light of the gas lamps. Then, in a voice like the wind through iron pipes, it spoke, low and commanding:
"Tell them, child… tell them you have disposed of the night mare. Should they dare return, so shall I."
Elara swallowed her fear and nodded. As quickly as it had appeared, the night mare dissolved back into the mist, leaving only the distant sound of hooves clattering through the fog.
The next day at school, the three girls were already waiting in the yard, expecting Elara’s absence, thinking the creature had taken her. But to their shock, Elara walked into the schoolyard with her head held high.
Evelyn’s eyes widened. "You… how are you…?"
"I dealt with the beast," Elara said, her voice calm but resolute. "It won’t be coming back—unless you give it a reason."
The three girls blanched, their faces ghostly pale. From that day forward, they never bothered her again.
Elara walked through the fog-laden streets of Ironbridge with a new confidence. She had faced the nightmare, and in doing so, she had discovered a strength that could never be taken from her—not by bullies, nor by the shadows.
