The Haunting
Admiral Biscuit
I met with the old stallion to keep him updated on our progress. It didn’t seem like we’d made all that much, but when I considered that a few weeks ago she wouldn’t even go to my house at all, and now she felt comfortable sleeping at the foot of the bed, it was remarkable.
Obviously, Milfoil had played a big part in that. The flowers I’d bought had certainly helped entice her, but if it had just been me in the house, I think Windflower would still be shyly peeking from behind the plants at the very best, and likely quickly vacating whenever she saw me. But since Milfoil didn’t think I was a monster, Windflower didn’t, either.
I also told him that we were still not sure what outcome we were moving towards, that Milfoil was still working on getting her to communicate what she wanted.
“Sounds like you’re starting to get attached to her.”
The way he said that, it sounded like a bad thing, but I wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “She’s—I think that she’s sort of like a surrogate child to Milfoil.”
“Mares are like that. Always wanting to coddle and protect. It’s a natural instinct, but if the time comes, is she going to be able to make the right choice?”
“I hope so.” I wasn’t going to lie to him; he’d know if I did.
“Because if she wants to go, you’ll have to let her. You’ll have to help her.”
“Yes.” That would have been easier before I knew her, before I’d seen her playing with her toys or digging at the yard or resting in front of the fireplace. Even so, I knew she wasn’t a filly anymore, and I’d told myself that it was my duty to help her find peace in whatever way possible.
Whether I could do it or not would remain to be seen.
“What if she wants to see her parents again? Can you arrange that?”
“If I have to drag them all the way back myself, I will.” He sighed. “It would be hard on them, especially to see her and then lose her again, but if that’s what has to be done. . . .”
•••••
It was nice that it was wintertime; there wasn’t all that much to do in the afternoons. We’d have to figure out a schedule for market, but I could do that on my way home from work. At least get the staples. We could cook late, or honestly skip dinner completely. I’d done that sometimes when I was spying on Windflower. Breaking up my sleep left me feeling tired and it had gotten to the point where obsession and exhaustion had overcome hunger pangs.
Milfoil might have ideas, too. Ponies didn’t go for TV dinners or microwaves, but they surely had low-prep meals, things they could eat in a hurry. Hopefully it was something I could also eat, and not just a few mouthfuls of hay.
I had to do a little bit of rearranging in the living room, shifting around the armchair so that it also faced the hallway. I wanted Windflower to always be able to see who was in the room before she entered; that way, she’d be able to choose rather than be surprised when she came in.
Bathtime for Biscuit was still where I’d left it, so I got that out and set it on the table while Milfoil built the fire. And that was it; our preparations were complete.
“We’re going to have to wake up this time,” I reminded her. “Before she goes through the house looking for us.”
“I know. It’s weird taking a nap when you’re not all that tired and the sun’s still up.”
“It takes time to get accustomed to, trust me.” I folded the covers back and sat on the bed to take my shirt off.
•••••
We didn’t sleep, but I still felt at least a little bit refreshed when it was time to get out of bed.
Milfoil wanted to see what would happen if I was alone in the living room when Windflower came downstairs, so she offered to cook dinner. She thought it would be a good measure of Windflower’s confidence. I thought it might scare her, and she might not be willing to approach. Thus far, she’d wanted to make sure that Milfoil was between us, or I was asleep.
Still, I was also interested in finding out, and no matter what we’d learn something. If I did scare her off, Milfoil and I could switch places. She’d probably retreat and check again, rather than leave entirely.
Since I didn’t want to be just staring down the hallway when she arrived, I picked up Bathtime for Biscuit. I’d paged through it, but I hadn’t read it, and even though it was far below my age level, I was interested in seeing how it turned out.
Unsurprisingly, Biscuit did not want to take a bath. And I was somewhat proud of myself for figuring out that the filly was going to fall into the wash basin a few pages before she actually did.
The book did very little to alleviate boredom. There just wasn’t that much to it, and I didn’t learn anything new on a second reading. I should have gotten a different, smaller book and put it inside.
