Mystic and the Midnight Ride. Stacy Gregg
said Issie. She was surprised at how wobbly her voice was. “And what day is it?” Doctor Stone asked as she checked Issie’s eyes with a little torch light. “Umm…Saturday?”
“Excellent.” The doctor was making notes on her chart now as she talked. “How old are you, Isadora?”
“Twelve,” Issie had to think for a moment, “but I’ll be thirteen soon.”
Doctor Stone gave her young patient a concerned look. “Now, I want you to think carefully, Isadora. I want you to try to remember the last thing that happened to you. Do you know why you’re here?”
Issie shut her eyes and tried to think. What had happened to her? She remembered the sound of a truck horn, and the way Mystic had reared up, as if to protect her from the huge steel vehicle that was bearing down on them. Then nothing, nothing but the tarmac rushing up to meet her, that inhuman scream and then the blackness.
“Where is Mystic?” Issie felt a wave of panic sweep over her. “Mum, is Mystic OK?”
Her chest ached sharply as she tried to sit up. “Isadora, please try and stay still until we can get those ribs x-rayed,” Doctor Stone said firmly. She turned to Mrs Brown. “I don’t think we’ll need to keep her in overnight. If the x-ray comes out OK, she can be discharged this evening.”
“But what about my horse?” Issie was cold with horror as she spoke. Her mum kept ignoring her questions about Mystic. Something was wrong. Mrs Brown had turned her head away from her now. At first she couldn’t speak. Finally she faced her daughter and took her hand. Her words came softly but in Issie’s ears they were like crashes of thunder.
“Isadora, there was nothing anyone could have done. The truck…” Her mother’s voice trailed off for a moment. “…Isadora, Mystic is dead.”
“No!” Issie felt hot tears running down her cheeks. She was shaking, gasping once more for breath. “No!”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Her mother was still clutching her hand, and she was crying too. “Stella saw it all from the side of the road. You and Mystic saved the other horses, you know. If you hadn’t gone after them and herded them back up the driveway, who knows what would have happened. But then the truck came…” Mrs Brown stroked away her daughter’s tears. “You know, I think Mystic was trying to save you too. When he reared up and threw you clear of the truck, it saved your life. So it wasn’t just the other horses he saved. He saved you.”
“Isadora,” the doctor interrupted, “I’m just going to give you a sedative. It’ll take away the pain and let you relax for a while.”
Issie nodded vacantly. She didn’t really hear what the doctor was saying, and she could no longer feel the pain in her ribs. Instead, it was her heart that ached. An ache that consumed her entire soul. Mystic was dead.
Issie barely even noticed the sting of the injection that Doctor Stone gave her, but she began to feel its effects almost immediately. She felt woozy, and her muscles went limp. Through half-closed eyes she could see her mother sitting beside the bed holding her hand, then she drifted off, back into darkness, back into black sleep.
Her mother was still sitting by the bed two hours later when she opened her eyes again.
“How are you feeling, honey?” Mrs Brown ran her hand softly over her daughter’s forehead, smoothing back her dark hair. Issie’s complexion, usually a light olive colour just like her mum’s, was so drained and pale she was almost the same colour as the hospital sheets.
“I’ve telephoned your dad,” Mrs Brown told her, still stroking her hair as she spoke. “He said he would fly up to see you, but I told him it would be OK, that you were likely to be going home tonight. Still, he was very worried about you.”
“Sure he was,” Issie said. Since her mum and dad divorced three years ago it seemed like she hardly even existed. Her father had remarried and had a whole new family in another city now and it had been months since she saw him last. What made her mum think that just because she’d been in an accident he would come running?
“Anyway, he sent you these.” Mrs Brown lifted up a pot of yellow chrysanthemums and plonked them down on the table by Issie’s bed.
“Issie,” Mrs Brown took her daughter’s hand, “when you’re ready to talk about what happened to Mystic…”
“Mum, I don’t want to. Not yet…” Issie was trying hard not to start crying all over again. She looked down at the bed clothes, refusing to meet her mother’s eyes. “Can’t I…can’t we just go home now? I just want it all to be over.”
“I’m sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting?” Doctor Stone entered the room. “Only we really need to get Isadora down to x-ray now.”
Mrs Brown sighed. “Of course. We can talk later when we get home.”
Two hours later, the x-rays had been taken and Doctor Stone’s diagnosis was confirmed: no broken bones, just some bruising, slight concussion and a large swollen lump at the front of her head where the peak of the helmet had connected with the road.
Issie was getting dressed to go home when she heard a knock. “Can we come in?” Stella and Kate stuck their heads around the corner of the door to Issie’s room. Issie gave them a weak smile and the two girls entered the room and sat down beside her bed. Kate looked pale with shock and Stella’s freckled face was flushed hot pink from crying.
“How are Toby and Coco?” Issie wanted to know.
“Well, Toby has gone lame. But it’s nothing serious. The vet thinks it’s a stone bruise from galloping on the gravel but he should be OK in a week or so.” Kate managed a grin.
“And Coco is just fine. She threw a shoe, but she wasn’t hurt,” Stella continued. “In fact, that run is probably the most exercise she’s had in years!”
“If you and Mystic hadn’t caught up with them…” Stella sighed. “Well, it was just the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” She looked down at her shoes for a moment and then back at Issie. “I mean, I know there’s nothing I can do to bring Mystic back, but Kate and I were thinking…if you wanted to, you could ride Coco and Toby any time you like. We could even work out a roster. You could have Coco on Mondays and Tuesdays and ride Toby on Wednesdays…” She paused as Issie began to cry.
“Oh, Issie, I know it’s not the same as having your own horse but…”
Issie shook her head. “It’s not that. Don’t you see? I don’t want another horse. Not after what happened to Mystic. I couldn’t…I’m never going to ride again.”
That night, home from the hospital, Issie found it hard to sleep. When she did finally close her eyes, the vision of the grey ghost horse returned. There was the pounding of hooves, and then once again the horse appeared and reared to a halt just out of Issie’s reach.
This time she could see his face more clearly. The smouldering charcoal eyes, the velvety nostrils flared with tension. It was Mystic. She was sure of that now. She held out her hand and the horse whinnied gently, lowering his head so that the tip of his nose traced just above the ground as he stepped towards her. Issie knew that the lowered head was part of “horse language”. It was Mystic’s way of saying, “I know you. I trust you. You’re part of my herd.”
She spoke softly to him now, “Easy, Mystic, easy, boy. It’s me, boy…” Her hand reached out and Issie felt a shock of wonder as her fingers touched the silver tussock of his mane. The sensation of the coarse, ropey hair against her skin was totally real. This horse was no ghost! It was as alive as she was. Why, if she only reached out her other hand and grabbed