The Puddle Monster Ghost Case, Part I: A Pony Detective story

What starts as a sloppy-track spill quickly turns into a case of fog, folklore, and a missing favorite.

by N.A. Souer

“Run, Charmie, run!” Sasha yelled at the TV on the tack room wall.

“Be careful,” Mama Kitty called. “The track looks slick.”

“Go Charmie, go!” Tweak added.

Mud flew as hooves thundered by on the sloppy track.

Everyone nervously watched.

The announcer’s voice trilled with excitement. “Charm Bracelet is in the lead, Zina Lite is coming up on the outside, followed by Battle Cry and Sandman at the first turn.”

The view on the TV screen switched to an overhead drone, it showed all four horses at top speed. Suddenly there was a pile up, a tangle of legs, hooves and mud. The TV camera switched to a different view at the far turn.

“Charmie’s down!” Sasha screamed. “I saw her go down.”

“Jeepers Gone charges for the lead,” the announcer went on. ”And at the wire it is Jeepers Gone, with a three lengths lead for the win.”

“Show the far side,” M yelled at the TV, just as his cell phone began to ring back in his stall.

“I’m afraid Charmie is hurt,” Mama Kitty said.

Sasha nodded. “Running on a sloppy track is so dangerous,” she said.

The TV picture finally switched back to show the far backstretch, where a horse ambulance blocked the view. The announcer’s voice came back on with a solemn tone. “The track’s veterinarian staff has informed us the favorite, Charm Bracelet, has pulled a tendon and is being transported to the hospital.”

“Poor Charmie,” Sasha said. “She worked so hard to qualify for this race.”

“That’s not the real story,” M said, coming out of his stall. “Let’s go. The track manager wants us down there fast.”

“Why?” Mousy asked.

“Because,” M said with a smirk, “they think Charmie has been swallowed by a puddle monster!”

***

Twenty minutes later the staff of the M&T Pony Detective Agency arrived on the scene. The group was met by track manager, Sollie Joe, a big TB who was also the majority shareholder of the real estate group which owned the property.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said.

M nodded.

“What happened?” M asked “We watched the race on TV, but it was not clear how bad Charmie was hurt.”

“Well,” Sollie Joe began, after a nervous clearing of his throat, “the official story is that the favorite in the race, Charm Bracelet, tore a tendon and had to be rushed off the track.”

“And, the unofficial story?” M pressed.

The track owner shrugged. “We don’t know,” he said. “All we know is Charm Bracelet has disappeared and we don’t have a clue how or why.”

“What do you mean?” Tweak asked. “We watched her run on TV.”

“Yes,” he answered, “and that’s the last time anyone saw your friend.”

“Come on,” M said. “Racehorses don’t just vanish during a race, especially a contender for the State’s Fall Charity Derby.”

Sollie Joe looked down at M. “That is why I called you,” he said.

M smirked again.

Since retiring from his job as a special agent for NPSS, aka the Northland Pony Secret Service, M had started his own business with his fellow miniature paddock mate, Tweak. The original plan was to do private security and simple case work, but things did not go to plan when the Covid 19 Pasture Virus hit and the economy took a downturn. There were some lean times, but M was determined and thankful for whatever work they got. Over the years the M&T Pony Detective Agency had become known for solving odd cases, even some supposedly paranormal ones. While it was not a reputation M wanted to capitalize on, he humored the clients who were sure they had a ghost problem. Most of the time it was bunk and M knew it, but he was game for any work that paid the bills and allowed him to make payroll each month.

“What else can you tell us?” M asked.

“Well,” he began, “I am not sure if this is connected or not, but a couple months ago we had a similar thing happen on the same part of the track. Several race runners said afterwards it was like they were suddenly in a cloud-like fog and they piled into each other. Fortunately, no one was hurt.”

“What about this puddle monster you mentioned on the phone?” M asked.

