The Haunting
Admiral Biscuit
I spent a little time in the afternoon exploring further into the wilderness. I hadn’t been wrong about there being a game trail of sorts. It was one of those things that wasn’t obvious when I tried to look for it specifically, but with a broad view, it stood out.
I walked along the trail for fifteen minutes or so--just long enough that I started to worry that I wouldn’t be able to find my way back. I hadn’t seen anything of note in the woods. Not that I had any idea what I might be looking for, exactly. A ghostly nest up in a tree? A mysterious cave with a weird moaning coming from its mouth even though there wasn’t any wind? A small cemetery or burial ground?
I thought that if there was something big to be seen, I would have seen it.
She might have a second collection of toys in the woods; if she did, I didn’t find it.
Would a ghost leave a scent on something? Could I track her with a bloodhound? I could just imagine how that would go if I started asking around for a bloodhound that could track a ghost. Maybe a ghosthound. Could the ghost of a dog track the ghost of a pony?
I kicked at a tuft of grass, which was rooted better in the ground than I’d thought. The pain in my foot helped re-focus me, just a little bit. There was no doubt that I was skirting the edge of madness—if one of my friends back on Earth had told me half the stuff I’d seen, I would have recommended he go right to the doctor and get a prescription for some heavy-duty psychotropic drugs. Or at the very least, an intervention. This kind of obsession couldn’t be healthy.
•••••
I could sit in my box-fort a little ways back from the window, and see her approach the house. I didn’t think she could see me from there, not with the lights out.
I saw her as she passed the oak tree. She didn’t come right in the house, so I eventually moved closer to the window and looked down at the garden, figuring that that would be the other place that I might see her.
Sure enough, she had her muzzle down in the dirt, and it looked like she was digging. I couldn’t tell for sure--binoculars might be another thing to invest in. At least I’d gotten an egg-timer; that was sitting within easy reach. The mare who had sold it to me had also informed me that it counted for three minutes, but only after rolling her eyes when I’d demanded specifics. I guess when I asked how long it kept time for, ‘long enough to cook an egg’ was a reasonable answer.
Since I had it, I started the egg timer.
She spent about a half hour in the garden, which was plenty of time for me to speculate on what she might be doing. From the way she moved through the rows, I finally came to the conclusion that she was weeding it, or at least attempting to.
When she put the trowel back in the tree, I moved back away from the window, back into the darkness where I wouldn’t be seen. Just in case she thought to examine the dormer windows before entering.
She came through the roof and instead of spending any time in the attic, she went right downstairs.
A few moment later, I heard running water below me.
This was completely new, and I had no idea what to make of it. She’d never turned on a faucet before, so why now? Were her hooves dirty from digging in the garden? How was that even possible?
Which faucet was it? It sounded closer than the kitchen, but it was hard to tell.
I was debating if I should get out of my box-fort and investigate when she came back up the stairs, went over to the edge of the flooring, leaned down, and came back up with her duck in her mouth. The one with the pull-string and the broken wheel.
I was regretting that I hadn’t built a system of box-forts.
I very cautiously lifted the lid and stuck my head up. I could hear the sound better now; it was undoubtedly the bathtub filling.
While I wasn’t the sneakiest guy in the world, I thought that it would cover any little noises that I made, so I got out of my box-fort and walked over to the attic stairs.
Since I didn’t see her when I stuck my head through, I hurried down the stairs. I was wishing that I’d had some kind of a ninja suit to make me less obvious, but it was too late for that now.
I could see that the bathroom door was mostly shut, but I thought it was more open than I’d left it. It was hard to be certain. If I’d been smart, I would have been setting things up in the house a particular way every single day so I’d know exactly where she’d been. Maybe little bits of thread tied to all the doors so if they were opened, the thread would break. Spies did that.
There was time to go back. What if she knew I was hiding in the boxes? She might be a lot smarter than I was. Maybe she was trying to lure me into the bathroom and she was going to brain me with the duck and then drown me in the bathtub.
Admittedly, that was one of the dumber ideas I’d had, but here in the hallway, alone in my dark house that had a ghost in the bathroom filling the bathtub, it seemed plausible.
