Pickles squinted his eyes as the bright morning sun beamed through his open bedroom window. He smiled as he listened to the sounds outside. He could hear the birds chirping, the gentle trickle of the nearby stream and the cracking and snapping of branches as a deer or some other woodland creature ran through the thick underbrush. He sat up, yawned loudly, and stretched his arms over his head.
He was in surprisingly good humor despite the fact that his night had been fitful. During the wee small hours, he'd been plagued by an unpleasant dream. He wouldn't exactly call it a nightmare since he hadn't awoken sweaty, screaming or scared. Still, there was something very ominous about the dream -- something that kept him from enjoying a sound and peaceful slumber. Typically Pickles slept like the dead and snored louder than a freight train. Sometimes he even chuckled a time or two because he was known for having silly dreams filled with humor and oddity. But this dream had been different.
The details of the dream seemed hazy in the light of morning, but he recalled that he'd been running through the forest, tripping and stumbling in the murky darkness. A shadowy figure in a black cloak was chasing him. Pickles tripped on a branch and fell to the ground, then turned just in time to see the figure's outstretched hand reach towards him...
That was all he could remember.
A shiver ran down his spine at the memory. The dream had seemed so vivid, so real -- almost as if it had truly happened. He shook his head from side to side in attempt to wash the images away.
After a quick scrub at the wash basin, Pickles donned fresh jeans and flannel, and pulled on his big black boots. He decided to take advantage of the warm, sunny morning and walk into town. He was sure his horse would appreciate a day off. He bounded down the path through the woods, arriving in Punchville within minutes. Then he headed straight for his favorite eatery, anxious for coffee and an extra-tall stack of buttery flapjacks. Surely their delicious taste would wipe the images of that troubling dream from his mind.
With his mind clear and his belly nearly bursting with pancakes and syrup, Pickles headed towards the general store. With a grin, he ambled inside and began perusing the stock, pretending to be interested in the fresh produce. What he was really interested in, though, was that fresh young miss with the lovely blue-gray eyes.
He glanced around and noticed that the store appeared to be empty. But then he heard the murmur of voices coming from the back...
"I've told you before I just can't marry a man like you," said a flustered female voice.
Pickles recognized the voice immediately. It was her. His heart fluttered in his beefy chest, and he crept closer to catch more of the secret conversation.
"But you know how I feel about you," replied a male voice. "You know how I love you. Just listen to this -- it's a new song I wrote especially for you."
Pickles listened intently as a lovely yet haunting fiddle tune floated from the back room. The player was obviously very accomplished. Each sentimental note flowed with skillful precision. Suddenly the tempo changed and the song turned fast and erratic. The music was accompanied by heavy stomping -- stomping that almost sounded like the hooves of a horse.
Pickles gaped in disbelief when the girl came running from the back room, her fan covering her face as usual, and was followed by a -- a -- most unusual creature.
The creature had the head, arms and torso of a man, but the torso was attached to the body of a horse! Pickles recalled reading about creatures of this sort in a tattered school book on Greek mythology, but he'd never actually seen one in real life. He couldn't believe his eyes. What was even more shocking was that the creature was playing a fiddle and stomping its horse hooves in time to the music! Pickles was truly dumbfounded at the unusual sight. He gaped in astonishment. When the creature saw Pickles staring at him, he became furious.
"What are you looking at?!" he demanded angrily. His nostrils flared, his face reddened and his fiddle music halted with a screech.
Suddenly he whirled toward the girl.
"Is this your secret beau?!" he sneered, aiming the fiddle bow accusingly in Pickles' direction. "Is he why you won't marry me?!"
The girl's eyes widened behind the fan, and her complexion pinkened.
"Goodness no, Gabriel!" she cried, shaking her head. "I barely know this fellow!"
"Well, I don't believe you!" snorted the creature, stamping a hoof. He waved his fiddle bow in the air frantically. "It's just like a girl to string a fellow along and have another beau waiting in the wings! All you women are the same! Well, I won't be anyone's second fiddle, I tell you!"
The girl appeared flustered behind her fan. Pickles cleared his throat and interjected. He felt that he ought to come to the lovely young maiden's rescue somehow.
"Excuse me, sir," he rumbled in his deep voice. "The young miss and I are barely acquainted. . ."
"Shut your hillbilly mouth!" the creature shrieked, charging toward Pickles like a wild mustang. "I ought to stomp you like a toad!"
Pickles sidestepped the onslaught and nearly knocked over a shelf of plum preserves. The creature whirled again and faced the the girl.
"Well, fine! If you want a backwoods bumpkin, then you can have one!" he shouted. Without warning, he raised his fiddle beneath his chin and began playing a raucous bluegrass tune. The angry smirk on his face indicated that the song was intended as a mockery of country folks. He reared on his hind legs and pawed the air, and then in a flurry of fast-played notes, he galloped from the general store and exited into the street, his tail raised like a flag behind him.
As soon as he had gone, the girl slumped into an empty chair and looked as if she might cry. Pickles felt sorry for her and was about to say something comforting, but she spoke first.
"I'm so very sorry," she sighed. "That's Gabriel. He can actually be very sweet. He just...well, he was raised in the city and trained at Julliard Music School, and he thinks he's smarter than the country boys around here. He thinks we ought to get married, but I just can't marry a man with hooves. Especially unshod hooves."
Pickles scratched his head.
"That would be a problem," he agreed solemnly.
"He didn't always have hooves," the girl continued, sounding a bit wistful. "He used to be a regular two-legged gent just like everybody else, but then The Wizard cast a spell on him."
"The Wizard?" Pickles asked, feeling that shiver up his spine again.
The memory of his ominous dream was suddenly very fresh.
"Oh, yes, The Wizard," the girl said with a shudder. "They say he prowls the forest after dark and means to turn every young man in these parts into a beast. They say he wants all the young ladies for himself."
Pickles gulped. He seemed to somehow know this story already. His belly full of pancakes suddenly felt a bit queasy. Could he have been a target of Punchville's Wizard? Could that be why he had no memory of anything?
"What does this Wizard look like?" Pickles asked, his deep voice trembling.
"Oh, they say he wears a dark cloak and blue suede shoes," she replied from behind her fan. "But I've never actually seen him."
Pickles scratched his head again. Blue suede shoes? Now why did that seem so familiar?