Sollie Joe blushed with embarrassment. “Please forgive my lapse of professionalism,” he said. “I was so distraught after witnessing what happened.” He paused, and then offered more explanation. “Three years ago, when a track out in California had so many runners hurt due to footing conditions, the board of directors here decided to be pro-active and initiate changes to our track. As soon as funding was approved, a large improvement project was started. The construction crew had just broke ground to install a new drainage system when equine skeletal remains were found. DNA tests determined it was native equine bones, and work came to a standstill while the racing foundation battled in court with the Appaloosa Horse Tribe over whether or not the land the track sits on is part of the original 1880s Land Treaty.”

“And how did it turn out?” Tweak asked.

“In the end it was determined the border for the 1880s Land Treaty was ten miles south of here,” he went on. “The Racing Foundation offered to section off the area where the remains were found as a sacred site and work around it, but leaders from the Appaloosa Council voted to remove the remains and conduct a ceremonial burial on native land. However, not all members of the Appaloosa Horse Nation agreed with the council’s decision, and claimed we would suffer the wrath of the Great Puddle Monster Spirit for disturbing the site.” Sollie Joe paused and glanced at M. “It all sounds like nonsense, I know. This track has been here twenty-five years. Imagine what a legal nightmare it would be to bull-doze this whole facility and return land ownership to the local native pony tribes.”

“Interesting,” M said, then tried to tactfully change the direction of the conversation. “I’d like to head over to where Charmie was last seen.”

Sollie Joe led the group to the far side of the track.

“It sure is a sloppy day,” M said on the way, as another burst of rain poured down.

“Yes it is,” Sollie Joe said. “We considered cancelling today, but everyone looks forward to the charity race every year.”

“Charmie entered the race in memory of her grandfather, who died of colic,” Sasha said. “She planned to donate any prize money she got to the colic research project at the university.”

As they approached the backstretch, Tweak asked, “So what did you see here at the track when it happened?”

“I don’t know, really,” the big TB said. “Basically, the same thing you did on TV. Four horses were leading the race, suddenly they went down in a pile up, and only three got up.”

“And, you said something weird happened another time?” Mousy questioned. “Was the track in the same condition it is today?”

“No, it was really hot,” Sollie Joe said. “When the rain fell, it was like drops of water on a frying pan.” He paused by the gate, leading out onto the track. “We had this covering put up to preserve the scene,” Sollie Joe said, motioning to a large tent over where the pile up had occurred, “and we cancelled the remaining races for the day.”

“Good thinking,” M said, as yet another shower fell from the sky. “Otherwise, all this rain would wash away any evidence there was.”

“That’s strange,” Mousy said, dodging some good sized puddles to get over to where imprints of several scrambling horses could still be made out in the mud. “It looks like one of the horses had some kind of bar shoe.”

“That’s Charmie,” Sasha said. “She was still having a tendon issue and her farrier said a bar shoe would help reduce the concussion on her heels.”

“But no one races with that type of shoe,” big Sollie Joe said. “It wouldn’t give enough traction to run fast.”

“She looked fast enough to take the lead in the first part of the race,” M said. “Charmie has always been a strong runner,” Sasha said.

“Running a race in bar shoe is not the norm,” Sollie Joe said, shaking his head. “That’s more of a therapy shoe.”

“Maybe so,” Mousy said, “but look at this.” He glanced over at M, and then pointed a paw at a place in the sloppy mess. “The imprints of the bar shoe come this far, then stop here,” he said, motioning to a bulging ridge of sloppy footing. “Beyond this weird bulge of mud, there are no more bar shoe hoof prints.”

M turned to Sollie Joe, and asked,” What about the other horses in the pile up?” Has anyone talked to them?”

“They were pretty shaken up,” Sollie Joe said, “but I’m sure someone from track security got their statements.”

“I’d like my team to talk to them as well,” M said.

“What for?” Sollie Joe asked. “I’m sure they told security everything they knew.” “They saw Charmie last,” M pressed, “so I’d like to get their story first hand.”

