They’ve been bangin, and crashin, and hammerin, and shatterin shattery-soundin things, and carryin things from the inside to the outside, with great big ol’ piles of rubble, for weeks upon weeks now, the people that bought the empty people-barn on our little part of the County Island, which us horses can see from our own corral. They do all their work at night.
They show up right about darkfall, and they work until long after our bucket gal comes outside to do what she calls our “bedcheck” before she herself turns in. They work, and they carry, and they bang, and they crash, saw and hammer, and drill, and make all manner of other people-noises that can keep a horse alert. I don’t know how much stuff can come out of a people-barn in all, but so far, it’s been at least a manure dump truck-size full, I reckon. We’ve been watchin and listenin to the proceedins with some interest, me, Coors, and Coors Light. Mostly ‘cause there ain’t much else to do when the racket’s keepin you up.
“I wonder how come they only come out to work at night?” wondered Coors Light aloud to us, one night, in the dead of darkness, with only the light from the nearby people-barn castin a pale kinda glow over us.
“Maybe they’ve vampires, like Fright Night,” said Coors, and then his brother Coors Light’s Ayrab horse eyes got very big.
“I think it’s ‘cause they go to their people-jobs durin the day like all the other County Island people do,” I said. “So night’s the only time they got to do their bangin and carryin on.”
“Or it’s like Fright Night,” said Coors Light.
“Or, they’re takin all the old people-barn fixtures and beddin out, and puttin in all their own new people-barn fixtures and beddin,” I said. “It’s called ‘re-modelin.’” I was sure my knowledge of people-barns would impress ‘em, and shut ‘em up. I didn’t want to find myself suckered into askin ‘em what a fright night was. There are some trails a horse should never go down.
“It’s exactly like Fright Night,” nodded Coors. “They’re totally digging out their underground dungeon lair for their vampire victims. And we’re the only ones who know what’s really going on. They could be after our bucket gal next!”
“Just like Fright Night!” agreed Coors Light.
“And then who would feed us?” Coors sounded shrill.
And before I could stop myself, I asked, “Do I even want to know what the hell you two are talkin about?”
“Don’t you listen when the bucket gal talks to her friends when you’re out riding?” asked Coors Light. “Don’t you ever wonder why so many people think us Arabians spook at stuff for no reason? It’s because we listen. And we know too much, especially about stuff they call ‘science fiction’ or ‘fantasy’ books, and movies, and TV. Which are all real, with mostly bad things that happen to people. And I mean bad things! Omigod, I can’t imagine what they could do to a horse!”
“Well, I generally try not to listen to people-chatter at all, if I can help it,” I admitted. But if it might affect a horse…
“Well, she talks about vampires a lot, and so do her friends. So do most of the younger girls at the prancing barn! Girls and women really like vampires, but I can’t figure out why, and that is totally spooky,” snorted Coors Light.
“Also zombies,” Original Coors added. “There are lots of zombies. They’ll eat your brain.” I was pretty sure they’d already eaten his brain, by then.
“Werewolves, too!” said Coors Light, noddin his head up and down, his eyes dartin back and forth in the darkness.
I didn’t like the sound of wolves much. Coyotes are bothersome pests, but a wolf ain’t a thing a horse wants to tangle with.
“So what are vampires and zombies and such?” There. I went and done it. I asked. Headin down that treacherous trail…
And Coors and Coors Light told me, and then some. They gave me the lowdown on all the lore — which is a fancy way to say bullshit, I think. Finally, they both ran out of breath and I got my turn to talk.
“Well then they can’t be no Fright Night vampires,” I said with great authority, “‘cause I’ve seen ‘em in the sunlight! Last week when y’all was busy takin naps, they drove up in the midday and walked all around outdoors from the house, in the sun.” I stomped my hoof for emphasis.
Coors Light pricked his ears. “Did they sparkle?”
“Like Edward!” exclaimed Coors.
“Hell no!” I pinned my ears. “They did not sparkle like Edward!”
Coors and Coors Light exchanged a look. “They’re hunters, then,” Original Coors nodded.
“Like Blade,” agreed Coors Light.
“But they ain’t got blades! Nor guns!” I sputtered. “They don’t even wear camo! They are not hunters! They are plain old County Island people re-modelin their people-barn after their people-work days!”
Ain’t nothin’ much sadder to look upon among us horses than sad Ayrab horses with big, brown, sad Ayrab horse eyes. I was lookin at two of ‘em now. Aw, hell.
“Must be hunters,” I grumbled. No, I ain’t gone soft. I was tired, is all.
Satisfied by that, the Coors brothers went back to finishin the last bits of our suppertime hay.
So, there ya have it. Now we got “vampire hunters” here on the County Island. Yeah…