It was hard to pretend to be engrossed in a foal’s book. Still, if it worked, it would be worth it.
•••••
In movies at least, there are secret agents who pretend to read newspapers while spying on their targets, and the audience is meant to believe that they had been on station before we see them, watching alertly while pretending not to. If such people existed in real life, I admired them. It was something I wasn’t cut out to do.
I finally put the book back on the table; I couldn’t look at it any more. I just couldn’t. Even though I knew that if Milfoil saw she might be upset I was deviating from the plan.
I told myself it was only going to be for a minute, and then I’d pick it back up and pretend to be interested in it again.
How aware of our schedule was Windflower? Did she do any reconnaissance before she came into the house? I’d never really noticed, but how hard would it be for her to see a pony shape silhouetted in the kitchen? That would give her a location for Milfoil, but she wouldn’t know where I was.
When she’d come downstairs when we were in front of the fire, she was unlikely to have seen us, unless she went around to the street side. There wasn’t a clear line of sight from the kitchen window.
Of course, that was assuming that her vision still worked like a pony’s. Maybe she could see our auras through the wall.
That didn’t make sense, though: if she could see auras through walls, she would have known I was in the box-fort from day one.
It was too complicated to figure out, and there weren’t any answers to be had in Bathtime for Biscuit.
•••••
Windflower came downstairs when I was putting more wood on the fire. Neither of us spotted each other at first, and then we both saw each other nearly simultaneously. Her ears folded down and then snapped forward again as I took a step back.
She looked around the room and didn’t see Milfoil, so she retreated back to the safety of the hallway.
Once I sat down on the couch, she took a cautious step forward, so I picked up the book and opened it again.
I could tell she was interested; she kept moving forward and back again. She still didn’t trust me enough to approach me without Milfoil, it seemed.
That would come in time.
Her ears turned at the sound of a pot moving on the stove. “Milfoil’s in the kitchen,” I said.
“I’m making stew.”
Windflower’s ears turned in that direction, and she trot-floated along the wall and stuck her head into the kitchen to verify that that was the case.
I could have followed her in, but I didn’t. I stayed where I was and wondered what would happen if she tried to eat something. I was certain she couldn’t, and equally certain that she knew she couldn’t. But what would she think if we set out only two places for dinner? Or if we did set out three, would she sit down and try to eat? Would she get frustrated that she couldn't pick up the spoon and then stick her nose into the stew? What would happen if she did?
Luckily, I didn’t have to find out. When she was satisfied that Milfoil was really in the kitchen, she came back out into the living room. She went around and inspected the plants for long enough that I finally put the book back down and leaned my head back against the cushions and sort of zoned out until she came over to the table and leaned down to look at the book.
•••••
I’d already foreseen the trouble she was about to have. Her hooves couldn’t touch the book, so she leaned down and tried to open the cover with her snout, and that didn’t work, either.
She tilted her head and got a good look at the edges to verify that it was indeed a book and that it ought to open, and then tried again with the same result. I could see that her hooves were slipping into the book and then coming back out of it again, which I suppose was a problem with being incorporeal.
“Here.” I reached for the book myself, and she shied back, away from my hand.
I opened the book to the first page and waited. Her eyes flicked between me and the book, until her curiosity finally won out and she moved forward again.
When she’d read to the end of the page, she moved back from the table and looked up at me hopefully, so I turned the page for her.
•••••
By the time she’d gotten to the end of the book, she was no longer moving back each time I turned a page, no longer nervous of my hands. That was important progress, I thought.
Books are good. Books are always good. My estimation of this filly continues to rise.
Hmmm. So now the question is under what conditions can she manipulate physical objects?
Normal couples read to their children. Of course, this couple is anything but normal, even if the occasional normal bit sneaks out.
9414268
Maybe when she's not particularly focusing on it? She was able to operate the tub and open cupboards, as well as manipulate her toys.
9414268
Familiarity. the more she interacted with the object, the more sympathetic energy that gets soaked into the object. That sympathy between herself and the object is likely what allows her to interact with objects.
This is simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking. Well done sir.
