The Lawrence Watt-Evans Fantasy

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  He couldn’t think how to finish it, and for a moment he and the witch just stared at each other.

  “If anyone around here is behaving like part of a horse’s anatomy,” the witch said, “I’d say it’s you.”

  Jason swallowed, and tried to think of a comeback.

  “Seems to me you might as well look the part,” the witch said. She raised her hands and began mumbling something that sounded so weird it made the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck stand up.

  Before she could finish, Gus rammed into her side in a sudden body-check. “Oops, slipped,” he said, as she stumbled over against the magazine rack.

  The man behind the counter looked up from the six-pack of soda and bag of corn chips he’d been ringing up. “Hey, you boys get out of here and stop bothering my customers!” he shouted.

  “Come on,” Gus said, pulling at Jason’s sleeve.

  Jason came, stumbling back out through the door. He suddenly felt really strange.

  “I think she tried to put a spell on me,” he said once they were outside in the parking lot, only realizing how stupid it sounded after the words were out.

  “Is that what it was?” Gus said, and punched Jason on the arm. “Heck, I thought she was getting ready for one of those kung fu moves or something, that’s why I bumped her.”

  “Yeah—well, thanks,” Jason said. His legs felt peculiar, full of twinges and twitches, a little like they did sometimes after a really long run. And his shoes were pinching.

  “You okay, Jase?” Gus asked.

  “No,” Jason said. He kicked off his shoes; now his pants seemed too tight around the ankles.

  “Maybe you better sit down,” Gus suggested. He looked around for somewhere to sit.

  Jason shook his head as he leaned on the hood of a pick-up. His legs didn’t want to bend right; sitting down was not what he needed. In fact, without knowing why, he was standing on his toes.

  His legs felt as if they were splitting right down the middle. He looked down at his stocking feet and almost screamed.

  They were changing shape. And they were splitting down the middle, the front and back separating.

  His socks tore a moment later; then the legs of his jeans began to split.

  “Wow,” Gus said, staring. “Like the Incredible Hulk, on TV!”

  “She did cast a spell!” Jason shouted. He looked at his toes merging into hooves and said, “I’m turning into a horse!”

  “Your face is still okay,” Gus said. He was trying to stay calm, but Jason could see from his face how scared he was.

  And if Gus was scared just watching…

  Then Gus’ words registered, and Jason realized that in fact he didn’t feel any changes in his face—or for that matter, anywhere above his waist.

  Below his waist, though, was another matter. He unbuckled his belt before the squeezing turned into actual pain.

  His jeans were ruined; both legs were split. The side-seams were gone all the way to the waistband. He straightened up and looked down.

  He couldn’t even see his back legs from this angle. He turned and looked over his shoulder.

  There he was, covered with reddish-brown hair; he twitched something that itched, a part of him that hadn’t been there a moment before, and saw a newly-acquired dark brown tail, just the color of his hair, flick up.

  From the waist down, he had turned into a horse.

  More importantly, though, he realized he was standing there in the parking lot with no pants on, just the ragged remains of a pair of jeans dangling from his waist.

  “I’m turning into a horse!” Jason shouted.

  “I don’t think so,” Gus said. “I think you’ve stopped. Maybe I interrupted her before she finished the spell.”

  “So I’m going to stay half a horse?” Somehow, Jason didn’t find this significantly better.

  “You’re a whaddayacallit, Jase—a centaur. That’s not so bad. I mean, at least you can still talk and everything.”

  “But my pants… Gus, what am I going to do?” Jason looked around for someplace to hide, but there wasn’t anywhere a centaur would fit.

  Gus considered carefully, and Jason watched him hopefully. Gus grimaced in concentration; then at last he spoke.

  “I don’t know, Jase.”

  “Fat lot of help you are!” Jason snapped. He looked around, almost panicky. “I better apologize to her—I mean, I guess I said some rotten stuff. I don’t know what got into me. Maybe she’ll turn me back.”

  “Good idea,” Gus agreed.

  Together, they walked up to the door of the 7-Eleven, and Gus pulled it open. Jason started to enter the store, and discovered that he was now taller than before, as well as having more legs—he had to duck slightly to clear the doorframe.

  “Hey,” the clerk shouted, “You can’t bring a horse in here!”

  “I’m not a horse!” Jason shouted back, “I’m a…a centaur!”

  The clerk glared, chewing his lip, then called, “Well, you still can’t come in here! You aren’t decent! And you’re barefoot!” He pointed to a sign that read, NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE.

  “But…” Jason began.

  “Out!” the clerk shouted.

  Jason reluctantly backed out.

  “Don’t worry, Jase, I’ll find her,” Gus said. He stepped inside, leaving Jason to stand in the parking lot, worrying, and horribly aware of people staring at him.

  In fact, by the time Gus reappeared Jason had collected a small crowd. None of them dared come too close, and no one spoke to him, but they all stared at him, and he could hear them talking among themselves.

  “It’s some kind of trick,” someone said, as he watched Jason.

  “Like the fake unicorn in the circus,” a woman agreed.

