u/BlairDaniels

I am looking for a particular book I read as a kid, as I want to read it to my kids now. I hated reading but it was one of the only books I liked, about a horse with a mysterious illness that ended up being some sort of bug or parasite it was ingesting in the hay. I feel like it was probably part of a series with other animal rescue/veterinarian books. Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

I'm reading the summary to Mustang in the Mist which is part of the animal ark series, and it seems similar (the horse was affected by "grass sickness" caused by a bacteria) but I really feel like the plot of the book included a specific insect or parasite in hay.

It first happened on a Wednesday.

I was standing in the hallway, waiting for my sons’ art class to end. A woman I vaguely recognized—one of the other teachers—hurried over to me. “Your daughter’s looking for you,” she said.

I blinked.

“Uh, I don’t have a daughter.”

“Oh—sorry. I must’ve gotten mixed up.” She smiled and headed back for her classroom at the end of the hall.

I figured it was an honest mistake. Especially considering that I’m a very average looking woman, with brown hair, brown eyes, and an average build. Probably half the kids in the class could be mistaken for “my kid.”

But then it happened again.

I was grocery shopping late at night. One of the only ones in the store. I heard the pattering of footsteps behind me, and when I turned around, one of the employees was running up to me. “Excuse me! Ma’am?” she called. “I think your daughter is looking for you. She’s at the—”

“I don’t have a daughter,” I said, cutting her off.

“Are you sure?” Then she shook her head and nervously looked away. “Sorry. I… my mistake.” She turned around and headed back down the aisle.

Well, that was weird.

What’s the saying? If I had a nickel for every time someone thought I had a daughter… I’d have two nickels, which isn’t much, but it’s weird it happened twice.

I finished up my shopping. When I got to the counter, I saw the employee at the end of the cashier lines, whispering to another employee.

Weird.

A few days went by, and nothing happened. I’d almost completely forgotten about it, when I got a call from my sons’ pediatrician. “Hello, Ms. Montgomery?” the receptionist asked. “I’m calling to schedule an annual physical for your daughter…”

“I don’t have a daughter.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. It says here—” She cut off. “Nevermind. Have a good day.”

I stared at my phone. Three times, now? This felt really, really weird. How could so many people suddenly think I had a daughter?

I told my husband all about it. He thought it was a hilarious coincidence, and didn’t seem nearly unnerved as I was. “Maybe the girl’s mom looks like you. And she’s describing her to the teacher, and the cashier girl, and they think it’s you.”

“I guess that’s possible. That doesn’t explain the doctor, though.”

“Maybe someone just moved here with a similar name.”

“Maybe.”

The whole thing felt… wrong.

Especially because I’d always had this weird feeling. That I was meant to have a daughter. There was always this weird void somewhere inside me, a whisper that would surface every now and then. A daughter who looked like me, who I’d give all my wisdom to. Who would draw with me, play dolls with me, do all the “girly” stuff with.

It was stupid. Because gender didn’t matter anyway, especially not when it came to loving my children. But there was still a strange emptiness I felt, sometimes. Maybe I was pregnant one time with a girl, and miscarried before I even knew it. That was an offhand thought I’d had several times. And the body remembers the score.

On my lunch break the next day, I walked down to the local Panera. Halfway there, I heard someone calling out behind me. “Ma’am! Ma’am!” I turned around to see a man, looking frazzled. “Your daughter is back there, calling for you!”

“I don’t have a daughter,” I said, my voice a weak thread.

He turned around and pointed back, as if I should go to her anyway.

I looked up. And just for a second, I saw a little brunette girl. Just slices of her, through the group of people behind me. Ponytail bobbing. Little blue dress. Flickering through the chaos of the sidewalk.

When the group passed, she was gone.

I stood there, unable to move. The man had already hurried off, and I couldn’t move. That’s her. I knew I didn’t have a daughter. I knew there was no way that was my child. I knew it.

Then why do I feel like she’s mine?

After work, I drove to pick up the boys from school, but my head was somewhere else. I kept thinking of the girl. I knew it was crazy but I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I pulled up to the curb to let the boys in. The minivan door rolled open. But instead of the usual chaos, yelling and punching each other, there was only silence. And then—

“Mommy?”

Ice slid through my veins.

It wasn’t my boys.

It was her.

“I’m—I’m not your mommy,” I forced myself to say. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see a sliver of dark hair, a little ponytail. Her face hidden out of view.

“Mommy,” she said again.

Oh God. It was fun to entertain the idea of an imaginary daughter, but hearing a different kid’s voice calling me ‘mommy’ was like a jolt of electricity. “I’m not your mom!” I yelled. “I don’t have a daughter!”

I glanced up at the mirror again.

I froze.

The girl had readjusted, and I could now see her face.

Her lack of face.

Skin, stretched over the contours of her skull. Only skin. And yet, as I stared at her, I could swear the way her cheeks moved… she was smiling.

I screamed.

A second later, Brady and Aiden crashed into the back, fighting as usual. I looked back at them, panicking, but the girl was gone. Shaking, I pulled away from the curb and started for home.

Maybe I would’ve chalked it up to stress. Sleep deprivation. Something else.

But every night, now, I hear her voice. In the middle of the night, jolting me out of my dreams.

“Mommy?”

Coming from the closet.