• Published 11th Feb 2012
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The House on Mayberry Hill - Alexander



There sits an old house atop Mayberry Hill and Twilight seeks out to know the truth of it.

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The Barn

The House on Mayberry Hill

Chapter 10: The Barn

The moon was rising slowly over the low horizon as the dusk faded to night. The circular orb that hung as if by a string cast a pale opalescent glow across the lands and the thin white tint of it reflected off of window into the shadows below. A slow steady wind, chilled by the onset of autumn, was blowing through the narrow lanes and caused the wind chimes hanging in the windows to chime. The bell in the church tower sounded at the arrival of the hour.

At midnight when the moon was at its highest as if determined by a timer, the darkened form of a stallion darted out from the alleyway squeezed in between two homes built of wooden boards. He quickly ran across the cobblestone before taking refuge in the alley across the way. He paused only for a moment to catch his breath before darting out again into the road. He ran as quickly as he could towards the center of town.

Without missing a step, he quickly turned past the darkened silent library before continuing onwards to an alley that was shadowed by the blank backside of the postal house. He turned into it and crossed it to the street on the other side. Once on the other side, he slowed his pace to a mere walk and leisurely strolled onwards to the only home that was still lit up.

A thin layer of moss had lazily formed across the wooden side of the home and light was pouring out into the night through the open window. The stallion crept closer to the home and propped himself up in the window sill.

“Holly,” he said quietly to the red mare that was sitting back in a cushion by the far corner. Her head was drooping into a pillow as she vainly fought the will to stay awake. “Holly,” he said again.

She jerked her head upwards from the pillow at the sound of his voice and quickly turned to the window. Her expression instantly changed from one of drowsiness to one of alarm at the sight of him and she quickly crossed the floor to open the door.

“Boldwood,” she hushed as she held the door open for him to enter. “You can’t be here! I’ve told you that my father doesn’t like you being here! Quickly! Go before he wakes up!”

“Not until I tell you what I have to tell you,” Boldwood protested.

“What do you have to tell me?”

“Did you not get my letter?”

“What letter?”

“I sent it a week ago. You should have gotten it by Monday.”

“I have received no letter. After the last letter I got from you my father’s been going through every bit of mail that comes to and leaves this house. Perhaps he found it and burned it. I don’t know. I just know that I have received no letter of any kind.”

Boldwood stormed across the room to the wooden door that led the way to the hallway and angrily placed his hoof on the doorknob.

“Boldwood stop!” Holly cried as she rushed to his side and forcibly removed his hoof from the knob. She silently reclosed the door. “Stop! I beg you! Father’s sleeping and if he were to ever find out that you’re here or were here I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Holly, that stallion is controlling. He’s keeping you here as if you’re some dog. Holly –“

“Boldwood, he’s my father; he’s free to do that if he wants to.”

“Holly, no he isn’t free to do that. This isn’t love he’s doing, this is meanness and cruelty.”

“Please don’t say that –“

“How can I not? It’s the truth.”

“Boldwood please. I love my father. I know he means well with the things he does.”

“Holly, see reason.”

“My father is a loving father. He’s always loved me. Boldwood please.”

He looked down at the face of the pleading mare before finally consenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he said quietly, retreating back to a position of submission.

Holly extended her hoof and placed it lightly on his cheek and brushed his mane away from in front of his eyes. “It will all be alright. Don’t worry. Father will come around. Just promise that you won’t worry too much about it, my dear.”

“But Holly, he’s –“

“No more. Just be patient. Everything will work out.”

Boldwood pressed his cheek against her hoof and marveled at the warmth of it. He said, “I still haven’t told you what it is I have to tell you.”

“True,” Holly agreed, smiling as her lover nuzzled his cheek against her hoof.

Boldwood took a deep sigh before beginning. “I’ve been working on getting a house,” he finally said after a moment of silence. “The finalization of it will take a while and it probably won’t be until I get back.”

