//------------------------------// // Haunted // Story: Mum's Diner // by Golden Tassel //------------------------------// I can't see the way forward. Smoke fills the hallway. It stings my eyes, and I choke on every breath. The heat of the fire on my back is all I have to keep me going in the right direction—I can only hope it's the right direction. I'm in corridor Fifteen West. As long as I follow the left wall, I'll reach the atrium. Something trips me and I fall on top of another pony. He's unconscious, overcome by the smoke. I can't help him. My lungs burn inside me even as I haul myself upright and press onward through the smoke and stumble my way face-first into a dead-end. This can't be right. How did I get turned around? I have to go back. The hazy yellow glow ahead of me is getting brighter, hotter. I'm not going to make it. My legs give out and I collapse onto the floor. As my vision begins to narrow and darkness creeps in around the edges, I see a dark figure looming over me. A pair of green glowing eyes hover amidst the smoke. She leans in over me and whispers, "I told you I'd be watching, little bird." My eyes snap open. I'm not in the stable. I'm at Mum's Diner. I'm in bed. In the dark. I'm not alone. Rake stands over me, staring straight at me. Blood drips down from the wound in his neck. It was the middle of the night, and Lucky Day sat straight up in bed, his mouth wide as if to scream, but no breath came out. His sheets are soaked in cold sweat and tangled up around his legs. He crashed to the floor as he scrambled out of bed. Wrestling himself free, he hurried over to the light switch on the wall and flipped it up and down several times until he remembered that the generator had given out again. He still hadn't been able to fix it. Fumbling around in the dark, he unlocked his door and made his way down into the diner. Moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, surrounding the tables and chairs, the bar and the stools in a pale aura. Lucky Day went behind the counter and started rummaging through the various bins along the shelves. So focused on his search, he didn't hear Chrysanthemum approaching. Only when her chartreuse aura took the box from his grasp did he look up and see her. They stared silently at each other. She had seen him like this before—shaking, dripping wet, and with a far-off stare after a loud thump in the middle of the night—and she could taste the fear with her changeling senses; it's pungent and sour. She put the box back in its place on the shelf and reached for another one from higher up, setting it down on the counter. Inside were dried tobacco leaves, courtesy of their zebra friends in the woods. Chrysanthemum crumpled up several of the leaves and wrapped them in another leaf, fashioning two cigarettes and brought both to her lips, lighting them together with a single match. She passed one to Lucky Day, and he took a long drag off of it. After a few more puffs, his shaking settled and he slumped down to the floor. His face contorted and eyes wrenched shut as he held back a coughing fit. She knew better than to ask him if he's okay. He hadn't been okay for as long as she'd known him. So she sat in silence, smoking a cigarette with him. She wanted to reach over to comfort him, but the last time she tried he nearly threw her across the room. The further he retreated into himself, the more fiercely he defended against attempts to draw him back out. All she could do was wait. Lucky Day finished his cigarette and stifled another cough. At length, he took a deep breath and looked up from the floor, though his eyes wouldn't meet hers. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "Your dreams get worse while Starry's away." "I know." "She won't be back for at least another week." "I know." "She's not the only one who cares about you." "I'm sorry." "Day, I don't know what else to do." "Neither do I." Lucky Day slumped down to the floor and sighed. No longer tasting his anxiety in the air, Chrysanthemum slowly reached out a hoof and stroked across the top of his head. She watched his eyes close and gave him a few moments to relax before she spoke up again. "Maybe you should think about going out with the scavenging team. It could be good for you to be around others more." Lucky Day cringed at the suggestion. He sat up and turned away from her. "I don't think I can. I—" He hesitated, struggling for an excuse. "Jade doesn't like me." Chrysanthemum gave a small laugh. "Jade doesn't like anyone. Don't let that worry you. If she's rough, it's only because she wants to make sure everyone knows what they're doing." "And I don't!" Day snapped back. "I don't know. I don't have a clue what to do. I can't even keep the lights on around here." He wrenched his eyes shut and pressed his hooves over his ears, trying to block out Rake's whisper: "You can try to fight it—I did at first. But the wasteland won't nurture you. We're more alike than you want to admit." Growing concerned about her friend, Chrysanthemum ushered him toward the front door, hoping that some fresh air on the cold night would help him calm down. By the time she got him outside, he was hyperventilating and grinding his teeth. Chrysanthemum could taste anger but there was something else too; it was faint and desperate, but it wasn't coming from Lucky Day. She looked around and there in the middle of the road was the crumpled form of an earth pony foal, barely visible except by the light of the moon. "Day! Look!" she gasped. Day stumbled away from her, shaking his head and grunted through gritted teeth. "Leave me alone!" He took off into a sprint, and Chrysanthemum let him go—he always came back. She hurried over to the foal—a weak, shivering colt whose coat and mane were caked in mud. She had never seen him before; he had wandered in alone from the empty wastes. She lifted him carefully in her chartreuse aura and carried him inside to warm him up. Another lost soul drawn to her home.