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UNICORNS ARE REAL. And their sweet soft and cuddly persona? Wrong! Completely and utterly wrong.
In fact, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
You may ask me how I know this. You’ve seen them only in children’s books, on pyjamas. It’s the Disney version, let me tell you, for I have seen their true form. They are not the symbol of purity and grace, and I think the Scots chose the fearsome beast in their heraldry as one of their national animals because of how vicious they are, both in looks and nature.
Come sit with me and hear my tale. Make sure you turn on all the lights. We don’t want to be left in the dark, do we?
Are your doors locked? Good.
Let’s begin.
The night was cold with the moon’s silvery light washing over the hills surrounding our campsite, illuminating diamonds that sparkled on the water’s surface. Our campfire had long since burnt out, leaving glowing embers to die slowly. I had left the tent, layered in jumpers and thermals, and stood next to the solitary tree to urinate. Nearing the end of my flow, I shivered and looked out across the water, looking forward to the fish I’d catch in the morning. Hopefully we catch enough for a fine wedding anniversary feast, I thought.
A wall of fog had begun to descend, sprawling across the water, coming my way, and I stood watching. It was so dense, the silver sheen of the moon disappeared in its cloudy depths.
When it reached me, it stretched up to my chin, misty tendrils clawing like fingers. Across the grassy clearing, at the base of the hill’s declivity, I saw a horse, standing still as a statue, glowing silver beneath the moonlight.
That’s odd, I thought. There hadn’t been any wildlife come near us for the past few nights we had camped out, so the vision of a horse was a novelty. As I watched, the horse began to move, each leg lifting and falling slowly. The echoes of the hooves surfed across the ocean of fog.
“Are you alright, babe?” Emily – my wife – called from the tent. I looked at the tent’s open flaps.
“Yeah, my love. Just taking a leak.” When I looked back up at the horse, it was gone. Was it real? Or did I have one too many beers? I wondered, walking back to the tent. I settled back into the warmth of our shared sleeping bag, spooning Emily, breathing in the smell of her hair – floral shampoo with a smokey overtone.
Just as I was drifting back to sleep, I heard the whinny of a horse, louder than before, as if it was closer to the tent.
“What’s that?” Emily mumbled sleepily, lifting her head slightly. I explained what I had seen outside, glad I had not imagined the sound. We both got up, wearing slippers and layered in clothes to leave the tent, curiosity overwhelming any fear either of us may have had. About fifty metres away, two horses were in the middle of mating, the male thrusting mightily. Then, with a loud whinny, it gave one final thrust and was still.
From the opposite side of the clearing, a guttural growl echoed through the mist, discordant against the quiet backdrop to which we were accustomed.
“What’s that?” Emily whispered, her hand clasping mine as we stood beside our tent watching. The male horse turned its head in the direction of the growl, stamping a front hoof. Its mate moved to stand behind it, whickering softly. She moved backwards, in our direction, and I noticed something long glinting on its head, rising to a point. The male horse lowered its head, like a bull about to charge. It stopped stamping, instead choosing to scrape the ground slowly.
There was a bark, followed by a long growl, then a stream of barks. It seemed the dog and horse were about to have a showdown, a fight to the death.
Emily and I stood, unable to take our eyes off the action, so incongruous with the peace of the night.
The dog must have jumped towards the horse, for it lifted its head, and there on the end of its nose – horn? – was the dog, jolting like it had electricity flowing through it.
The horse bucked its head up and down, and the dog, lifeless, went flying behind its steaming body to lay hidden in the mist. The horse turned around, its lips back to reveal pointed teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Emily’s hand clenched mine tightly.
My first thought was that someone had dressed them up early for Hallowe’en, but as we watched, it seemed they were no ordinary horses! They seemed to be eating the dog.
Emily gasped loudly beside me as the realisation hit.
“Unicorns!” she declared in a whisper, her free hand moving to her mouth. The noise startled the horses – unicorns – and they stopped mid-meal and stared in our direction, judging our level of potential threat. We stood and stared at the unicorns. The unicorns stood and stared at us. It was like someone had taken a photo and we were stuck in time.
Then, with no apparent trigger, the unicorns began to move in our direction, their legs cutting through the fog. Slowly at first, ever so slowly. Then getting faster, speeding up gradually like a ceiling fan turned on to its lowest setting.
With Emily’s hand in mine, I moved to the car, knowing it would be safer than our flimsy canvas tent, if the unicorns decided to offer the same fate as the dog. Emily screamed as the unicorns picked up pace.
“Come on! Quickly!” I called behind me. I was grateful that we were camping in such a quiet, secluded spot, because it meant we were lax with security. Because it meant we had left the keys in the car’s ignition.