***

A half an hour later, Tweak and Sasha stood under an overhang on the back stretch as another shower burst from the sky.

“Here it is,” Tweak said, motioning toward a stall name card that read, Battle Cry, in bold lettering.

The big, chestnut TB came to the stall door and looked out at them. “Yeah,” he said, obviously put out by visitors so soon after a race. “What do you want?”

Tweak began timidly, “We’re from the M&T Pony Detective Agency,” he said. “We’ve been hired by the track’s management to look into what happened today.”

The big horse’s demeanor changed.

“It was horrific,” he said. “We were going all out and the next thing I knew I was flat down in the mud.”

“Did you see what happened to the leader, Charm Bracelet?” Sasha asked.

The big TB scowled at her, then said with irritation, “Lady, I couldn’t see anything except fog and mud.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Tweak asked.

He looked down at Tweak, then seemed to recall something. “There was one stride that felt odd,” he said.

“How so?”

“Well, it felt like my feet hit something hard, like metal.” He paused, then added “Like I said, next thing I knew I was in the mud.”

***

On the other side of the barn, M and Mousy talked to Sandman.

“It was the strangest thing,” the big dapple gray TB said. “We were going along and I was getting ready to come around the outside. Next thing I knew, Battle Cry went down in front of me and I tumbled over him.”

“What about the leaders?” M asked, “Charm Bracelet and Zina Lite?”

“The girls were several lengths ahead,” he said. “It was hard to see them through the fog and mud.”

M thought a moment, then said, “The track was sloppy but it didn’t look foggy.”

The big horse looked down at M.

“It wasn’t at first, just wet mud,” he said, “but when we got to the back stretch it became foggy.”

“Did you see what happened to Charm Bracelet?”

He shook his head.

“It was hard to see anything,” he said. “I heard Zina Lite scream just before I fell. Later, she told me the great puddle monster ate Charmie.” He paused, looked down at M, and then added, “You know how mares are, always dramatic.”

M nodded. He understood.

***

Back at the barn, everyone gathered in the tack room.

“Why would Battle Cry say his feet hit something hard?” Sasha asked.

Tweak shrugged.

“Has anyone talked to the other horse in the race?” M asked

“I tried,” Mama Kitty answered, “but the vet gave Zina Lite a tranquilizer immediately after the race.” Mama Kitty paused, then added “I did talk to one of the track ponies, and he said Zina Lite was extremely upset and kept screaming a giant puddle monster had swallowed Charmie.”

“Anything else?” M asked

“Yeah,” Mousy said. ”I was curious why it was so muddy on that side of the track if the new drainage system had been installed. I went online and looked at the permit filed with the county for the work.”

“And?” Tweak pressed.

“There are some big discrepancies.”

“How so?” M asked.

“Well, not all the measurements submitted for the permit match what actually is out there. I’m going to see the head of track maintenance later today. He indicated on the phone there’s some kind of underground control area near the backstretch.”

“I’d like to see that,” M said, then looked over at Tweak, Mama Kitty, and Sasha. “In the meantime, talk to Charmie’s friends, family, and anyone she’s been around. See if anyone wanted to hurt her.”

“I take it you don’t believe a puddle monster swallowed her?” Mama Kitty asked.

“No,” M said with a disgruntled huff, “cuz I don’t believe in puddle monsters or ghosts.”

…

Tune in tomorrow for Part II. 

---

N.A Souer (Nancy) got talked into submitting the first Pony Detective story by her miniature horse, M&M, who fancies himself a writer. When Nancy explained to M that no one would believe a miniature horse could write, he told her if she did not submit his stories under her name he’d dump her out of the cart on the next trail drive. LOL M (and Nancy) live in the south-metro area of MLPS-St. Paul.  Although semi-retired now at age 26, when he is not writing M enjoys an occasional trail drive, but mostly these days he takes Nancy out on walks because the “people vet” told him he should exercise her more.