“Horse Girls”: An excerpt from Widow Fantasies
Horse Girls
Mr. Boyd said her new horse blanket was stupid. Left-wing bullshit. A blanket made of old water bottles isn’t gonna save the world. Probably won’t even keep the horse warm! He sucked on his remaining bottom tooth. Nina had seen him peel a whole orange with it. Decaying and brown, it reminded her of a shriveled kernel of flint corn.
She can’t see the tooth now. She can’t see where his mouth is supposed to be at all. Hela flicks her tail and the tumbleweed tufts of Mr. Boyd’s hair stir. His chin rests on his chest. His scalp glistens in the stall light.
Bet it cost a pretty penny too, he’d said. Nina hugged the green blanket to her chest and shifted on her feet. She only had an hour at the stables until her mom picked her up, and she’d wanted to spend time with Hela before then, but Mr. Boyd wouldn’t leave the grooming stall. He was working a stiff curry comb across Hela’s sensitive flank. Nina cringed. Hela’s ears went stiff.
Mr. Boyd, I can brush Hela when we’re back from our ride. Nina brushed Hela every day, favouring the softer body brush for her short coat with lots of patting and gentle whispers.
How much did it cost, eh? Mr. Boyd’s eyes were watery, like he was crying. But he wasn’t. Nina couldn’t picture Mr. Boyd ever crying about anything. Bet you don’t even know. Kids like you have parents who buy them everything.
Nina had used a year of birthday money plus what her granddad had paid her for helping him bottle honey from his beehives. And at $200, it was still less than Mr. Boyd had wanted for the second-hand blanket he’d tried to sell her.
Green-tech garbage is a corporate scam. You just—he burped out the side of his mouth—you just wait and see.
Mr. Boyd was getting louder. Rivulets of sweat ran through the deep creases in his forehead as he brushed. His smell—sickly sweet and fetid—rose above the scent of pine shavings and manure. Hela stomped her back leg. Her bridle was attached to the wall on either side with cross ties so she couldn’t move her head much, but she locked an amber eye on Nina.
Mr. Boyd, she doesn’t like being brushed like that so can you— He took a step toward her, backing her into the stall wall and pointing the curry comb in her face.
And how much are you willing to sacrifice to save your precious planet? You willing to go back to the dark ages? Have some quack bleed you when you get sick instead of going to a doctor?
Nina’s stomach was a fist. She searched her mind for a handle on Mr. Boyd’s logic.
Didn’t think so. You little bitches, you got all these big ideas but don’t know a damn about how the world actually is. He dropped the curry comb behind him and put his hands on the back of his hips, pushing his belly forward. A button on his work shirt popped open. He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest, which stopped him from swaying so much. Your mom drove you here, right? You willing to give up your car and ride around in a cart behind one of these all day? He slapped Hela’s rump. The horse in the next stall raised her head. Hela’s eye was still fixed on Nina—it gleamed the colour of thick resin on pine trees, sweet barley honey from her granddad’s hives— but now the white was showing. Now her ears were pinned back. Nina dropped the blanket and stepped forward.
Mr. Boyd, don’t—
Don’t what? He thrust his chin out. Whatcha gonna do? You horse girls are a fucking joke. Put this bitch on a horse and you got a small dumb animal on a big dumb animal. Mr. Boyd tossed his head back. Snorted. Stumbled over the curry comb and landed pants-first in the straw.
Mr. Boyd was still snorting, but Nina was not sure how. Hela’s hoof had crushed his nose along with his mouth. The sound it made reminded Nina of a soda can crumpling under a boot heel. Hela shook her head and nickered, eye twinkling. Nina wrapped her arms around Hela’s warm neck and inhaled sunshine, earth, and dry, golden grass.
Excerpt from Widow Fantasies by Hollay Ghadery, copyright © 2025 by Hollay Ghadery. Reprinted by permission of Gordon Hill Press. Widow Fantasies is available wherever books are bought or borrowed.
Widow Fantasies by Hollay Ghadery.
About Widow Fantasies:
Fantasies are places we briefly visit; we can’t live there. The stories in Widow Fantasies deftly explore the subjugation of women through the often subversive act of fantasizing. From a variety of perspectives, through a symphony of voices, Widow Fantasies immerses the reader in the domestic rural gothic, offering up unforgettable stories from the shadowed lives of girls and women.
"Every story in this book feels like jumping into a lake, like the flare of heat in your throat after a shot, like missing a step on the way down the stairs at night. These are works all the more powerful for their brevity. Hollay Ghadery’s book, in short, has made me a convert to the flash fiction genre." Jade Wallace, for The Miramichi Reader
"In eighty-three pages, and with a gorgeous cover, Widow Fantasies contains more than thirty stories of female fantasizing as a response and release to the frustration and rage at existing in a world of suppression." – Teresa Tumminello Brader, for MER Journal