The Haunting
Admiral Biscuit
We met in the living room of my house. It was the most logical place.
The old stallion—it was probably my imagination, but his muzzle looked a bit greyer, and I wasn’t sure if he’d slept at all. Not that I didn’t understand why, if that was the case.
Back on Earth, I wouldn’t have given a person free rein of my house; I wouldn’t have had him stay unsupervised. Especially since he’d already broken my nose. Justifiably, but still.
I hadn’t gone over to check in the morning, so I didn’t know if he spent the whole night there—but I was sure he had. I think that when Windflower had finally left, he’d just stayed in the living room, wondering if she’d return.
He must have known she wouldn’t, but stayed anyway in case she did.
Were my couch cushions a little bit more flattened than they’d been the night before? Or had he paced the living room, checking out the plants like she often did? Had he gone upstairs? Gone into the attic? Had he sought out her little hiding places for toys in the rafters?
I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
Had he spoken to her? He must have, and what did he tell her? What did she tell him? Did she give him a ghostly hug? Surely she did. And what then? Had he told her about the wolf, the aenocyon? Or had he not wanted to mention that?
Had he explained to her how her parents had moved away, stricken by her death? Had he told her that we were trying to help? Had he read the next chapter of Strangers on a Train?
Had he told her how that very afternoon, we’d been trekking through the woods, visiting her glade? Maybe she’d known—we’d left there awfully late.
I didn’t know—I couldn’t know.
And that was probably for the best. Whatever private conversation had passed between them ought to remain private. While I still wasn’t entirely convinced about his motivation, Milfoil hadn’t warned me and I trusted her. She would have picked up on hints that he wasn’t thinking in Windflower’s best interest, and she would have told me.
•••••
We met in the living room, and it reminded me of an old Victorian melodrama. Virtually all the elements were there—a gathering, a fire in the fireplace, tea . . . we were just lacking a butler and a grandfather clock.
I didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, although I suspected that if I didn’t, we’d still be sitting here, sipping tea, when Windflower arrived. If she got her chipped mug, she could join us.
“Where do we go from here?”
Milfol set her teacup down and flicked her tail.
“I—” The stallion looked over at the fire, as if it might provide an answer. “She’s . . . confused.”
That wasn’t much, but it was a start. An avenue to pursue. “What do you think she wants?” It wasn’t the best question, but it was the best I could think of.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think that she was hoping to lead us to her, her bones, so that we could give her a proper burial and she could find peace?”
Milfoil frowned, and I half expected him to either fall silent, or punch me again.
“I don’t know.”
That wasn’t much of an answer; on the other hand, it was about the same as the conclusion I’d come to thus far.
“Should we?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t, either,” I said. “Let’s suppose that we do. What happens then?”
He shook his head, and I thought that I should choose my words very carefully. “Milfoil said that there was a . . . a something in the forest, I don’t know what, I can’t feel magic like you do, but did you feel it, too?”
“Yes.”
I could have pressed him on that point, asked him if he thought it was bad, but I didn’t. It wasn’t my place to do so. “We humans don’t have the connection, the magic, that you ponies do. We don’t have ghosts, but we have stories about ghosts, and sometimes they want you to find their remains and give them a proper burial or a marker or something else to allow them to rest in peace. And I think it’s not right to make her stay if she doesn’t really want to, so if that’s what she wants, we should go out and—we should do the right thing for her. For Windflower.”
He nodded, but it was hesitant. She hadn’t told him what she wanted, or hinted at it. Perhaps she didn’t know.
I turned that idea over in my head. What did she know? It was pure speculation on my part. I’d put some pieces together and I thought I had enough of the puzzle, but maybe I didn’t.
I’d made it this far without getting punched in the face, so I reasoned that I might as well continue. “If she’s happy, I am too. If she wants to show up every night and look at the flowers or listen to me read a book for her or help me decorate the living room or play with her toys, I’m satisfied with that.
