Halloween Short Story: Ghosted By Soundness

A traumatized horse owner’s tale.

It started, as these things always do, with a slight head bob.

“Probably just an off step,” I told myself cheerfully, as if optimism could fix suspensory ligaments. The next morning, my mare greeted me at the gate on three legs and a look that said, “I’m fine, but your wallet isn’t.”

The vet came out. Flexions. Nerve block. Radiographs. Bloodwork. A casual mention of “maybe a bone scan if this persists.” The bill arrived before the diagnosis, carried on a cold October wind. I didn’t even open it—just felt the chill of financial despair and the faint scent of Banamine in the air.

That night, I heard it: clip… clop… clip… clop… CHA-CHING.

Everywhere I went, I could hear the sound of ghostly hoofbeats followed by the echo of a card reader. When I turned on the barn lights, the shadows on the wall looked suspiciously like invoices. The feed room door creaked open by itself—inside, a single syringe lay on the counter, still damp with the condensation of an unholy vet cooler.

The next morning, I found my horse standing soundly in the paddock, grazing happily. Miraculously cured. But when I looked closer, there it was: a new swelling on the opposite leg.

I called the vet again. She didn’t answer — but I swear I heard her voice through the phone anyway: “Have you checked for Lyme?”

The following week, I saw the same ghostly vet truck idling at the end of the driveway, headlights glowing red like the eyes of a horse who’s seen a plastic bag. Every time I blinked, it was gone. But in its place, another envelope appeared in my mailbox.

I tried to run. I tried to hide. I even stopped Googling “mystery lameness horse forums.” But each time I opened my online banking app, there it was — the balance dropping faster than a dressage score after a spook.

On Halloween night, the truth revealed itself. My horse was fine. Perfectly fine. Not a limp in sight. But under the moonlight, her reflection shimmered — two of her, standing side by side.

The original… and her cursed clone: The Phantom of the Vet Bill.

Now, on quiet nights, you can hear the whinny of the damned and the scratch of a pen signing another check. And if you listen closely enough, you’ll hear the whisper carried on the autumn breeze — “Just a little bit off on the right hind.”

Happy Halloween, Horse Nation. May your horses stay sound… and your bank accounts survive the haunting.