//------------------------------// // Casket Case // Story: Sweet to Eat: Tales of Nightmare Night // by PaulAsaran //------------------------------// The rain pounded, heavy and thick, on Due Date’s umbrella. It was fitting, really. His grandsire hadn’t stipulated anything about the weather in his will, but he likely would have approved. Which was good. The old guy deserved to have a perfect evening. Or as perfect as these evenings got. Due trudged up the hill, occasionally checking under his jacket to ensure the bottle was there. The building, narrow and tall, appeared as pristine as ever even in this dismal weather. Its bricks were a brilliant crimson that the water dripped off of in droplets that seemed almost viscous. The black-shingled roof appeared as new and fresh as the day he’d helped put it down. No windows decorated the simple structure, only a lone doorway. Before that doorway a lone unicorn mare stood, her expression grim. She was a pretty thing, grey coat with a green mane so dark it nearly appeared black in this dim lighting. She was dressed in a sharp, pressed business shirt and tie, as usual, and her mane was set in an immaculate ponytail beneath her own umbrella. She held a notepad in her magical aura, but for now was ignoring it in favor of Due’s arrival. “It’s almost over, Mr. Date.” She had a low voice. Due always found it distracting. Sometimes he felt he could listen to her talk forever. Not that she’d want anything to do with a skinny pegasus like him. “That’s right, Miss Line. One more night and you’ll be rid of me.” As always, she maintained her prim, neutral attitude, never rising to his bait. He found it enthralling. “I’ve said it before, Mr. Date, and I’ll say it again: your grandsire’s last will and testament may be the strangest my office has ever processed. You do have the drink?” He nodded and shifted his jacket with a wing, just enough to ensure she could see the bottle of alcohol he’d brewed by his own hoof. “It’ll taste like shit I imagine, but Granpa gets what Granpa wants.” “Then everything is in order.” Miss Line used a perfectly sharpened pencil to scribble on her notepad. Tucking it into her panniers, she stepped aside. “I’ll be across the street, watching from the carriage. Not that I don’t trust you, you understand, but—” “I know.” He turned from her green eyes, as distracting as her voice, and stared at the simple, black oak door. “The old guy was very specific.” She nodded, face passive. “And we like to follow such instructions to the letter. As specified, you must remain in the structure until dawn or you forfeit your inheritance.” “Like I give a changeling’s flank about my inheritance.” Adjusting his grip on the umbrella, Due cast a slow glance around the area. It was only him and the lawyer. And the rain. His grandsire’s house remained hidden a quarter mile away amongst the trees. As the sky darkened, the forest beyond seemed to fall away. “When did this whole idea start?” Miss Line cocked her head. There was uncertainty in her gaze, a rare thing. “Idea?” “Sitting up with the dead.” He cast a glance her way. “It seems… unnatural. I know ponies do it all the time, but why?” “Oh.” Miss Line followed his gaze as it went to the building. “It started a century before Nightmare Moon’s defeat, if I recall correctly. I don’t know they reasoning behind it, I’m afraid.” He grunted and stepped closer to the door. “It’s alright. Just a thought.” She nodded and turned for the carriage, now lost among the darkness and rain. “Very well. Good night, Mr. Date. And good luck; I know this must be very uncomfortable for you.” He watched her go until she, too, disappeared in the darkness. Idly, he wondered how she intended to ensure he remained in the mausoleum under these conditions. He felt sorry for her, being stuck out here, waiting in a carriage for some poor sod like him to pay his dues. Closing his umbrella, he set it by the door and let the rain wash over him. When he cast one last look around, the rain and darkness left him with a feeling of standing alone atop an island. Anything could be out there in the shadows. In the back of his mind came a primal instinct, a marked sensation of danger on the approach. It was as if some ancient carnivore would be upon him at any moment. The thick downpour, growing thicker, and the rumble of thunder would mask any other sounds. If a manticore stepped up behind him, or a cockatrice slithered in his path, he’d never know until it was too late. Silly thoughts. Idle thoughts. Due wasn’t a foal anymore. He’d learned long ago to ignore the paranoia, even if it was a constant. His parents took him to a psychologist once, got told he was just the nervous type. They knew better. So did he. Something was coming. He knew it. He’d known all his life. It was better to let it come than worry over it. With a grunt, he pushed his way inside. “Granpa?” Broad Axe raised his head as Due approached on tiny legs. “Duey? You’re supposed to be in school.” Due scowled up at his broad-shouldered relative. “I know, but