“Get back from where?”

“Aren’t you worried about the house?”

“No. I have a home here currently. I’m more worried about where you are going and what you’re doing. Boldwood, I love you. No house will ever be more important to me than you are.

“But the house –“

“Oh hang the house. I’m more worried about where you’re going. So I’ll ask again, getting back from where?”

Boldwood hesitated with answer before finally answering, “Someplace far away from here.”

Holly removed her hoof from his cheek with a blank expression on her face that ranged on being unsurprised, as if she had known all along. “So where are you going?”

“They’re sending me away to Los Pegasus where ever that’s at. They say its some sort of town blooming out west towards the deserts but that’s all they’ve told me.”

“When will you be coming home?”

“I don’t know how long they want me to be there. It could be a couple of months for all I know.”

Holly pressed the fore of her head to his and held it there.

“Please tell me you’ll wait for me,” Boldwood said he pressed his muzzle into the side of her neck. They sat in silence for moment in which only the swinging pendulum of the grandfather clock made any sound.

“Of course I will.”

“Even if I’m gone for a year?”

“Without any doubt.”

“What if I were gone for two?”

“I would think of you and worry over you everyday.”

“Really?”

“With all my heart.”

“Holly –“

“Yes?”

“I love you. I want you to be my wife when I return.”

“I love you too, Boldwood. I would be grateful and proud to call you my husband and to call myself your wife. It’s all I wish.”

Boldwood broke the connection with the side of her neck and stole her lips with his. Their passions were hot. Drool leaked from the corners of their mouths as their tongues sought each other. They pushed and pushed, trying to find where each began. It was Holly who broke the kiss.

“Now hurry,” she said as she wiped a trail of drool from her chin. “Hurry, before father wakes.”

Boldwood kissed her again. “Not until you say you love me again.”

“I love you.”

“Wait for me?”

“Always.”

He stole her lips once more before turning away and dashing back out into the night. Holly quietly closed the door after him and went back to her cushions. Blushing and suddenly in heat, she buried her head into her pillow. She slid her hooves down the length of her belly to her nether-regions. With a touch, she moaned and bit down on the corner of her pillow.

“Dammit Boldwood.”

******

The air was cold as Palmer Orchid slowly walked down the dirt road; olden Tinker was following close behind after having recovered from his earlier over-exertion. Palmer’s crook hung lazily to his side, held up by the faint blue light of his magic. As he neared a stone bridge, he turned his gaze up to the high moon and tracked its position in the sky. “One in the morning,” he said to himself. “I should be close by now.”

He continued his walk before seeing the faint glow of fire burning off in the distance. He sped up his speed to a quick jog and then to a hurried run as he tore down the road and eventually down the field. As he neared the light, he nearly ran headlong into the side of a barn. Pausing shortly to correct himself, he looked up to the window high above his head and recognized it as the light that he had seen off in the distance. He walked around to the front of the barn before looking back up to the road he had ran down from. He knocked on the door.

“Hello,” he said, “I’m looking for a place to stay for the night. I’ll have been left by the morning. Please, if you’d be so kind as to let me stay here for the night.”

He knocked again. And then again. On his fourth knock, the door flung open to reveal a band of stallions huddled around a dying fire. One was nursing a bloody nose, one was sitting on a fraying cushion and another was resting with his head on a dirty pillow. Palmer looked down and saw the old stallion that had opened the door. His mane was as white as the wool of sheep and his face was lined and shrunken with wrinkles.

“May ah help ya?” he asked in a voice that shook with his age.

“I’m just looking for a place to stay the night,” Palmer replied as he felt his dog press up against the back of his legs.

“Well come on in then,” the old stallion continued as he shakily moved out of the way. “Ah think we got a spare blanket or two someplace for ya to use.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Think nothin’ of it. Sometimes ‘tis only best to simply show an act of kindness to one another.”