  Jason didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. He just stood, shuffling his hooves uneasily, until Gus emerged.

  “She’s not there, Jase,” Gus said.

  “Where’d she go, then? She didn’t come out this way!”

  Gus shrugged. “For all I know, she vanished in a puff of smoke. She’s not in there, though. I went through every single aisle.”

  “But now what do I do?” Jason wailed.

  “I dunno,” Gus said.

  “Who’s going to turn me back?”

  Gus shrugged again. “Maybe it’ll wear off,” he said.

  Jason snatched at that idea. “Yeah!” he said. “I bet it will. I bet I’ll wake up tomorrow same as ever. I’ll probably turn back to a pumpkin at midnight, like in Cinderella.”

  “So what’re you going to do for today, then?” Gus asked, with a glance at the crowd.

  Jason said, “I better get home.” He reached down for his shoes, but discovered that he couldn’t reach them—even with his forelegs bent, his arms didn’t reach the ground.

  Gus saw the problem and handed Jason the sneakers. Jason took them without a word, tied the shoes together by the laces, and hung them around his neck—though he wasn’t quite sure what use his shoes were ever going to be to him again if the spell didn’t wear off.

  He began walking dejectedly toward home. The crowd started to follow, but Jason turned and shouted, “Go away! Show’s over!”

  For a moment no one moved; then, muttering, the crowd dispersed, slowly and reluctantly, until only Gus walked at Jason’s side.

  “Jase, there could be possibilities in this centaur stuff,” Gus said.

  “Shut up,” Jason answered. He was not interested, not unless Gus had some way to turn him back to normal.

  “No, really,” Gus insisted, “I bet you can run like anything, now! And you could give people rides…”

  “I’m not even sure how I’m walking,” Jason pointed out. “If I stop and think about it I’ll probably trip over my own feet. I’m not about to
try running.”

  “Oh, but…”

  “Just shut up, okay, Gus?”

  Jason walked on in morose silence, listening to the unfamiliar rattle of his hooves on the sidewalk. The sidewalk was awfully far away, too—he hadn’t really noticed the change while it was happening, but ever since he had almost hit his head on that doorway he had known that he was considerably taller now than he had been that morning. Judging himself against Gus, he estimated that he was now a good six and a half feet tall, maybe more.

  Which might have been pretty cool, if the bottom half hadn’t been horse—and naked.

  “I can’t believe I’m walking down the street without my pants,” he said. “It’s like one of those awful dreams, where you go to school in your pajamas.”

  “I bet,” Gus agreed.

  Jason suddenly perked up. “I bet that’s it,” he said. “This is all a bad dream, right? I’m just dreaming?” He pinched his arm, the way people did in books and movies.

  It hurt. And nothing changed.

  “I don’t think it’s a dream, Jase,” Gus said. “I mean, if it is, I’m having it, too.”

  “I guess it isn’t,” Jason said.

  At last they reached Jason’s house, and together the two walked up the driveway to the kitchen door.

  The roof of the carport seemed uncomfortably close overhead, Jason thought. He knew it hadn’t moved; he was just taller.

  He opened the door and stepped in—and stepped in the rest of the way; it took a moment to get all four feet inside. His hooves thumped loudly on the linoleum.

  “Wow, Jase,” Gus said, “What’s your mother gonna say?”

  “I don’t know,” Jason said unhappily.

  “Is that you, Jason?” his mother’s voice called from the living room.

  Jason looked at Gus. Gus shrugged.

  “Jason?” his mother called. He heard her footsteps, and for a moment he wanted to hide—but she would have to find out sooner or later. He couldn’t hide forever.

  And besides, the whole thing still didn’t seem completely real. Maybe when his mother saw him he’d be normal again, and it would all be over.

  Then she stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

  Jason had heard and read about such things for years, but he had never actually seen anyone faint before.

  * * * *

  Centaurs don’t kneel well, Jason discovered, and they aren’t very good at sitting, either; he was more comfortable standing than in any other position. That wasn’t really a big surprise, since he knew horses sleep standing up, but it meant that he towered over his mother when Gus brought her around.

  She almost fainted again.

  At last she recovered enough to order, “Out of my kitchen!”

  “But, Mom…!” Jason protested.

  “Out!”

  Reluctantly, Jason backed out—there wasn’t room for him to turn around without knocking anything over. He hit the back of his head on the doorframe, and stood in the carport rubbing it as Gus stepped out of the house with Jason’s mother.

  “Hi, Mom,” Jason said.

  “Jason, what happened?” she demanded.

  “Well, there was a witch at the 7-Eleven…”

  His mother listened silently to the whole story, then said, “If you weren’t standing there in front of me I wouldn’t believe a word of it. Witches and centaurs? And you’ve ruined your jeans. And I’ve told you to be polite to strangers!”

  “I know,” Jason said unhappily.

  “And you can’t come in the house like that.”

  Jason remembered how tight a fit it had been in the kitchen. “I guess not,” he agreed. “But where’ll I sleep? What’ll I eat?”

  His mother didn’t have a quick answer to that.

  Eventually, however, they cleared out the backyard shed for him, and put in a layer of blankets that he could lie down on if he wanted.