school stinks.” The hulking yellow stallion grinned at this and set the lumber he’d been carrying down. Beside him stood the large round foundations of a new building. “Is that so. Why?” Due didn’t have to think on his response. “Because Mrs. Eyes smells like prunes. And Saltine Crackers keeps making fun of me. And stupid Hankey keeps trying to put bows in my tail and telling me she’s gonna marry me someday.” He stuck his tongue out with a gagging sound. Broad Axe laughed boisterously before settling on his haunches. “You think that’s terrible now, my boy? Wait until you’re older and little miss Lace Handkerchief becomes a proper mare. Then you’ll accept as many bows as she can give you for just five minutes of her time.” “No, I won’t,” Due grumbled, climbing onto one of the round foundations and flopping to his barrel with a pout. “Girls are weird. And too giggly. And they like bows way too much.” His grandsire hummed seriously. “Have it your way, I suppose. But you know your mother’s going to be upset you’re skipping school.” He turned for the wagon loaded with lumber, setting to work on gathering more of the boards. Due’s ears folded against his head and he nodded. “I know.” He watched his grandsire for a while, not daring to say how happy he was that the old pony wasn’t demanding he go back. “Whatcha buildin’?” “A porter.” “What’s a porter?” With the last of the boards removed from the wagon, Broad Axe settled next to the colt and wiped the sweat from his brow. “A special building. It’s going to be very important down the line.” “Why?” The stallion looked down at him, lips quirked in a sideways smile. He glanced about the hill, as if anticipating somepony listening in, the lowered his head close to Due’s. “Can you keep a secret?” He waited for Due’s eager nod. “Someday, this body of mine’s going to stop moving. When that day comes, this porter is going to belong to you. And the thing that will happen inside is very important. More than you can possibly imagine.” Due jumped to his hooves to grin up at his grandsire. “Is it gonna hide your treasure? Papa says you’ve got lots and lots of treasure.” He wasn’t going to ask where said treasure came from. Not yet, at least. Chuckling, Broad ruffled the child’s mane. “It will hold treasure, but not the kind you buy things with or a dragon hoards. You’ll understand when you’re older.” Standing up once more, Broad Axe patted himself around the chest, the legs, and the sides. “Hmm… Yes, I’d say this body’s got another twenty years going for it. I’ve become quite good at guessing these things, y’know.” Frowning, Due replied, “Huckleberry says words like those are why ponies think you’re crazy. Are you crazy, Granpa?” Another of those loud laughs echoed amongst the forest. “No, my boy, I am most certainly not crazy! But I won’t blame anypony for thinking otherwise. People get pretty kooky once they get old enough, and I am pretty darn old.” “You’re not that old,” Due corrected dutifully. “You’re only, like, forty.” He was glad his asked his father about that a couple weeks ago. “In body, perhaps. In soul?” Broad Axe chuckled. Due wished he knew what was so funny. “I’m afraid I’ve to work to do. No time to dilly-dally, like some colts I know.” Due hopped off the foundation and puffed out his chest. “I’m not dilly-dallying! I can help build your porter thing.” Broad Axe paused to rub his chest, staring at the horizon with a somber expression. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s awful hard work, and you’re awful small. And your mother will be after my hide if she found out I let you skip school.” “But school sucks,” Due reiterated, clearly making a unassailable argument. “I’d rather be here, helping you.” “And avoiding bows in your tail?” Due gagged. “Yeah, and that.” When Broad Axe next looked at him, it was with a cool, focused stare. Due met those glittering blue eyes and felt something… heavy. He felt like he was being… he didn’t know what, but it made him feel so very small. His little heart started to thud in his ears and he sank to his knees. His grandsire had never looked at him like that before. Was he in trouble? Did he say something wrong? Papa would redden his flank when he said bad words. Granpa was a lot bigger than Papa. But then, as quickly as it had begun, the feeling faded and Broad Axe smiled warmly. “You’ll do fine, Due Date. You’ll do fine, indeed.” Breathing out a long sigh, Due stood up on wobbly legs. “S-so I can help?” “Sure. In fact…” The stallion lowered his head to Due’s level again, smirking as he met the colt’s eyes. “Anytime Mrs. Eyes’ prune smell gets overwhelming, or the bullies get too annoying, or little Miss Handkerchief is getting to friendly with her bows, you come running to me and we’ll work on this porter together. Sound good?” “Yes!” Due hopped forward and wrapped his forelegs around his grandsire’s face. “Yes, yes, yes! You’re the best, Granpa!” The heavy rain drummed on the roof. A flash of lightning brought forth a crash of thunder just before the door closed behind Due