9414284
9414292
little of column "A", a little of column "B" I'd say. A ghost's ability to interact with their environment is usually tied to their emotions. 'tis why poltergeists can be so powerful.
Therefore, she either needs to have imbued an object with a particularly powerful emotional connection, or she herself needs to be in an emotional state. Strong feelings of home, safety and comfort would possibly help with this.
As previously noted, ghosts usually exist in a confused fugue, with very little emotion at all. Therefore, as they feel little connection to the world, they cannot interact with it.
9414316
So, a bit of Sorcery, a bit of Sympathy. Alright, makes sense.
Don't worry Windflower, that book hold little substance anyway.
I giggle every time I read that. It sounds like an absolutely perfect name for a children's book.
I kinda feel bad for being part of the reason this took longer to post, but damn was the wait worth it. Damn Hyundai.
9414431
It is: https://g.co/kgs/goYmx9
Well darn it if they're not going to get so attached as to actually adopt!
9414431
Because it is a children’s book.
https://www.scholastic.com/teachers/books/bathtime-for-biscuit-by-alyssa-satin-capucilli/
He's got her practically reading out of his hand.
Oh, ouch. I really don't know what to think about this idea, it does give them a chance to say goodbye but it also rips that wound open again. It might also change Windflowers' mind about moving on.
Family nicely forming there, but I hope he remembers GOSH or similar.
Dont help that a couple days ago, The Worlds Cutest Dog, called Boo, died.
If all Windflower family she ever known are still alive this side, then who would she know to help her over? Or even find rest this side?
The emotional roller coaster is approaching the big summit. I'M SCARED!
Bathtime for Biscuit
Because Admiral just couldn't keep himself out of the story.
Nice that we're finally getting some contact!
Yay~! She likes it!
I'm getting sad though. I don't want her to leave...
9414626
Sure, but if you ask just about anyone who has lost a loved one, they'll almost invariably say that they'd give just about anything to see those people one last time... even if it is only to say goodbye.
And besides, none of them ever got any closure. For the ponies, no body was ever found, only evidence of her death. She never had a burial. She never would have had a wake (if they do that)... and if she was young enough, she might simply not have ever understood why everyone she knew and loved just seemed to spontaneously ignore her all of a sudden. For her, it might be the first, if not only, time in decades that ANYONE has taken notice of her... and even the chance that her family might be able to see her may be all she really wants or needs.
But yheah..... I'm pretty sure we can all see Chuck Norris' shadow on the horizon.... aiming a roundhouse kick for the feels incoming.
9415022
I never would’ve drawn that connection myself...
Your thoughts, Admiral?
9414501
Hey! My Azera is doing perfectly fine! Now that I had the radiator replaced...
9414316
I'd suspect that, in this case, it has to do with something being "hers." If our protagonist had straight up handed over the book, saying "we got this for you," she'd probably be able to interact with it normally in short order. I know that may seem strange with regard to some of the other things she can and can't interact with, but her rules of hers likely aren't exactly what we might think of ownership being. Hence our human's house is still Windflower's in a sense.
Or, that's how I'd expect this to work.
This is a great story. Rarely do I find myself so eagerly waiting for a new chapter, hungry for more.
Marvellous work, Admiral
I always wanted to take baths as a child. I hated being covered in microscopic germs...
(scrubs himself raw and jumps into a tub of heated bleach) THE BURNING PAIN MEANS THE GERMS ARE DYING!!!
Then Human Person Man tells the Mane 6 about the lil ghostie.
"OMF (Oh My Faust)!! A full-torso, vaporous apparition!" squeed Twilight, who immediately zoomed down to her lab to get her ghost-busting gear.
AJ decides it's clearly the work of Tirac.
Flutters passes out instantly.
Pinkie throws it a party... what else?
Rarity laments it cannot wear a dress.
Dash... is pretty clueless and just thinks ghosts are cool.
Acclimation through fine literature and a comforting presence in the kitchen. This is getting unfairly adorable... though Great-Uncle Muzzlebreaker raises a distressing point. This can't last forever. It shouldn't.
