The Black Trailer

The black trailer was a tomb.

We had walked by it hundreds of times.  Him on four legs, me on two.  Had passed by the matte black finish and the decaying tires, the spider crack windows and the rusted siege engine of a hitch, had drifted on by without sensing the hollow heart of it, without ever offering it a second glance.  Until today.

Today, in the crisp loins of winter, the tomb whispered to us.

The timing of our discovery is what astounded me the most.  The complacency with which we wander through our lives, overlooking the mystical sites in plain sight.  Then some confluence of particulars sharpens our awareness to the point of discovery.  That’s the logical approach, the sane assumption.  In truth, in the spindly shadow of deepest night laying awake in bed, my mind wonders if something within the tomb cast tickling fingers forth.

I don’t listen to the dark though and choose to believe it was the lack of wind today.  The stillness brought scent to my canine half, that core punch of vintage animal usually reserved for circuses and shipping containers.  Interest lead to investigation, and after a short splash of urine on one faded tire, we found ourselves poised before the doors, listening.  For what, I’m not sure, but the old boy’s muscles were taught.  Mine were running a little icy, and the knee ached a sight heartier than it had moments ago.

My hand reached for the handle none the less, and before I had the mechanism fully disengaged, the doors crashed into me as what had been living inside burst forth, seeking the light of day once more.

I wouldn’t recommend laying on the frozen earth for any length of time.  No good came from my time spent there at the foot of the old horse trailer.  I don’t know how much time had passed, but it couldn’t have been a great deal.  A hot tongue had been covering me in facial love until I interposed a hand.  Turning my head sideways, my vision cleared just enough to see the old raccoon that had assaulted me ambling away in the distance.

A raccoon, nothing more.  But my memory was splintered.  Reality continued to reassert itself, but there were fleeting images, dream shards that kept burrowing deeper into oblivion.  There were hooves, and hot breath, and eyes that will glint at me from the corners of my mind for untold nights to come.

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