“And you’re welcome to come over any night, as well. I have no problem with that. Things can continue on in the same way. Maybe she doesn’t trust me enough to do the right thing for her. Maybe she’ll confide in you.”
•••••
Windflower came ghost-galloping down the stairs right on schedule. I’d been a bit worried that meeting her great-uncle might change her habits, but apparently it hadn’t.
Or else the eagerness to see her plant overrode whatever difference his presence had made.
I hadn’t really focused on her examining her plant before—I’d watched, but I hadn’t listened.
Maybe it was too much to expect. I was a complete novice at hearing the things that earth ponies could. Foals surely heard better than I did. I didn’t like to think that, but there was no sense in pretending that I was better than I was.
I listened just the same as she circled her plant, studying it. As she put her ghost-hooves on its stem, on its leaves. I listened as she touched her muzzle to the dirt in the pot, and as hard as I listened, I couldn’t hear anything.
“You’re trying too hard,” Milfoil chided.
“You don’t know what I’m trying,” I whispered. But of course she did.
“I know exactly what you’re trying. I can smell you.”
“You . . . you can smell me? Is that a thing that earth ponies do, too? I mean, I know that ponies have a better sense of smell than I do, but you can smell my thoughts now?”
“Smells like wood burning.”
“Really? That’s—wait a minute.”
Milfoil stuck her tongue out at me. “I wasn’t wrong, about what you were trying, though.”
“No, you weren’t.” I crossed my arms. “What are you supposed to do when your girlfriend is insulting you?”
“Make her sleep on the couch?”
“That sounds like I’m punishing myself, too.” I turned to her. “What’s she feeling right now? Is she singing?”
“Sort of.”
•••••
I couldn’t hear the song, but I could watch it being sung. That was a start.
•••••
The old stallion did have a Hearth’s Warming doll for Windflower. He brought it over for us to put on the mantle, and we also put mine and Milfoil’s in place.
It was weird how there were rituals for some things and not for others. Making the doll had been like a spirit quest, but now that the three were assembled in one place, they got unceremoniously put in place and that was that.
I suppose if every tradition also had a ceremony surrounding it, nobody would ever get anything done.
Besides, the important part wasn’t how they got on the mantle, it was that they were there. That was what counted in the end.
“I can make another one, can’t I?”
Milfoil nodded. “If you want to. A lot of ponies do. There’s no rule that you can only have one Hearth’s Warming doll. Some ponies make a new one every year.”
Like Hallmark ornaments. “Would it be the right thing to do?”
“I can’t answer that question—it’s what’s right for you, not me. I think that a new one should be made to celebrate the year before. If something momentous happened.”
“Well, I moved here, I met Windflower, and I met you.” I ticked off on my fingers as I spoke. “That counts as three, at a minimum. I could probably think of a few more milestones, too. Do ponies ever have more than one on their mantle at the same time?”
She furrowed her brow. “I’ve never seen that. I suppose if a pony was really vain, they might. But that doesn’t feel right to me.”
I imagined an army of my cloth gingerbread mutants lined up on the mantle, flanked by two ponies. “Yeah, that would be weird. For humans, there are people who really obsess over a particular holiday, and go all out. Other people are more restrained . . . are ponies like that, too?”
“We were just at my house yesterday; what do you think?”
I nodded. There were a few decorations; neither of us had felt right leaving it undecorated for Hearth’s Warming, but my house was certainly the more-decorated of the two. “I think that children—foals—want the ritual more than adults, most of the time. We decorated my house for the benefit of Windflower.”
“Yes.”
“So older ponies who might not have any guests over, they might not bother to do anything.” I frowned—I had an idea that the old stallion had an undecorated house. “I think we should make it really clear to him that he’s welcome here any time. Just in case he was thinking of spending Hearth’s Warming alone.”
I'm picturing how she can open Hearth's Warming presents...
No, I'm trying to picture it. Hm...
-- free rein
9453136
I know the actual saying is free rein, but free reign sounds good too.