But it also meant we were being raided by demonic unicorns, growing closer, with nobody around to help us.
As I came near the car, I kept moving to the opposite side to the rapidly approaching unicorns, and threw open the door. The light washed over us, casting moving shadows in the mist behind us as I pushed Emily through the door and clambered in after her. I shut the door behind me, squashing us together until Emily crawled over to the passenger seat, her breath misting in front of her.
I locked the door behind me, knowing hooves were unable to open car doors, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Outside, the unicorns stopped, peering in through the foggy windows, large eyeballs close to the glass. Their horns, smooth and glossy, spiralled like a shell to a needle-sharp tip, tapped and scraped the glass as they moved their heads.
They looked exactly like a horse in the silvery moonlight. Except for their horns. And the blood spattered all over their snouts.
“What do we do now?” Emily asked timidly.
“Well,” I said, thinking, “we could wait and see if they get bored and go away. Or we could just drive away ourselves. Though I’d be worried the sound of the engine might spook them and make them livid. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. You decide,” Emily replied, making me boil inside. I was always left to make the decision, then when I did, I always got the blame when it all went wrong. Of course, I received no praise when the decision was the right one.
In the end, the unicorns made the decision for me. They began to tap louder at the windows, before moving back and head-butting the car, their horns penetrating through the metal.
Over, and over, the unicorns speared the car in quick succession, the loud banging like a backbeat to Emily’s screams.
“Do something!” she yelled, glaring at me. I started the car, hearing the four wheel drive’s diesel engine roaring to life. Outside, the unicorns seemed to become more frenzied.
Emily yelped, high-pitched, then groaned in agony. Glancing down, I could see a unicorn horn poking through her calf muscle, before it was retracted out the door. With the car in gear, I slammed my foot on the accelerator, bumping forward, building speed. The unicorns continued to spear the car as we moved forward towards our tent and campfire. I could hear the tent being crushed beneath us, the tyres thundering powerfully over the debris.
In the rear vision mirror I saw the unicorns trotting after us, gaining speed. It seemed they were slow off the mark. Behind the unicorns, the mist glowed orange, the campfire burning with new life, fuelled by our camp detritus. I could see the flames jumping above the mist, illuminating the now galloping unicorns from behind like a music video. The brilliance of the sight behind us was so amazing it stole my focus from the dirt track winding through the hills ahead.
Then, I could see the fire following us, gaining ground quickly. Confused, I glanced in the mirror furtively, trying to ascertain whether the unicorns had called off their pursuit.
They hadn’t. They were still following us determinedly, their heads rising and falling with their footfalls.
As I looked back at the bright orange haze, two things happened simultaneously. Firstly, one of the unicorns lit up, doused in burning flames. Can they make flames? I wondered, my mind too focussed on manoeuvring the car through the winding track uphill while I tried to shut out Emily’s whimpers of pain beside me. Loud, whining screams pierced the air, cutting right down deep inside me. Although these creatures were trying to kill us, I felt sorry for the beast as it burned to death, suffering. The unicorn’s mate stood beside it, both filled with concern and with fear. I could see in my brief glances in the mirror that it wanted to help but was too afraid to do so.
The second thing that happened was that I realised why the flames were following us. The unicorns had speared the fuel tank, sending the flammable liquid leaking out. And so the fire was trailing behind us.
We needed to get out. Fast.
Emily and I were wrenched forward in our seats as I slammed my foot on the brake, the tyres skidding to a halt in the gravel.
“What’re you doing?” Emily yelled, her voice gravid with urgency. “Drive!”
“Out! Out of the car! Quickly!” I said, throwing open the door and jumping out. “The fire’s coming for us!” I glanced back at Emily as I ran around the opened door, and saw her getting out, her face filled with horror and pain as she put pressure on her injured leg. I slowed my pace to let Emily lean on my shoulder, a makeshift crutch. The gravel crunched beneath our feet as we staggered up the hill. I hoped there were no potholes to ruin our ankles. As we increased altitude, the mist cleared and, looking back down, I could see the orange blanket covering the ground of the clearing. My leg muscles burned as they powered us forward; my neck in pain from the weight of Emily’s arm across my shoulders.
A bright orange glow illuminated the space around us as our car caught fire, followed by a loud boom, which pushed us forward as the shockwave hit us. Emily’s arm fell off my shoulders as she reached out to halt her fall. I could feel my breath pushed out of me as I slammed into the ground, my hands and knees burning with gravel rash. The air around us was hot, and my skin prickled with the heat.
I stood up and reached down to grab Emily’s hand to help her up. Her leg was still bleeding profusely through her pants. We needed to get help. I took off my jumper and tied it around her leg as a makeshift tourniquet, hoping it would prevent more blood from oozing out. I hoped the horn hadn’t hit a major blood vessel.