Date. The four torches in their sconces flickered, casting shadows in a bare room. The floorboards were sturdy beneath his hooves, a testament to their endurance over the years. Pulling out the bottle, he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it into the corner. The torches didn’t provide much in the way of lighting. Which, as with all things in the building’s design, was perfectly appropriate. Old Broad Axe had planned out everything to a T, hadn’t he? Near the back of the building’s lone room, a massive cement dais held at eye level a granite, open sarcophagus. The sarcophagus was intricately decorated with all sorts of filigree featuring flowers, vines, butterflies and even a few hummingbirds. A phoenix was nestled among some branches in the center of the design, its wings spread and its head bowed. The lid could just be seen leaning against it on the opposite side. Due set the bottle on the sarcophagus’s corner and leaned heavily against the stone. There, lying on his back and appearing as serene as Celestia, lay Broad Axe. “Granpa,” he muttered over the thrumming rain, “if I’d known I was helping you build your mausoleum, I might have had second thoughts.” Twenty years. Just like he’d said. Due couldn’t help but wonder how the old guy knew it. He settled down by the sarcophagus and rested his forelegs on the stone. It was cold, like ice. An unnatural cold. It sent little shivers up his legs and down his spine. From here, his grandsire’s face was almost masked by the shadows. When they flickered in just the right way, he could imagine the old stallion was looking at him. It was an expectant gaze. Impatient. Excited. Due had to lean a little closer to confirm that, no, the eyes were not open. That didn’t make the feeling go away. Due supposed he was expected to talk. What else could he do? “Sorry, it’s just you and me.” Taking the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it directly into the sarcophagus, then put the bottle back. He wasn’t quite prepared for that step. “Everypony who liked you kicked the bucket before you did. All the rest hate your flank. If you subscribe to the whole ‘outlive your enemies’ thing, then you performed poorly.” He thought on that peculiarity. Another slow, long gaze at the empty mausoleum reminded him of just how true the statement was. He once knew so many ponies. “What happened to our family? We used to be so close, and then…” Settling with his back to the sarcophagus, Due tried to think of old days. Happier days. “I ever tell you about the ‘thing’ me and Hanky had going?” The memories brought a smile to his lips. He could see the mare so vividly sometimes, with her long brown mane and orange coat. Her penchant for dresses with short skirts. The lust in her eyes. “We must have gotten together a hundred times. She’d find me, tease me, bring me to bed… or wherever we happened to be at the moment. Then she’d grow bored and disappear. Broke my heart the first few times. I finally realized it was all a game to her. And she always came back, wanting more. Sometimes I hated her for it, but y’know? There were times when I think I legitimately loved her. I never got that feeling with anypony else.” He heaved a sigh, staring at his hooves. “She died while on vacation in Fleece. They say someone pushed her off a cliff. Couldn’t prove it, but that’s what they say. That was during that four-year vacation you took. The one where you disappeared without a trace, leaving nothing but a note saying it was a ‘journey to settle business’.” He snorted at that. “Scared the life out of Dad. Literally. Caught the Trots and died not two weeks after you left. I lost a lot of important ponies while you were gone. Uncle Fly Lure’s boat capsizing, cousin Cross Rocket hanging himself at that ski resort, my buddy Harpoon getting in a bar fight with gryphons while on deployment. They dropped like flies.” He raised his head. The flickering torches made the mausoleum feel even smaller than it really was. And yet the sheer emptiness of it made it feel like some great cavern. Tartarus, perhaps. Trapped in the Eternal Prison with nothing but his grandsire’s corpse for company. He shivered and stood, no longer wishing to be alone. Yet there was only one pony who could keep him company now. He stared at Broad Axe’s motionless form and tried to think of other things. Better things. “I thought I’d lost you, too,” he muttered, leaning yet again on the sarcophagus. “Why not? Everypony else was croaking. You probably already had.” “But then, at Mom’s funeral… there you were. Big ol’ Granpa Axe, ready to sweep me up and comfort me. It was perfect timing on your part, y’know?” He smiled and took the bottle in his hooves. “When everypony else was gone, you were there. That’s why I’m doing this for you, Granpa. You were there for me. Seems only fair.” He stared at the bottle, taking in its green color as the liquid sloshed within. Taking a whiff, he coughed at the heavy scent of rosemary. “Where the hay did you learn the recipe for this stuff, anyway?” He