The carriage appears every night in the winter, when the ice covers the roads. No one knows who guides its horse; there has never been any sign of a driver.
It trundles mournfully along that little trail. The trail no other carriage uses anymore. The one that starts and ends nowhere, with nothing but trees at one end, and nothing but the remains of a large, empty stone house at the other.
The house belonged to a wealthy man, they say. A man who died quite young; shot after a quarrel with a friend over money. When they found him lying by the gateway to his house, a coin covered each closed eye. His pockets were scratched and torn, and they assumed his assailant had robbed him. Some said, however, they saw magpies in the trees. Dozens of them. And each one held a coin in its beak.
The house fell into ruin after that; when all the man’s belongings were sold off or given to uncaring relatives.
Years after this, the carriage began appearing. At its arrival at the gate of that murdered man’s house the sound of coins clattering on the hard ground could be heard beside the carriage door. The exact amount for the carriage’s fare, some thought. But, no one could ever get close enough to retrieve the coins, as anyone who dared try was attacked by magpies, clawing and flapping at the unlucky individuals' faces before swooping down to pluck the coins from the ground and flying away to sit in the trees, cackling to each other over their reward.
People tend to ignore the carriage now. They leave the memory of the murdered man, and his wealth, and his carriage to his only friends; the magpies.
Oh god. She’s back on the old photographs again. What is it with her and those things? And she’s writing generic ghost stories to go with them. Jesus...
It’s been raining and storming like nobody’s business today. Felt really quite wintery. So, I drew a wintery picture. And then made up some story thing to go with it. Will likely be scrapped soon.