Stay adorable, Windflower. Stay adorable.
9453111
I'm totally picturing over and over Windflower scampering downstairs to check her flower like a kid on Christmas. Maybe, just maybe, gifts to her will be important enough to her that she'll actually be able to open/play with them herself. It's a Hearth's Warming miracle!
Don't try and fool us you cinnamon bun! You are still too pure for the hankying and pankying.
9453144
Plus it's a horse pun.
9453264
No it's not. 'Free reign' absolutely isn't a horse pun. Reign; what a king does over his kingdom. Rein; the strap used to guide a horse. The expression 'to give -X- free rein' refers to giving your horse sufficient slack in the reins to wonder as it pleases, since it refers explicitly to horses it can not be used to make a horse pun.
9453245
Are you implying that depriving yourself of even entirely chaste pony cuddles isn't a punishment?
9453413
9453264
“Horse-related expression.”
If the old pone is suddenly older, someone hopefully bound to notice soon, such as Dave, given the stories of vampires and ghosts and other life leechers?
Horse that rules over house?
Celestia, or the wife?
Heh, implied "not that we're trying to get rid of her or anything!"
Seems the old stallion just had things get real suddenly. His rate of uncertainty has certainly increased...
Keep going! ;)
9453245
I think he was refering to the wonderfuls platonic cuddles.
Sorry human but wasn't it you who slept *with* Milfoil on the couch the last time that was a thing? And yes bed is more comfy, her head on your chest, all snuggled up. Let's see if you want to miss out hmmm?
Better not tell Twilight about the ghost. She'll want to... study it.
9453425
9453572
No! How could I forget about the simple joys of cuddling? What is this thing that I've become?!
I'M A MONSTER!!!
Your decision to not give him a name has made your phrasing awkward at points. Natural conversation would just have his name in this quote.
There's the key question. Not just "How can we put her to rest?" but "Should we put her to rest?" It's not like Windflower is draining their life energy and poltergeisting about the house. She's a well-behaved filly who wants to see her hard work in the garden pay off. The burial might be nice, but that's applying tropes where they may not fit. I suppose they'll all figure it out in time.
9458517
That sounds like a blast. Finally Trixie's real talents would be appreciated!
(Though I still contend her biggest problem with real magic these days is actually self confidence)
9458521
Oh definitely. If the unicorns weren't raising the sun it changes the whole dynamic and leaves them on the outside, with their magic more likely to be considered 'flashy tricks' instead of the only 'real' magic, since they aren't in control of a major aspect of the world.
9453111
Ghostly wrapping paper, that’s the best way.
9453136
Correction made; thank you!
9453144
The case could be made that the old stallion is the king of the house. I wonder if a pony had said it if it would be ‘reign?’ Or do they have reins? And if so, why?
9453225
They could be put in an open-topped box; she’d be able to get at them that way. Whether or not she’d be able to directly interact with them, that’s a different question, and one that should be considered carefully before giving her any presents.
9453245
Even if they’re not hankying and pankying, she’s still a lot snugglier than an empty bed.
9453413
Whether it’s a horse pun or not I suppose depends on the intent of the writer, IMHO. Expressions that relate to equines could be specifically chosen, or specifically avoided . . . I only mention this because in a recent story I was doing some pre-reading on, the author described something as being ‘branded,’ and I asked him if he was sure that was the work he wanted to use.
Regardless, I was wrong about the expression . . . should have looked it up to make sure, I guess. I was thinking ‘reign’ like the old stallion was temporary king of the castle.
9453425
I think he was, and I think he’s wrong about that. Especially since it’s wintertime, and therefore it would be much better to be snuggling with a warm pony instead of nothing at all.
9453444
9453467
Well, maybe, if it wasn’t just his imagination. More likely it’s not exactly life-leeching, at least not directly.
Celestia has free rein and free reign over everything in Equestria. That’s probably in a lawbook somewhere.
