The Bhut was a restless spirit from the Indian plains, currently inhabiting the stolen corpse of a fisherman. Corpse Habitation. It walked the shores of a Scottish loch, shivering in the foreign cold, looking for fresh meat. It saw a magnificent black stallion standing in the shallows, bridle and all.
"A steed," the Bhut rasped through dead lips. "Faster hunting."
It approached the horse. The stallion stood perfectly still, its coat glistening like oil. Tideglamour.
The Bhut reached out a decaying hand and grabbed the mane to mount.
The Adhesive Trap
The moment skin touched hair, the trap sprang. Abyssal Drag.
The Bhut tried to pull away, sensing the sudden malice. But the horse's hide was like superglue. The stallion shrieked—not a whinny, but a roar—and plunged into the loch.
"Release!" the Bhut commanded, but its host body was stuck fast.
The water turned from grey to black as they dove deep. The Each-uisge didn't drown its victim; it tore it apart. Liver-First Feast.
Underwater, the horse ripped the host body to shreds. The Bhut was forcibly ejected from its vessel as the flesh was consumed. Reduced to a disembodied shadow in the freezing, holy water of the deep loch, the Bhut dissolved into the current, screaming silently as the Water Horse finished its meal.