Just the same, I moved slowly along the wall, all my muscles tense in case she did decide to come through the wall and get me.
She didn’t.
I took a moment to consider the layout of the bathroom. If she was in or near the bathtub, I could get by the door and not be observed.
If the door had been just a little bit further closed, I wouldn’t have been able to see anything, but I was able to get the slightest glimpse of her in the bathtub--not from the latch side of the door, but from the hinge side, the little gap between the door and the frame. More of a glow than anything specific.
Knowing full well that this was stupid and I should retreat while I still could, I very cautiously pushed the door slightly further open. Not all at once, where I might set up an air current that would betray me, but just a tiny bit at a time. A quarter inch at the most each time.
I felt reasonably certain that I wouldn’t be spotted. The spy-holes in the box-fort were bigger, and she hadn’t seen me yet, as far as I knew.
She was taking a bath, at least as much as a ghost can take a bath. I could guess by her movement that she was pushing her duck around in the water, and the occasional splashes I could hear reinforced that idea.
I wouldn’t have thought of the duck as being usable as a bath toy, but it was wooden so it would float.
She leaned forward and turned off the faucet, and from that moment I stayed completely still, almost afraid to breathe. Without the water running it was deafeningly silent, and there was no way that I could escape her notice if she heard something suspicious and got out of the bath. I might not even see her; she might get out the other side of the bathtub.
If I left now, I’d surely make enough noise to alert her, so I kept my eye up to the crack in the door and continued watching her.
When she pulled the drain plug, it was time to go. Being a ghost, she wasn’t going to have to dry herself off, and I didn’t have much time to hide.
I moved as quickly and quietly as I could back to the safety of my box-fort and I think I made it undiscovered. It was another few minutes before she came back upstairs, her duck in her mouth, the string trailing out along the ground.
She put it back in its hiding place and circled around the attic once, then went back through the roof.
I quickly looked through the window, and watched her disappear to the east.
•••••
She’d never come back after she’d left, not as far as I knew, so I climbed back out of my box-fort and went back to my bedroom.
While I got undressed, I pondered some more. Sooner or later I was going to have to confront her, somehow. Make her actually aware that I was here, but I was scared to. I didn’t know how she’d react. Assuming that she wasn’t aware of me, and that was a big assumption.
It was hard, sometimes, to remember little details from the past. Before I’d known she was here, before I’d built my box-fort, she could have come into my bedroom while I was sleeping. Perhaps she had; except for when I’d blocked the attic stairs, the whole house had been fair game for her. If she was curious at all, she would have noticed me. How could she not have noticed me?
Carrying that line of thought along, if she’d wanted to be aggressive towards me, she could have done something while I was sleeping, completely oblivious to her presence. Could have brained me with her duck or suffocated me with a pillow—could have done anything. So she probably wasn’t malevolent.
Probably.
How does one address a ghost? It would have been better if I’d known her name, but that seemed to be a dead end, unless I was willing to fold other ponies into my delusions. No, that wasn’t right, they weren’t delusions. She had a physical effect on her surroundings.
I got up again and went to the bathroom. The bathtub was wet. That was a fact. Not a delusion. The cupboard doors had been opened. There were toys hidden in my attic. Those were all facts, undeniable facts. There was no other explanation, not unless I had been doing it myself and not remembering that I’d done it.
What if I had?
I had a lot to think about.
So... was she taking a bath or doing laundry? You know, washing her sheets.
(Sorry. So sorry. Well, not really.)
A ninja suit? The equestrian madness is infecting you...
Ducky! Splish splash...
The image of a ghostly nest made of ghostly sticks up in a tree is weirdly adorable.
Here's the real question: is there hair in the drain?
Or maybe....
Oddly, I had a text chat with a friend today, in which she reported that her mother's home was haunted by the "not a happy spirit" of someone who had died in the (previously owned) house. She and two of her sisters (all older than you and I, I think) felt its presence and felt "ill" there. Her mother, however, likes the home and has felt nothing at all.
Anyway, I mention this because the unknown is easy to fear and develop spiritual explanations for, if you really believe in such things. Actually seeing proof of something, over and over, that you were at least reluctant to believe in might seriously cause you to wonder about your own sanity. At least your protagonist is concerned enough for his mental health to do some sanity checks along the way.
