The Other Stall
You turn the corner to the other stall, measuring your steps so as not to make any loud noises. For all you know, there could be another dog or some other creature far more feral inside. Some part of you disagrees with your secrecy and tells you to whistle, that a simple noise might alert the creature to your presence in a way that won’t frighten it. Or else, that only works on prey animals and if there’s something predatory in the stall, it’ll only alert them that dinner is approaching. Your mouth runs dry and your lips remain pursed although you can’t decide whether or not to whistle.
Before you decide, you round the wall into the stall and take a hoof to the face. Apparently, there was a horse in here after all, although it still seems highly unlikely. Why would a converted garage suddenly be a stable again? As you fall toward the floor, the room around you suspends, time no longer moving. In the split seconds before you lose consciousness forever, you notice that the lights over the stalls and aisle are on, humming and peppered with flies. There’s the distinct, citrusy smell of leather oils, and a warm, hay scent mixed with sweet fly spray. There’s a gorgeous blood bay horse in front of you, rear leg still extended toward your face. But there’s also the sound of other horses in the surrounding stalls, snuffling and kicking the walls, knocking their noses against water buckets.
You’re no longer in the garage. At least, you’re no longer in the current garage. This must have been what it was before it was converted.
For a moment, you can see yourself from outside. You guess it must be one of those out-of-body experiences some people have when they approach death. And yet, this doesn’t feel like any of those situations. This feels like you’re simultaneously inside and outside of yourself — two different people.
You have no more time to dwell on it, though. Your eyes close and your head hits the floor.