A thing in the shape of a horse.

Fevered dreams lay above the grown man, smothering him just as much as the blankets that clung to his sweaty skin.  In the darkness he rolled from one side to another, letting out intermittent moans as if to summon somebody, anybody to help him.  Nobody would hear, or course, the house was his and his alone, visited by others infrequently enough that he had stopped cleaning up the dust that clung to his drapes and sat atop his dresser, counter tops, and furniture.  There was however a something in the room with him.  It wasn't quite thoughtful enough as to be considered a person, and if he were to startle awake he would not have even seen it, large as it was.  No, the deep midnight-blue horse that stood in his room, watching him, was passing through the neighborhood and had happened on a particularly delicious scent as it enjoyed the starlight of the cobbled lane.  It was just a short hop through the walls, sniffing as it went and it had arrived here, in the room.  It licked the air, tasting the distress, the musk of the sweat mixed with the low grunts of discontent and fear.  Perhaps it would have stayed until morning cracked the lids of his eyes through a small slit in the curtains.  A jingle on its silver-dyed collar would pull it away though, just as the clock was turning towards one in the morning.  It's master was impatient.  With a final glance at the contorted form, the Nightmare pranced through the wall as if it were not even there, falling daintily from the second story of the house to land on the street below.  The beast knew its way home, it had passed the time in this antiquated section of town many nights when it was given the chance and been called in just the same way barely less times.  The second ring was traditional as well, five minutes after the first.  The master was of course in a hurry as usual.  Very few nights was the beast able to trot home before the second ring, but it had escaped the third ring of the bell so far.  It was a creature of magic and knew what a third ring might mean, and in so knowing somewhere deep within its bones it quickened its trot to a gallop, furrowing the brows of sleepers within earshot of the horse-shaped being as it wove its way through the zig-zaging streets.  It passed cars and streetlights and dark windows as it ran, seen by nothing, for nothing out on the streets was magic enough to even touch the world that it belonged to.  The only one to acknowledge its presence was the grey-haired old man who waited for it, bell raised in his pale hand and a scowl that seemed etched into his wrinkled features.  The beast walked forward with lowered head, pretending a humility it and its master knew it lacked, but the pretense counted enough that its tardiness would be ignored once again.  The old man, lowered the bell, muffling the clapper with his hand and stuffed it deep within one of his many coat-pockets.  Merely gesturing towards the garage, he reached into another pocket producing a pipe and matches.  The beast fulfilled its part of the ritual, walking through the garage doors and backing into the waiting carriage harness.  Leather straps slithered like snakes upon its skin, clasping themselves and encircling the beast's body.  Such things had long ago ceased to startle the beast, and it waited in silence for the contraption to finish before dragging it through the garage door it had entered, horse and carriage both slipping through like ghosts.  The man simply nodded, pulling himself up onto the driver's bench and pulling the reigns.  It was a dark night and the beast's master had duties to attend to.