Once I had tied the jumper above her wound, shivering with the cold seeping into my skin, we continued moving on along the track. I wasn’t sure what the unicorn was going to do, but I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could. With Emily limping on her injured leg, it would take us a lot longer to move than the unicorn. I knew we were close to a major highway; we just had to keep moving.
“It hurts!” Emily groaned beside me, her hand clutching into my shoulder as she held on. Her nails needed clipping.
Somehow we made it to the highway without the unicorn following us. I kept glancing back, expecting to see it galloping towards us as we moved, but I saw nothing except for the dimly lit world around us, surrounded now by a thick forest of trees.
Horror filled my body as, behind us, I heard a loud, angry whinny. When I looked back, I saw the silver shadow of the unicorn thundering along the path, coming straight for us, following the spots of blood dripping from Emily’s wound.
“Shit!” I said. “It’s coming!”
“I don’t want to die now,” Emily said. I looked along the highway in both directions, but there were no headlights. Surely a car had to be along soon. Would they stop? I wondered. Would I stop if I was them?
No, I answered myself honestly as I pulled Emily along the highway, making sure to keep the oncoming traffic on our side of the road. I wouldn’t stop for two dark shadows on a lonely stretch of highway in the middle of the night.
It didn’t matter; there were no cars, and the unicorn was getting closer with every ticking second. The unicorn was close enough now to hear its hooves slamming into the ground. In the distance I heard the soft thrumming of an engine. Is there someone coming? Oh please, come this way. Please stop for us!
Our lucky stars must have been in alignment. A truck drove round the curve up ahead, its front filled with more lights than a rock concert. I started waving with my free hand; Emily waved with hers. The truck driver honked the horn, hoping we would move away from the edge of the road. We continued waving, and I heard the driver gently apply the brakes, a rhythmic beat pulsing into the night air. The truck began to swerve away from us, looking like it was going to continue on past us.
“NO! Stop! Please,” Emily screamed, waving even more frantically. She began pointing to the red stains on her pants, hoping the driver would get the hint. Even if he radioed for help instead of stopping, we’d be fucked. The unicorn would get us for sure.
I glanced behind us. The unicorn had stopped, scared of the oncoming truck, which was moving slowly, the driver unsure whether we would run out in front of the rig. I felt my stomach flip, throwing out any hope I had left. The driver wasn’t going to stop.
Just as the truck reached us, it began to brake faster, slowing down to a stop just past us. It seemed the driver had taken pity on us. We hobbled as quickly as we could to the truck’s door, where the driver had rolled down the window.
“What’s up, guys?” he called out, his voice deep and earthy.
“My wife’s injured. Our car exploded over there, and she needs the hospital. Can you please take us?” The driver scratched his whiskered chin, looking past us. The orange haze was hidden by the forest of trees and, I noticed, the unicorn had disappeared.
“Alright, get in,” the driver said gruffly, “but don’t bleed in my truck.” He sat staring down at us, his face screwed up with bemusement while I struggled to help Emily climb clumsily into the cabin. I remember the feeling of relief that washed over me when the door was closed and the truck was in motion, driving onwards to safety.
It seemed my mind, overwhelmed with fear, focussed on getting Emily to safety and ensuring she was as comfortable as I could make her in the circumstances. I don’t remember much else until after Emily was safe in a hospital bed, sedated and in the care of medical staff.
I won’t bore you with the details of what happened afterwards, but Emily was treated at the hospital for her wounds. She still limps when she walks, and we avoid talking about the incident, especially considering how much we had to talk to the police, trying to explain what happened with a story they found hard to believe.
When they investigated the incident, they found the unicorn carcass, which had burned to a crisp and just seemed like any other horse. It seemed the horn was flammable and lost in the fire. The car had been devoured by the flames and was now a burnt out metallic shell, the holes still evident in the sides. Our campground was as we left it, the ruined wreckage of our burnt belongings strewn across the ground, our tyre marks clear to see.
The police took our statements, and the evidence eventually supported our stories, but the investigating officers were dubious, disbelieving that unicorns existed. At first, they tried to prove that we had destroyed everything for an insurance claim.
What sealed the deal in our favour was the dog carcass, still unfinished near the camp ground. Anyone in their right minds wouldn’t believe the dog had died of natural causes, and the forensics proved the teeth marks were real, but to an unknown species.
Now, every time I hear a horse in the night, it reminds me that unicorns are real, and they are not the nice, peaceful animals we have been led to believe. They are the polar opposite in temperament to their common stereotype. Snrocinu, if you will.
I feel like I hear horses every night.
Did you hear that horse outside just then? Listen closely. Best stay away from the windows; I hear it getting closer.