Nightmare on the nose

By Evelyn E. Smith
Incubus won every race but one. Yet though in this respect she matched Man o' War's record she wasn't actually a horse at all.
The gifting of animals with human speech is scarcely an unique idea—see Dal Stivens' THE UNDOING OF CARNEY JIMMY in this issue should you have doubts—the idea of a talking horse goes back at least to the siege of Troy, for certainly there must have been some dialogue amongst the Greek warriors enclosed in the wooden horse's belly. But we think you'll agree that Miss Smith's filly has something special.
Every time he lost money at the track Phil Watson had a nightmare. They grew increasingly frequent as his bankroll dwindled and his hopes of getting rich dwindled accordingly.
The night after he had dropped two hundred dollars at Jamaica, the nightmare grew particularly oppressive. In the darkness he could see her red eyes glowing at him as she sat on his chest.
Would you mind not turning over so much? she asked, seeing that he was awake. It makes me uncomfortable.
It makes you uncomfortable! he moaned. How would you like to have a couple of tons of horse sitting on you?
I do not weigh a couple of tons! she snapped. And furthermore I assure you I'm sitting on your chest out of duty, certainly not out of pleasure. If you don't think I have lots better things to do with my nights than go around sitting on people.... Her large white teeth gleamed in a significant leer.
He sighed and squirmed again. A sharp hoof kicked him in the side. That'll learn you not to wiggle, Watson. Since you're not sleeping, she added, how about a couple of games of Canasta?
I've been losing enough on the races—I'm not going to start gambling with a supernatural card shark.
Listen here. The nightmare bristled. I can beat you at any game without the use of supernatural powers. You're known as the number-one sucker at all the tracks.
That's right. That's right. Kick a man when he's down.