9327244 In my simple, care-free days, I never had reason to suspect that waterboarding a rubber chicken could be so disturbing.
A whole Maginot Line of box-fort!
Ok, that got weird.
🤔
I'm surprised he hasn't started with a ghost-watching journal. It will help a lot with "There was a filly taking a bath in my house and I spied on her. But don't worry, she was dead."
This is starting to feel like a person's descend into madness, not gonna lie...
He certainly seems to have a think about the duck being a deadly weapon, was he attacked by a duck in the past or something?
Oooooh boy. He's losing it.
How did the play go?
Maybe he should have a go at looking up some history, instead of directly asking about ghosts. Previous owners of house, missing ponies, cold cases, sad stories, Pinkie Pie?
First he follows a filly into the woods, then he watches her bathe. He considers... ahem... 'making' a ghost dog to help follow her... The only creepy thing here is you Mr. Protagonist.
Spying on a filly as she bathes... Pervert.
That said, I hope he tries to make contact with the ghost soon.
9327508
Oh god. That sounds wrong on so many levels.
9327244
Perhaps she was planning to do this.
Or, alternatively, tell him to lower the dosage.
I do hope this guy confronts the ghost before going so crazy that he ends up frightening her away. Going by this chapter, it may already be too late.
9327649
He's like Digger, she also has a fear of ducks.
Maybe he could buy her a new toy and leave it in the attic...
9327508 Have I ever mentioned I like you?
(By far the creepiest thing Alondro has ever written.)
9327206
Wow. Just wow.
There isn’t an appropriate reaction image that I know of that properly embraces both the silliness and the punny brilliance of this comment.
9327211
If only he knew that practically all ponies have them, just in case.
Yes, it is. I think you just gave me diabeetus, in fact.
9327234
Of course not! Ponies hardly shed at all, and that’s a fact.
9327244
That is all kinds of horrifying. The sound will haunt my dreams, so thanks for that I guess.
9327375
I feel that sometimes with supernatural stuff there are varying degrees of response depending on the person. While I’ll say that I don’t believe in it for a minute, there was one time where I had a really bad feeling about one particular spot on a railroad where some guy was said to have been killed by a train--no idea if that story was true or not; I never investigated. But I just had this sort of fear or aversion to going any further that night, so we didn’t.
Well, yeah. There’s a lot of stuff that you see or feel and when you can’t come up with an explanation for it, you likely guess that it might be something supernatural. And most of that (or likely as not, all of it) is silly, in the case of our protagonist, he’s seeing the same thing over and over again, and it’s not just some weird trick of the light or a hallucination (which I have experienced due to sleep deprivation, and even then I could put the pieces together well enough to know that I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was seeing). But sometimes you don’t know; sometimes you are the last one to know that you’re crazy, and one has to wonder if his sanity checks are enough. Maybe there isn’t a ghost after all, and he’s just imagining all of it, and maybe if he goes out in town and says what he’s seeing, the nice ponies with the butterfly nets will haul him off.
9327378
There’s no way such a cleverly designed arrangement could ever go wrong.
It’s a legit question, though. Weird as it is.
9327408
I know, right? Inquiring minds want to know.
9327508
Legit, though, a camera might be a worthwhile investment for him. Although if she doesn’t show up on film, that’s an issue.
Depending on how things turn out in the end, the journal might be nice evidence on a man’s descent into madness in the pony world. Or, less darkley, a handy guide for future ghost investigators.
9327569
Well, he is staying up late to hide in his box-fort in the attic to watch for a filly ghost that apparently nopony else in town has noticed, so yeah, it does very much sound like someone sliding into madness.
9327649
Maybe. Ducks can be mean, I’ve heard. Never been attacked by one myself. And at least ducks aren’t geese.
Seriously, though, a proper wooden duck would be a respectable weapon. Surprised that hasn’t been a murder weapon on CSI or Bones yet.
9327750
Yeah; who knew that having a filly ghost in your house could cause insanity? The mind boggles.