9453499
That’s something that needs to be made clear, although perhaps the kindest thing to do for her is to get rid of her . . . but that would be a very hard decision to make.
As always, hearing about it is one thing; seeing it is another.
9453572
I leave it to the reader to imagine the extent of their relationship.
9453657
Whenever one is presented with the opportunity to snuggle with a pony, one should take it.
9453732
For SCIENCE!
9453831
9454875
You do raise a good point. He does have a name--Sawbriar--but it just never got used, and after people in the comments started calling him “Great Uncle Muzzlebreaker,” I never really considered using his name from that point on.
(Likewise, the protagonist has a name as well, although it hasn’t come up in conversation yet.)
9455629
That’s the most important thing for them to figure out. It’s not so much about what they want--they can certainly tolerate her presence, and have come to enjoy it. But is that what Windflower wants, to stay in the halfway world, or would she ultimately want to be put to rest?
For that matter, does she even understand what’s happened to her? Because that of course would play into her ultimate decision, one way or another.
9458597
Well, maybe. EqG Trixie probably can’t do real magic (although I don’t know if the show was ever absolutely clear on that), and Penn and Teller are pretty good at figuring out slight of hand and whatnot. Of course, if she gets some help from pony Trixie, she might be able to do something that would blow their minds.
In some regards, that might make them the least useful of the three tribes. Earth ponies grow food, pegasi make the weather; if they haven’t got the sun to raise, what do the unicorns do?
9460489
Unicorn noble: "Look, this swanning about isn't going to do itself."
9460557
Pretty much.
This is beautiful. The subtlety of it is just amazing, the way we're receiving this... the traditions, the culture, comparing it to what we know here, the Magic
Really it doesn't matter if there is such a force or energy as "magic" because there's magic in everything, wonderment, hope, belief.
This story has become less about the mystery of Windflower and more about the journey a human is making in coming to understand themself, we walk around blind most of our lives and he's finally seeing.
That implies she even realises she's dead. I'm fairly sure that's one of the things she's confused about.
Oh, give the poor old guy some credit. I'm pretty sure that in hindsight he's quite embarrassed about that
Or maybe she really just can't talk at all
Children are generally more receptive to wonder than adults are.
D'aw
More d'aw
Remarks and corrections:
> “I—” He looked over at the fire, as if it might provide an answer. “She’s . . . confused.”
You can make out from the context that this is the old stallion, but the last person performing an action here was Milfoil, so it's a bit weird to read a "he" without any specifying.
> Milfoil said that there was a . . . a something in the forest
When I was reading this, the ellipsis was split at the end of the line, and strewn over two lines, and it looked really weird. You shouldn't put spaces between those periods.
10061270
Or else she knows but is in denial.
Maybe, or maybe he still doesn’t regret it. I feel like he might be the kind of stallion who feels kind of bad about the punching, but it turned out all right in the end, plus the (until the next chapter) unnamed protagonist really had it coming.
That’s true, but it worked for Kirin, so maybe she can get her message across.
Yes, this is true.
I tend to prefer not using ‘said’ tags if I can avoid it, although I suppose in some cases I go too far.
Dammit, I learned to type on a typewriter and there are just some things that are far too ingrained habits for me to change. Spaced-out ellipses is one of those things (two spaces after a period is the other, but I usually remember to delete them out before publishing).
10062470
Never said anything about adding "said". I'd just suggest changing the "he looked over at the fire" to something like "Great-Uncle Muzzlebreaker looked over at the fire" (with the description of your preference for the pony in question, of course )
10063642
Gah, that’s what I get for not looking at the text in question and just assuming (I was very recently having a discussion with someone else regarding dialogue tags and just made the presumption )
Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. I changed it to “the stallion,” which I think should make it abundantly clear.
FWIW, he did have a name (it’s mentioned at least once in the comments, somewhere), but I never wound up using it in the story. I think it was Sawgrass, but can’t say for sure.