Daily Snippit: Urban/Suburban Fantasy

There is nothing quite so disturbing as waking up nose to nose with a horse. A very large, very white, very mystical looking horse.

Samantha groaned and closed her eyes, shutting out the hallucination. She had vague memories from last night’s All Hallows Eve party, and they were enough to confirm the four-legged visitor was imaginary. Orange food coloring and vodka made a nasty combination. Or was it orange juice? She buried herself back under the covers with a whimper.

The horse snorted in contempt and kicked the bunk bed with a front hoof. The well-worn wooden structure swayed alarmingly, sending her dormmate’s alarm clock plummeting off its shelf.

“Whazzat?” The still-drunk mumble from the bottom bunk dispelled Sam’s hope that the slightly glowing equine would vanish on it’s own.

With great reluctance, Sam pulled the covers down far enough to glare at the horse. “Go ‘way.”

The horse shook its head.

Confused, but determined to send her hallucination back from whence it came, Sam propped herself up on one elbow and pointed at the door. “Go ‘way.

“Can’t have pets inna dorm.” Came the helpful mumble from the bottom bunk.

“Yes, no pets inna dorm. Go ‘way.” Satisfied that bit of logic would convince the horse to leave; she fell back into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

There was a long pause and then another kick.

She rolled over and gave the horse her best mean look. “Why won’t you go ‘way?”

:I’m your magical companion animal, here to rescue you from the torments of pre-teen angst. Now buck up and quit whining.: The horse kicked the bed again for emphasis.

Telepathy can be a wonderful thing. However, if you are recovering from the worst hangover of the fall semester, it loses a lot of its appeal.

“M’twenty-three!” Sam threw her pillow at the horse in self-defense, her hangover throbbing with the golden tones of the horse’s voice. “LEAVE ME ‘LONE!”

This, at least, kept the horse from kicking the bed again.

:But, they said… I was told…: It’s ears flicked back and forth nervously. :You’re supposed to be twelve!:

The horse’s accusation echoed in Sam’s head as she slid down from the top bunk and tipsily started pushing the equine out the door. “M’not twelve, m’twenty-three, don’ wanna horse, now go ‘way!”

Her roommate muttered encouragement from the bottom bunk, before falling back into her alcohol induced slumber.

The horse was half-way into the hallway before it planted its feet and refused to budge. :Now see here. I was Called. I was Called by a distraught young girl who was all alone in the world and needed guidance. So if it’s not you, what have you done with her?:

Sam stopped pushing and slid down the horse to sit on the ground. A hazy memory of a ouija board, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a double-dog dare was very slowly reappearing. “Oh-no.”

The horse snorted. :It was you! I knew it.: Sam was once again face-to-nose with the animal. She could almost feel it radiating contentment.

It was time to go back to bed.

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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