peered at Broad Axe, shaking the bottle at him. “I tried to look it up, you know. Couldn’t find it. Went to a brewery to ask a guy about it, and he thought the recipe was completely bonkers. Don’t blame him, either.” With that, he took a pull of the intense alcohol. It burned on the way down, blistering his taste buds with a twisted combination rosemary, sassafras, and citrus. Which was hideous, but at least they masked the more obscure ingredients. After gulping the gunk down, Due let out a long gasp and hissed against the instant headache the stuff slammed into him. “Cadance’s glorious flank, that’s nasty! Seriously, Granpa, were you trying to kill me before I could inherit your crap? Because I think it’s working.” Wishing he’d brought some water inside, Due spat on the ground. “You’re lucky I love you, old guy, because that’s the only reason I’m going through with these silly demands of yours.” His stomach twisted in an effort to rebel against that love. Due leaned heavily against the sarcophagus, carefully placing the bottle on the corner once more as a precaution. Slumping to the floor, he settled against the stonework and waited for the hideous squirming in his guts to calm. Breathing in slow gasps helped fight the nausea and pain. He didn’t care what that doctor he’d asked said, this stuff had to be killing him. “It might not kill you, but it’ll sure make you wish you were dead,” he mumbled, smiling with no small effort. A crash of lightning shook the mausoleum. The heavy rain continued its determined pounding, as if in an effort to breach the sturdy roof. The noise drowned out Due’s concentrated efforts to breathe his way to a clear head and still stomach. When that did little to sooth the beast, he raised his head to examine his surroundings. He needed some kind of distraction. Anything. He found it in the corner, near the ceiling. It was… a face. Stone. A statue. It was of a mare with a short, wild mane. Intricately carved, and made with such dedicated attention to detail that it was easy to imagine she was real. If Due didn’t know better, he’d think the poor thing had been petrified by a cockatrice, had her head cut off just at the shoulders, and been mounted as a trophy. There was a forlorn, weary look to her gaze. Due couldn’t help thinking she knew some ancient, terrible truth he never would. When had his grandsire added such a strange decoration? And if there was one… Sure enough, there was another statue on display on the opposite corner. This one depicted a stallion, smaller in size but broader in the face. His head tilted back to gaze at the ceiling with a hazy, lost expression, as though he were drunk. Or perhaps drugged. Due wondered if he had a similar look on his own face. He hoped not; that stallion appeared wretched. “You had weird… weird taste, Granpa,” he muttered between wheezes. His stomach felt composed enough now to allow for movement, so he lurched to his hooves. He trotted a small circle, trying to get some energy back into his legs, but he felt so horribly weak. What in Equestria had that stuff done to him? At last feeling marginally better, he approached the sarcophagus and took the bottle in his hooves. “I hope one taste is all you needed from me, because love or no, I’m not having another.” Leaning over the edge was very uncomfortable, so he flapped his wings and hovered. There was just enough room for him to fly so long as he kept perpendicular to Broad Axe’s position. “Now. You said you wanted the rest, right?” He reached down, paused, pulled his hoof back. His grandsire… On any given day, he would have happily hugged the stallion. Shared a hoofbump. As a foal, he’d been all for snuggles. But now, with that body all cold and lifeless? He looked to the bottle in his hoof, then to Broad Axe’s shadowed face. The face that he swore was watching him, even with the eyes closed in eternal slumber. Due’s stomach twisted as the old, horribly familiar feeling of being watched returned to him. He glanced over his shoulder at the two statues near the ceiling. Still in the same poses. Even so, they struck him as peculiar. “Sod it,” he growled, reaching down to touch his grandsire’s chin. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting. Maybe you think this gunk is so nasty it’ll jolt you back to life?” Prying the mouth open with one hoof, he carefully poured what was left of the alcohol inside. It soon filled Broad Axe’s mouth and poured down the sides of his cheeks, but Due didn’t stop pouring. He wanted it all? He’d get it all. Serve the old guy right for making him drink that piss. “There,” he growled once the last drop was loosed. Heset the bottle aside and landed, crossing his arms with a huff. “Damn it, Granpa, why’d you have to pick me? I don’t want your damn money, or the house, or… or… any of it! You think giving me that crap will make up for this? It doesn’t.” He clenched his eyes shut, pushing back the tears and the nausea at the same time. “It doesn’t. You were all I had left, you stupid old goat. Livin’ for me ain’t gonna