Quite well, actually. As usual, I’m sad that it’s over, but also happy at all the free time I now have.
9327851
He’s tried some of that and thus far hasn’t had much luck, but he’s been skirting at the edges rather than really drilling in. Depending on how good ponies are at keeping records, he might find what he wants at the town hall, or at the library . . . or just asking other ponies the right questions, properly formulated, and with no mention of a ghost.
9327884
I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is all perfectly normal behavior. Perfectly normal. There’s no problem here, none whatsoever. He’s not crazy; everypony else is crazy.
derpicdn.net/img/view/2018/3/14/1679661__safe_screencap_pinkie+pie_my+little+pony-colon-+the+movie_spoiler-colon-my+little+pony+movie_bags+under+eyes_bone_bone+dry+desert_desert_deser.png
9328213
What? Ponies don’t normally wear clothes, especially not pony ghosts. It’s perfectly normal behavior, yup. No insanity.
There are so many ways that can backfire. And in most of them, it’s not real good for the living.
Then again, in many ways our protagonist isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. . . .
9328645
Perhaps she was.
9328648
Which, in a way, is both the best and the worst way to deal with a ghost in your house: being so crazy that you scare the ghost away.
9328758
Not a bad idea. Ghost bribery isn’t illegal in Equestria, after all (or anywhere else, as far as I know).
9329536
I would assume that the answer is 'yes'.
The questions is whether or not that's the boring answer.
9329547
Maybe one of those floating duck decoys. Those have some heft to them.
9329332
That's wonderful! Now, don't pay attention to me shuffling towards the exit...
9329551
Nice! A play is fun and all, but it always feels nice to have some down time to relax.
9329547
Everyone thinks they're such sweet little things.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Soft downy feathers and nice little wings.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
But there's a poison I'd like to administer;
You think they're cuddly, but I think they're sinister!
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
What are they doing at night in the park?
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Think of them waddling about in the dark!
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Sneering and whispering and stealing your cars,
Reading pornography, smoking cigars!
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Nasty and small: undeserving of life.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
They'll sneer at your hairstyle and sleep with your wife.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Dressed in plaid jackets and horrible shoes,
Getting divorces and turning to booze!
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Forcing old ladies to throw them some bread.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Who could deny, they'd be better off dead?
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Look closely and you will recoil in surprise
At web-footed fascists with mad little eyes!
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
Ducks. Ducks. Quack-quack. Quack-quack.
9329743 (The exit has been conveniently welded shut...) Don't go! I was just about to bake something sweet and tasty!
9329531
Sorry, I play the role of Captain Obvious far too well for my own good, sometimes.
If there are no visible private parts, is it still perverted to watch?
9331079
Is it perverted when the population of the planet goes nude most of the time?
9331079 9332048
I would say it’s not perverted, but it’s certainly kind of weird.
Short story,
My grandma had...over a dozen? Mini-porcelain tea sets, and they were always out on display on shelves and tables upstairs at her home.
After reading that line I just started crying. Tears and all. It reminded me of that, thank you.
9360196
My grandmother had ballet figurines and decorative thimbles . . . which I hadn’t really thought of until just now. Funny how it’s the little things sometimes that make you remember a person.
She didn’t have tea sets (as far as I can recall), although she did have different sets of dishes, from the really good to the more mundane. After she passed away, I didn’t want any of the fancy sets; the boring ones were a better memory for me, ‘cause that’s what we always used when we were kids.
I'd like to point out that even with already boiling water, it takes four minutes at least to cook an egg, and that's soft-boiled, not hard.
I mean, unless we do something like change the boiling point of water in Equestria.
And I am thinking way too hard about an egg timer.
9362522
According to wikipedia:
“Most traditional egg timers have a set time of about three minutes, that being the approximate time it takes to cook an average sized hen’s egg in water.”
That’s the number I went with, since I don’t cook hardboiled eggs, and had no idea how long they ought to be cooked for. I’m not sure if there’s a difference in cooking now vs. how it was done traditionally, or if eggs are different now than they were back then, or if there’s some other factor to account for it (maybe back then you boiled the egg for three minutes and then took the pot off the heat but didn’t dump out the water or remove the egg?).