With a nod, Palmer stepped in past the old stallion and heard the swing and the click of a closing door. He walked unsurely to the fire in the middle of the floor and sat down next to the stallion that was nursing his blooded nose. From afar, it looked almost comical but from where he was now, he could clearly see how severe the wound actually was. The side of his muzzle was ripped and blood was slowly oozing out from the wounds. He was busy as wrapping bandages onto it.

“What happened to him?” Palmer found himself suddenly asking and he clasped his hoof over his mouth as if he had just said a very dirty swear word.

“He got himself kicked and trampled by some of our cows,” said the stallion that had his head rested on the dirty pillow. “He got too drunk down at the tavern in town and ended up messing around with the cows. They didn’t find that too funny so they got him real good.”

“Shut up Manson,” the one with the bloody nose retorted as he finished tightening the bandage in its place. “You knew I was off it. Why didn’t you stop me when you had the chance to?”

“Because it was funny watching you stumble around like a foal,” Manson replied, sitting up a little higher to get a better look.

“You’re mean, Manson.”

“I know. What else is new?”

“I’m not going to start this with you today, Manson.”

“Start what?”

“You know exactly what it is you’re starting.”

“Do not.”

“Oh you’re doing it now!”

“Now, now you young’un’s,” the elder said as he walked to the pair and sat down between them. His old whitened mane fell like a thin linen sheet down the side of his face. “No arguin’. Can’t ya see we got a guest?”

“I can,” the blooded one said as he refitted the bandage.

“Ain’t y’all’s gonna introduce y’allselves?”

“Why? He’s only staying the night so I’ve heard,” the one named Manson said as he shuffled back into a lying posture on his pillow.

“Even so ‘tis common courtesy methinks.”

Palmer looked around at the crowd. There was the olden one that was obviously the kinder out of the bunch, there was the one that had been drunk and trampled by cows, Manson, and then the other that was still lying on his cushions without saying a single word or even having moved. Something seemed off about that one.

“Who’s that fellow?” Palmer asked across to the oldest as he pointed over to the younger stallion.

“Not quite sure of his name,” he replied. “Oh by the way, they call me Lock and they call these two idiots Manson and Flannel.”

“Nice to meet you,” Palmer said as he nodded his head to each in turn. “But getting back to my original question, who is that fellow lying on the cushions in the corner?”

“No pony knows his name,” Lock said as he looked sadly over to the other. “We just all call him Incognito. He’s really anti-social-like and he hardly every musters more than two words to anypony and when he does it’s usually ‘Morning’ or ‘Good night’. He’s a strange one. When he first came to working here on this here plantation, Ah had been here a good thirty some odd years. He came in as the tiniest foal Ah’d ever seen. Some rumors around town floatin’ round is that his mum and dad had been gotten into this here accident. Some say accident and some say murder but the truth is, no pony knows and no pony’s lookin’ to push to subject more than it’s worth. Ah think that the deaths may have messed him up in the head a little. That’s really all we know of him.”

“You said this is a plantation?” Palmer asked as he gazed sadly to the young stallion in the corner. He thought he saw him move.

“Yes, sir Ah did,” Lock replied. “This here plantation is owned by some stallion that come down from Fillydelphia Ah believe it is although he tragically passed several months ago. Now his daughter or his niece has taken over the business and all whatnot ya know.”

“What is her name?” Palmer asked as he sat up straighter and turned his ears closer to hear.

“Rose? I believe that’s it.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Ah don’ know. Hardly ever see her much and when we do it’s just in short passing. She keeps herself up by the plantation house most of the time. It’s a fine house. Ah don’ blame her for keeping herself up there instead of comin on down here to the fields and pastures. ‘Tis dirty work as a farmer; although Ah’ve been in this profession mah entire life so Ah’m a little bit more used to it.”

“What is it that you do?”

“Well mah father and his father before him were wheat farmers and then Ah took up the trade when Ah came of age. Now, Ah feed all the livestock here on this farm.”

