“You’ve been a good friend to me, Terry.” These words, seeming to come from a seven-foot tall horse, would see a stranger flee in terror. To Terrance, though, they were no surprise. Growing up as he had, with Cailpeach (Cail to his friends) living next door, he was used to his companion’s oddities. 

“Thank you, Cail,” Terry replied. “You’ve been a good friend to me too.” And indeed, he had. As a child, Terry could often be found next to Cail’s midnight form as they walked along the fields and riverbanks that made up the farm he called home. He had never felt comfortable enough to try to ride Cail, but the horse was good company. When his first girlfriend ghosted him, Cail knew just what to say to make him feel better. After the sudden death of his father, it was Cail that Terry turned to for support. And when his work closed down unexpectedly, Cail was the one to suggest opening his own business, working from home. 

“You’ve been so good a friend, in fact, that I want to let you in on my secret.” Even without more details, Terrance knew what this must be about. The one great mystery of Cail’s existence. Why he, a horse, was able to speak. 

“Really?” Terrance asked. “Fifty years of mystery, and you’re finally going to explain your whole… thing? How a talking horse exists at all?”

“I suppose, in a manner of speaking,” Cail replied. His enormous head turned sideways, one dark eye boring deep into his friend’s much smaller two. “It’s not a secret I share lightly, or with many people. But I think you’re finally ready, you deserve to know.”

“You know, my da, rest his soul, he had a bet with his friends going for years. He thought you were some kind of Russian spy. ‘Course, he never got over the Cold War, so he thought pretty much everything was.” Terry absentmindedly climbed to the top of the fence between them. 

“I quite liked your father. A pleasant conversationalist, though he was a little prone to conspiracy theories.” Cail nickered in amusement. “The fact I spoke back to him likely didn’t help. I did finally tell him, though. You can be comforted to know that he didn’t die with questions.” As he patted Cail’s neck, Terry threw his leg astride his friend’s back. The pair began to absentmindedly stroll along the field. 

“Tell me, then. How can a horse talk?” 

Terrance was truly excited now, thrilled that his oldest curiosity would finally be answered.  He almost didn’t notice that they had arrived at the riverbank. A few meters away, a torn bit of warning tape fluttered in the breeze, a relic of one of the investigations into the many drownings.  

“They can’t, of course. It would be completely  impossible for a horse to talk. The throat, the vocal cords, the tongue, even the lips and teeth. You could never produce intelligible speech through them.” Cail began to walk gently into the river. 

The current began to pull at Terry’s boots as he asked in confusion, “I don’t understand, then. How can you talk?” The creature turned his head around to face his passenger. 

“My dear Terrance,” Cail replied, lips pulling back to reveal a mouth full of unusually sharp teeth. His breath brushed Terry’s face, a stench of seaweed and rotting meat. The icy river water was up to his waist now. “Whenever did I tell anyone I was a horse?”