If I have to make a guess... I think she can only interact with a limited amount of things that were hers, that somehow are linked to her. That's probably why she only could use one cup for her tea parties, and that's why she hides her things. She wants to protect them because otherwise, she wouldn't be able to interact with the rest of the world.
I have to hand it to you. It seems you have writing in a digital well under thumb and even when pointers are shined on errors there is little at wrist for failing again. Now that Windflower is getting more active those in the middle ground will come to enjoy the story more. I hope this hits the nail on the head and has a ring of truth. And as long as nopony boos me out I'll keep on punning, that's a pinkie promise.
9414259
She’s cute and she loves books . . . what’s not to like?
9414268
That is the question, isn’t it? The what is the important thing.
9414283
What’s not normal? A house, a man, a mare, and a ghost . . . seems pretty normal to me.
9414284
Close, but you’re not quite correct. It’s got nothing to do with her focus.
9414292
You’re pretty much in the ballpark--it’s not exactly correct, but certainly close enough for working purposes (and, in all honesty, the protagonist is unlikely to find an example which would specifically disprove this in favor of the actual matter).
9414311
Thank you!
9414316
In this case, more of “B” than “A.”
Not exactly on the first count. Close, though. And her feelings of home, safety, and comfort do make a difference to some of the things she does (like taking a bath), but don’t affect what objects she can pick up.
And it’s possible that her fugue state is changing or evolving as she interacts more with the living . . . if she’s to move on, perhaps she first has to be aware that she needs to move on, which she might not realize when she’s in a confused state.
9414354
It really doesn’t, but it’s got cute pictures and is at least interesting for that. I’ll admit that I read through it, for research.
9414431
As mentioned, it is a children’s book (by Alyssa Satin Capucilli, illustrated by Pat Schories) and part of a series of Biscuit books. I first came across it in Target and giggled because of the title, and . . . well, I couldn’t not use it in something.
9414501
You don’t have to feel bad. It’s as much my fault for not sleeping enough during the week, and forgetting that I hadn’t uploaded it to the cloud before I went to work on Saturday.
9414579
I feel that pony adoptions are pretty laid back; probably as long as all parties consent, it’s valid. But if they had a more complicated legal form like most places on Earth do, it would be very interesting to explain how the filly you’re adopting is a ghost. I bet there’s not a box for that on the adoption forms.
9414589
Which is really significant progress for the two of them.
9414626
Which is why the old stallion isn’t really in favor of it unless there’s no other choice. If that’s what has to be done, he’ll make it happen, but if there’s any way to avoid it, it’s probably for the best.
9414681
Huh, I’m such a luddite that I only just now (because I googled it) heard of this.
She might have grandparents who she knew, or else there might be something else to it, some other way to guide her . . . even her parents explaining it to her might be what’s needed, although that would be painful for all involved.
9414904
9415022
It was a total coincidence that I chose that book. Completely at random. Promise.
And in the best way possible, nice and peaceful; good calm family bonding time.
9415024
But one day she’ll have to, in order to find peace.
9415317
Yeah, I think you’re right, and I think the old stallion is wrong about that. I think that if he laid out the whole situation for her parents, they would come back, he wouldn’t have to drag them.
It wouldn’t be the only time that anypony had taken notice of her--she would have had as loving a family as anypony else, with the usual ups and downs that go with children. This isn’t one of those tragic nobody noticed her when she was alive stories. But you’re right, there wasn’t the normal amount of closure, as much as one can have with the death of a loved one, anyways. They found enough to identify her, and that was all, and they didn’t have a proper funeral or a grave or any of those other normal things, they just packed up and left. And you’re also right that Windflower doesn’t understand why her parents suddenly packed up and moved away and left her behind.
Unfortunately, it’s inevitable in a case like this.
9415535
With an actual series of books for kids being about a puppy named Biscuit, how could I not include it in the story?
9415592
So that’s what it was? Was that something that I guessed, or was I completely off-base?
You’re really, really close. You’re right in one regard; however, if the protagonist gives her the book and tells her that it’s hers, it won’t work any better for her.
9415733
Thank you!