be much fun anymore without you around to gloat to.” Settling back to the floor, he grimaced at the squelching sound his stomach made. “Oh, Sisters, I feel like I’m getting eaten from the inside.” Blood started to pound in his skull, a steady thrumming that competed with the rain and the occasional lightning for dominance in his ears. The torches flickered in a wind he never felt. Due dutifully held the wooden stake in place as Broad Axe banged it deeper into the ground with his bare hoof. “Granpa? Why are we building a box?” His grandsire finished pounding the stake down before answering. “What we’re building is a mold. We have to make it nice and tight and at perfect angles too.” “Oh.” Due glanced around the empty porter, which was complete in every way save the door. “What’s a mold?” Broad Axe paused, brow furrowing as he considered his answer. “Well… You know how when it snows, and you lie in the snow, it makes a perfect impression of you?” Due’s eyes lit up. “Like when we made snow-pegasi last winter, right?” “Yes, exactly.” His grandsire nodded with a grin and ruffled the colt’s mane. “Just like that. A mold is the same thing, only made out of wood or metal. Anything poured into it will look like what you want it to.” “Ooooh, okay.” Grabbing the next stake, Due flapped his little wings to help him balance on two legs. He carefully positioned the stake in the middle of the big X his grandsire had marked on the ground. “So we’re making a mold for a box.” Cocking his head, he looked up at the towering stallion. “So what are we gonna pour into it?” With a toothy smirk, Broad Axe replied, “Molten rock.” Little wings buzzed. “Really?” “Really.” The stallion slammed his hoof into the stake once, twice, three times, and it was done. He stepped back and made a wide gesture with his hoof at the four stakes. “We’ll get all the ingredients and mix it together. It’ll be liquid rock, and we’ll pour it into the mold. Then, after a few days, the rock will get hard. We’ll take away the wood and have a big block made of rock. Isn’t that cool?” Due could already see their box, all shiny and brown and holding bubbling, red hot lava. He giggled and bounced. “That’s awesome! I can’t wait to tell Hanky.” Broad Axe’s eyebrow shot up along with his perking ears. “You mean the young filly who puts bows in your tail?” “No! I mean… Maybe.” Due scowled at his grandsire’s smile. He knew that smile, it was the same one his mother got when she thought she was being smart. It made his cheeks burn as hot as the lava that would soon be filling their mold. “She stopped doing that.” “Still wants to marry you, though. Right?” Broad Axe laughed as Due gagged. They started nailing boards to the stakes, using exactly the right ones as Due’s grandsire instructed and putting some kind of smelly grey muck between each pair. After a while of this slow but steady work, Due asked, “What are we putting in the lava box?” Chuckling, Broad Axe replied, “The block is for a reliquary.” Due’s tongue twisted and his eyes went cross. “Reli… Rel… Huh?” “Re-li-qua-ry.” The colt frowned and tried again, this time speaking with careful slowness. “Rewliquery.” “Close enough.” Carefully placing some of the muck with a spade, Broad Axe explained, “Reliquaries hold objects of incredible importance. Legendary treasures, or objects of cultural value. Princess Luna’s spear, for example, is held in a reliquary in Hollow Shades.” Due cocked his head at this strange news. “Why would she leave it there? What if she needs it?” “Another board, please. Long one.” Broad Axe took a drink from his water bottle as Due hurried to get the requested item. “Luna’s spear was put there many, many moons ago. I’m sure she uses something else now.” “I hope so. I like the princess. I’d be sad if she got hurt ‘cause she didn’t have her spear.” Carrying the board on his back, Due brought it to his grandsire, then held it in place while Broad Axe nailed it to the stakes. “What are we putting in the rewliquery? Do you have some kind of ancient treasure?” He sucked in a sharp gasp. “Is it a spear? Does Mom know?” Broad Axe hummed, scratching at his chin with the hammer’s claw. “It is treasure. It will be ancient. And it will be young. It’s both.” Due’s ears folded down as he pondered that answer. “Crazy talk again. How can it be old and young at the same time?” “Good question. Tricky to answer.” That wry smirk returned to his grandsire’s face. “And it’s not a spear.” “Aww…” Broad Axe leaned closer to Due and spoke in a whisper. “But I promise you, my boy, it is legendary. What I place here will be incredibly important. For my future and for yours.” There was that intensity in the stallion’s gaze again, one that spoke of a calm focus and hidden passion. The same stare that left Due Date feeling as tiny as he really was, and like there was a mighty predator coming for him. He shrank back, but couldn’t look away. “M-mine?” His grandsire nodded. When he spoke, it was with a seriousness that seeped deep inside Due, leaving him on the tips of his hooves. “I