HORSE NEBULA - a short story

Sep 21, 2026

Uploaded by Maeve

A.J. Balkin’s “Horse Nebula” opens with an early-morning atmosphere charged by wind, lake-grey light, and the narrator’s uneasy routines after quitting a nearby bakery job. For years, an elderly woman has visited at a predictable time, shaping the narrator’s days with small, recurring rituals. When she stops coming, the narrator’s sleep, caffeine use, and the neighborhood’s mood shift into a tense, uncanny perception, culminating in a return walk to a park where something unfamiliar waits.

LanguageEnglish

CategoryStory & Novel

FormatPDF

Pages6

Reading Time9 min

AccessFree to download

Chapter 1

HORSE NEBULA a short story A.J. Balkin Published by A.J. Balkin [at Smashwords.com](at Smashwords.com) Copyright 2009 A.J. Balkin Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to [Smashwords.com](Smashwords.com) to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support. Chapter 1 Three o'clock in the morning and there is a grey wind over the lake. I'm wearing a blue polo shirt, unwashed, caked in donut grease and batter. I quit my job two weeks earlier from Schroeder's Bakery-a cozy, friendly, neighborhood pastry house. I only had to walk six blocks to and from work, and along the way were boulevards of varied flowering trees, birch, and red maples. The neighborhood's buildings were of brick, mortar, and stone-all graced with creeping vines, in all hues of green. I enjoyed the regular customers, mostly elderly, that would come in to gossip over coffee and bear claws. One older woman was particularly endearing to me-she would always order a croissant buttered, and two chocolate éclairs. Her eyes were grey and transparent, but stolid and firm-she was small, and although her age must have approached 80, her skin was soft, and her face held the prints of youth. Her change from four one dollar bills would be two quarters, which she would place in the fold of my right palm, and mutter something in what I believed to be Norwegian. Our conversation, although generally brief, would be gentle and meaningful-I would relate my dreams from previous nights, which were regular and vided, and she would recall her past and her many trades, crafts, lovers. And then she would leave, without a smile. There was one morning I opened up the shop, and had one buttered croissant and two chocolate éclairs ready, as it was approaching 7am, her normal time of arrival. The hour came, and passed, and another, and another. I did not think much ofit, asthe pastries I had set aside for her slowly stuck together in the paper bag behind the counter. At the end of my shift, noticing the pastries that I had set aside, the thought of her absence crossed my mind. The day, with all ofits bustle, serving coffee, ice cream cones, donuts, and éclairs had washed over me, leaving her absence as an afterthought. I didn't think too much ofit as I closed and locked up the bakery that afternoon. I did take a slightly different route home, walking down a dead end side street, which eventually runs into a small grassy park with swings and a baseball diamond. It was a habit of mine to carry a flask of bourbon with me, so that if the passion would take me to such a setting, I could easily partake in drink, settling my nerves from the day, and life's other concerns. As I took from the bottle, I noticed that on the far end of the park, sitting alone along the row of taller grass, was a curious boy keeping quite still. His hair, the only discernible feature at the distance, was red and mangy. His figure was wispy, almost transparent from afar. At the sunset, the sky was red with lines of purple and orange. The wind was hardly perceptible in the trees. My dreams that night were difficult to recall. Few of the images carried over through to the waking world, but I awoke that morning feeling drained and fatigued, as if something was inside of my body weighing me down, or conversely, as if something essential from my body had been taken out. To make up for the loss of energy, my coffee that morning was extra strong, taking on a sloppy black appearance. I even had found an old package of NoDoz caffeine pills, and I took two, knowing quite well that the pastry shop would not rest on my account. The walk to work that morning was shaky and jagged, which if I reason right, was due to my normally low int

FAQs

What recurring routine has shaped the narrator’s life for years?

The narrator’s bakery schedule includes a daily order for a small elderly woman—one buttered croissant and two chocolate éclairs at her usual time.

What changes after the woman stops coming?

The narrator’s dreams become hard to recall, his body feels drained, and his environment starts to feel hostile and altered as he uses stronger caffeine to compensate.

Where does the narrator go when the absence grows unsettling?

He takes his flask back to a nearby park instead of going directly home, noticing a strange boy sitting alone in tall grass.

Sep 21, 2026

Uploaded by Maeve