Fear for My Horses

Story Sent in by Amy:

Will wrote to me online, and unlike most of the messages I received, he was capable of stringing more than two words together into a complete thought. I don't even remember if it was that simple fact or his charm (likely both) but after a couple of weeks, he asked me out. It was my first date in two months, and I was glad for it.

He took me to a cafe with a small assortment of sandwiches and a wide variety of baked goods. He warned me, "Don't eat too much. We need to be limber, tonight."

Yuck. I thought what you're thinking, but I asked him, just to be sure, "What do you mean?"

His answer will haunt me until the end of my days: "I have a neighbor who dresses up like a horse. Every Friday night, he invites two other people over who dress like the same horse, and they sit in his backyard. You need to see it."

I bit. "He dresses like a horse?"

"Or she. You know, I have no idea if it's a man or a woman. I've never seen him otherwise. His house is all overgrown."

I asked, "Do they tramp around and neigh and graze?"

He became more focused on it, as if my own interest was a lightning rod. "No. They just kind of sit down around a table and eat. It's like a coffee party, but they're all in horse costumes, and almost every Friday. You in?"

Will lived on a quiet suburban street. We parked and he led me onto his second-floor back deck. It looked out over several backyards (two on either side and three behind him, those of the houses of a parallel street) but the one he had referred to was obvious: it was a fenced-in, tropical island of growth. Tall grasses, tangled trees, and, through the foliage, one or two ancient lawn ornaments.

There was no movement, as the sky darkened. Then, a light went on in the backyard, and then, someone stepped out of the old white house, into the yard. He wasn't in a full horse costume, as I had imagined, but he wore a horse mask (it was obviously a he), an undershirt, and what looked like black sweatpants.

The horse-man tossed his head from one side to another, then neighed. He slid a metal table and chairs out from around the side of the house, then sat in it.

Shortly thereafter, silently, another horse-person, this one in a similar mask, emerged from the house with a tray, bearing a teapot and cups. The second horse-person sat down, and then a third horse-person arrived, this one in a dress that looked like it was from colonial days. All three sat down at the table with the teapot and cups, and although no one drank, all three spoke in hushed tones.

Will gave me a look. I gave him a wide-eyed shrug. After all, what else could really be said?

Then, Will slid away from me, walked down the steps from the deck to his yard, and pressed himself against the fence, not too far away from where the horse party was taking place. Will then smiled up at me and nickered, like a horse.

All three horse people's heads turned in his direction. They couldn't see him, past the fence, but the first one, undershirt-horse, stood, picked up a broom, and crept closer to where Will stood.

Oblivious, Will neighed. He smiled up at me. I waved at him to move away from the fence. He either didn't see or was too invested in horsing around. The horse-man knocked at the fence with the broom, and Will scampered off.

The horse man glanced up at the deck, and although I was low to the floor, I didn't dare move. In retrospect, I'm not sure what he would have done that could've hurt me, but still, where I come from, one doesn't mess with a horse who brandishes a broom.

Will, who had apparently run inside through his front door, tapped on his back door and I rolled myself over to it. He said, "Date over. Good night." It might have been my imagination, but he had what looked like a dark stain streaming from the crotch of his slacks.

He closed the door on me, leaving me to wait until the horse-man returned to the table. I slipped downstairs as quietly as I could, hurried to my car, and left. Will never contacted me again.


  1. That's nothing. Where I grew up, we were surrounded by neighbors who were obsessed with home maintenance and lawn manicuring. This one time, we were all out for a relaxing family tea on the back porch (as we did every Friday) when this scumbag next door started harassing us, making horse noises. Dad went after him with a broom, and he never bothered us again.

    FYI: always dry clean your antique dresses.

  2. Can you make an exception and publish the "Neigh"bor's address? Otherwise so many questions will go unanswered.

  3. There was that story on here a while back, about a guy that went to meet his date in the park, but instead a group of people in horse-head masks show up. This house must be where they came from.

    1. Whoa. Good call. Could be part of that whole "horse boy" thing that was popular in Britain a bit ago.

  4. Yeah, it's hard being a family of half-human horse-headed monstrosities - you tend to get a lot of grief from the neigh-bors.

  5. Hey peeps - this is a fetish thing, and I think the date was into it. That was the dark stain.

  6. Hm,very interesting, even miracle story) i don`t know what should I do in such a situation)

  7. don't know what you people find in this story! It's a crap
    Christian Dating UK


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.

Content Policy

A Bad Case of the Dates reserves the right to publish or not publish any submitted content at any time, and by submitting content to A Bad Case of the Dates, you retain original copyright, but are granting us the right to post, edit, and/or republish your content forever and in any media throughout the universe. If Zeta Reticulans come down from their home planet to harvest bad dating stories, you could become an intergalactic megastar. Go you!

A Bad Case of the Dates is not responsible for user comments. We also reserve the right to delete any comments at any time and for any reason. We're hoping to not have to, though.

Aching to reach us? abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com.