“What about the others?”

“We have names you know,” Flannel suddenly cut in from his spot by the fire. The blood from his wound was already soaking the bandages in red. It seemed to glisten in the light of the fire.

“I know you have names,” Palmer replied apologetically, hanging his head and looking nervously at Lock who proceeded to laugh.

“Oh come now, Flannel. This here stallion’s only gonna be here the night; no need to go and get feisty at him. And besides, he and I was speakin’.”

“You old stallion, it’s a matter of respect. It’s not respectful to others to just simply call them ‘others’ when they’re around.”

“Alright then. Alright. Anyhows, Flannel over here takes care of the pigs and Manson there oversees the goats. Now let’s see here, Incognito helps me out with the feedin’.”

“Ah.”

“Yup . . . so what is that ya do?”

Palmer gazed absentmindedly for a while into the red depths of the fire for a moment before answering the olden stallion. “I used to be a sheep herder back in the town of Klimmington,” he said. “My own father was one and so was my grandfather. As a matter of fact, the entire line of my family has been sheep herders.”

“Ah. So you’re a shepherd? Why’d ya come here then?”

Palmer looked around the room at each of the ponies who were all looking back at him expectantly, all except for Incognito who was still lying in the corner with his back to every thing. He shuffled his hooves uneasily under the weight of everypony’s gazes. He raised his head before answering. “I don’t really wanna talk about it and that’s final.”

“Well alright then. If ya don’t feel comfortable talkin’ about it then no pony’s gonna pressure ya into it,” Lock said with a knowing smile. He reached his hoof up to his chin and thoughtfully tugged at the length of his beard that he had allowed to grow out throughout the years.

“So that’s that?” Manson asked from his pillow. “We just let somepony just waltz all up in here and we’re not gonna find out anything about him? Sounds fishy to me.”

“We’re all entitled to our own share of secrets,” Lock replied with another tug of his beard. “I think I remember that when ya first came round and stared workin’, ya didn’t tell nopony anything about ya.”

“That was years ago.”

“Even so. It was the same.”

“If you say so, old stallion,” Manson said before standing up. He gave his legs and back a sound crack before walking to the door and going outside.

Palmer heard the sound of heavy hoof steps going away from the barn. “Is he always like this?”

“Hmm,” Lock pondered for a while with a tug of his beard. “Not frequently but he can be. A couple years after he arrived he went and got diagnosed with some sort of disorder that can’t remember which it was. But anyhow, he has good days and he has bad days and then he has days where he’ll just constantly switch his mood. Best way Ah could describe him would probably be to say that’s he’s like Winter and Summer. One day he’ll be cool and calm like a winter afternoon, and then the next he’ll be hot, fumin’, and pissed about somethin’. Ya see what Ah mean? He changes. Ah dunno his story cause he’s kept it mostly a secret but ya know how it is.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m too messed up to even care right now,” Flannel said as he held his muzzle in his hooves. “My nose is a mess and my head is pounding. I’m going to bed.”

“Good night, Flannel,” Lock said.

“Night.”

Palmer silently watched as he laid down on his cushion and turned his back to the fire.

“Well if Flannel’s goin’ to bed then Ah reckon it’s about time we do the same,” Lock said as he reached over to a pail of water. He poured it onto the fire that consequently sparked and sizzled. Before Palmer had the chance to find a pillow of his own, the barn was cast into darkness.

“Good night, stranger. Ah hope ya find whatever it is you’re lookin’ for.”

“I do too.”

******

Rose looked out of her window at the dark of night and pressed her forehead against the glass. She reached up to the top of her head and undid the loose bun. Her mane feel like playful ribbons on either side of her face and she brushed the stray strands of it out from in front of her eyes. She turned in her chair at the sound of clicking locks as her door opened.

“Manson, you’re late,” she said with a coy smile. “I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten which day it was.”