  As for food, his mother brought it out to him. He had been afraid he might have to eat grass, but he found that he could eat most ordinary foods with no problem—with one exception.

  He couldn’t eat meat.

  It still tasted fine, but when it reached his stomach he got horrible cramps. His digestion wasn’t quite human any more, and the horse part was herbivorous.

  Well, he could live with that—and he hoped it wasn’t permanent. He’d never thought about being a vegetarian, but lots of people managed it.

  By the time his father got home Jason was fairly well settled in his shed, and the situation was almost beginning to seem normal—though he missed watching TV and playing video games.

  His father didn’t see it as normal at all.

  He didn’t faint; instead he stopped dead in his tracks and stared.

  Jason told the story again. It took longer for his father to accept it than it had for his mother, but at last it sank in.

  “We’ll have to find her,” he said at last.

  “How?” Jason asked. He didn’t need to ask who.

  “I don’t know,” his father admitted.

  The weather that evening was warm and pleasant, so the family ate a picnic dinner in the backyard, Jason’s parents seated at one side of the table while Jason stood at the other. Jason had to skip the chicken, but ate heartily of everything else.

  In fact, he ate far more than usual, and he’d never been a finicky eater.

  “There’s a lot more to feed,” his father pointed out. He added thoughtfully, “This could be expensive.”

  “Maybe it’ll wear off,” Jason suggested.

  After dinner, they found they had unexpected company—Gus, who had gone home for his own supper, was back, with both his sisters.

  “See?” Gus said, “I told you!”

  The two girls stared, goggle-eyed, and Jason felt himself blushing. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t wearing pants, but now he was more aware of it than ever.

  “Wow,” said Susannah, Gus’ older sister.

  “Can I have a ride?” asked Ashley, the younger sister.

  “I’m not a horse,” Jason protested.

  “But you’re a centaur,” Susannah said.

  “Oh, please?” Ashley pleaded.

  Reluctantly, Jason agreed.

  It felt very strange to carry first Ashley and then Susannah around on his back; neither of them seemed to weigh much of anything, as his strange new body was much stronger than his old one. Gus helped the girls on and off, but expressed no interest in taking a turn himself.

  The evening passed in a blur of walking and trotting about the yard, with one girl or the other on his back, clinging to his back or shoulders—he had no saddle or stirrups, nor any mane to hold on to.

  At last Gus and his sisters departed, and Jason’s family went inside, leaving Jason to settle down in his shed. He took a final look around the yard, then closed the door and went to sleep—standing up, because that was the only position he could get comfortable in. He hoped he would wake up entirely himself again, whether standing up or lying down.

  Alas, the next morning he was still half-equine.

  After breakfast his father reported no listings in the Yellow Pages under “witches,” “enchanters,” “sorcerers,” “wizards,” or “centaurs.” The half-dozen entries under “magicians” all sounded like sleight-of-hand stage acts or party performers, but Jason’s dad began calling them all in hopes of finding one who was more than that.

  Gus’ sisters returned that afternoon with some friends. By the end of the day word of Jason’s condition had spread throughout the neighborhood and several surrounding streets, and a photographer from the town newspaper had turned up to take pictures.

  By then Jason was confused and tired, and his feet hurt, but he was beginning to enjoy his sudden celebrity.

  The next day his parents questioned eve
ryone at the 7-Eleven, but found no one who could lead them to the witch; back home, Jason had begun charging a dollar apiece for a trot around the block, and was tucking a good bit of money away in his shirt pocket.

  He let Susannah and Ashley ride free, though.

  By the end of the week Jason and his parents had run out of ideas for locating the witch—or for that matter, any witch or miracle-worker. An attempted exorcism by a cooperative priest (most had refused to consider the idea) had done nothing at all; nor had the few strange rituals performed by various self-proclaimed magicians helped.

  “I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually,” Jason’s father said.

  Jason wasn’t so sure.

  On the other hand, he was now a genuine celebrity, charging a dollar just to get into the back yard for a close look at him, and five dollars for a ride.

  The crowds were not really much fun, and most of his friends stayed away, rather than be jostled.

  “What’s it like?” people would ask, and Jason could only shrug and say, “I don’t know.”

  It was all very strange and confusing.

  And Monday, Jason remembered as he settled to sleep on Saturday night, was the first day of the new school year.

  “I’ll have to wear shoes,” he reminded his mother the next day.

  “Well, we could call a farrier…” she said hesitantly.

  “I am not going to have anything nailed to my toes!” Jason answered.

  “Horses don’t seem to mind.”

  “I’m not a horse! And what if I change back?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. “Maybe I can make something.”

  “What about pants?” Jason asked.

  “I don’t see how,” she said. “I mean, if they insist, I’ll try, but let’s try it without first, all right, Jason?” She glanced involuntarily at his chestnut flank.

  Jason sighed. “All right.” Getting used to walking around in public without pants had been the hardest part of this whole experience, but he had to admit, when he thought about it, that he would look really stupid wearing anything below the waist—except maybe a blanket. He refused to even consider a saddle.