In the quiet folds of the countryside, where tales travel on whispers rather than in books, a peculiar story began to surface—one that teetered between legend, superstition, and a reality too strange to fully grasp.
Its odd title, “The Horse That Consumed Dusee—Plus Four,” caught the ear of anyone who heard it, puzzling some and chilling others.
Villagers spoke of a remarkable stallion, a creature of both beauty and uncanny intelligence. Its coat gleamed like wet silver, and its eyes held a depth that seemed almost human. This was no ordinary horse: it could sense moods, predict storms, and detect lies in the hearts of men. Its owner, Dusee, was utterly devoted, treating the stallion as a companion rather than property, sharing his days and secrets with the animal.
Yet, admiration soon gave way to unease. Slowly, Dusee changed. He grew pale, quiet, and hollow-eyed. His voice lost its warmth; his laughter disappeared. People whispered that the horse demanded more than feed and care—that it had begun to draw from something unseen within him.
And then the villagers spoke the chilling phrase that would forever haunt the story: the horse had consumed Dusee. Not with teeth or violence, but in a way far more insidious—siphoning his spirit, his energy, his very essence. Day by day, the man who had once radiated life and pride diminished into a shadow of himself.
When the truth became undeniable, it was too late. Dusee’s body lay lifeless, and the stallion stood nearby, calm and almost triumphant, eyes glinting with a strange awareness. Where once it had inspired awe, it now inspired dread—a silent testament to how devotion can be twisted into surrender.
The mysterious “plus four” only deepened the enigma. Some claimed it marked the four days it took for Dusee to wither completely; others feared it was a warning, signaling that three more men might fall to the horse’s unseen hunger. To this day, the phrase lingers in fireside tales and cautious whispers, a riddle that refuses to fade.
Whether the story is truth cloaked in fear, a cautionary parable of obsession, or simply folklore born from anxious imaginations, it persists. In the fields where horses still roam freely, elders murmur:
“Give not your soul entirely, for even the most noble creature can devour it whole.”