want you to promise me something, Due Date. Can you do that?” Without asking, Due Date knew this might be the most important promise of his life. Words would be wasted. He nodded and hoped it would be good enough. Broad Axe set a hoof to his withers. “Your life will be short. Shorter than you think. Shorter than anypony expects. With time so limited, you should take it for yourself. Don’t fret about what others think of you. Figure out what you want to do with your life, Duey, so that when your date comes due, you’ll have done as much as possible. Live wild. Live free. Live outside everypony’s expectations. Can you promise me that?” He was right, this was not at all like the usual promises adults asked of him. This felt big. Important. More important than Due Date. He didn’t want to disappoint his grandsire, but he also didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t keep. “I… I-is it okay if I promise to try?” The stallion didn’t answer for some time. He only maintained his quiet, unblinking gaze. Due Date was sure he could see stars in those midnight blue eyes, eyes that ran deeper than any ocean. Due usually loved looking into those eyes, for they brought to mind adventure, excitement, and wildness. But today, they held a different light. He saw not stars and glory but emptiness. Hunger. A predatory eagerness. Due squirmed beneath those blue galaxies, but could not bring himself to tear his gaze away. “G-Granpa?” Then, the eerie feeling of being stalked faded. Broad Axe smiled, a warm, comforting smile that made Due wonder why he’d ever been so nervous. “That’s just fine, kid. Nopony could ask for more than that.” Lightning crackled outside, jolting Due out of his reverie. The world spun as he tried to place where he was and what he’d been doing. Shadows danced, making him think there was something moving beyond the light of the dim torches. Which was nonsense. Just his lifelong paranoia coming back to haunt him. There was nothing in this mausoleum. Nothing but… Right. Granpa Axe. Groaning, Due picked himself up off the floor. “What in Equestria did that gunk do to me?” His legs trembled beneath his weight, his breathing came in rasps. A black claw shifted in the dark. Glowing blue eyes watched him in the twitching shade. His heart battered his ribs. “Stop it, Due,” he hissed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Nothing’s out there. It’s just you and Granpa. The Boogiepony isn’t real.” He forced his eyes opened. A hundred faces stared back. “What the hay?” Due leapt back, banging his flank on the sarcophagus. Statues, a mob of them. On the walls, the ceiling, clogging the floor, barring the door. Each one of a different pony. Each one with a different pose. All busts. All with shimmering blue eyes that pierced his heart and left him gaping and gasping. They twisted and wavered in the wild shadows, a thousand silent voices shrieking against the pounding rain and roiling thunder. Their breathing tickled his ears, hoarse and hollow and whistling. Due covered his face in his fetlocks, blinding himself to their stares. “Goddesses preserve me, what did that stuff do to me? What?” He grit his teeth as hooves scraped against stone, something fighting to get closer. “It’s all in your head. All in your head. J-just the stupid alcohol making you see things. Get over it.” He peeked out. The heads were all facing him, now. “Get over it!” The shadows began to consume the heads, like a nebulous beast ravenous for their hard flesh of rock. Blue, glistening eyes went wide with agony, horror, desperate and imploring. One by one, they winked out, but as their numbers grew smaller their presence loomed all the more. Due Date crawled into the sarcophagus, trembling and unable to take his eyes away from the growing darkness and those haunted eyes. “Go away! Leave me alone!” Something touched his withers. He swatted it away on instinct, turning to face… Blue eyes. Eyes like a storm of stars. Eyes that spoke of a millennium of experience, of hunger, of a vicious, insatiable need. Due Date shrieked. He tried to escape, but the shades and the faces pressed him back like a physical wall. The corpse wrapped its cold, stiff legs around his withers and pulled him close. Due twisted and kicked and cried. Broad Axe opened his mouth wide, unleashing a viscous wave of black. Discomfort. Due tried to move his legs. They were stiff and sore. Had he been running? If so, he’d overexerted himself. His legs could barely move. And he was freezing. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but his body felt like lead. He strained his ears. There was a low thrumming sound. Rain. Yes, definitely rain. On a roof, perhaps. “Awake at last.” How strange. That voice was similar, but also different. Where had he heard it before? Far more effort was required to open his eyes than seemed right. Other things were odd, too. Odd about his body. Odd, but he couldn’t put his hoof on… The world was dim, as if he were wearing shades in the dark. The ceiling above was barely visible. A face, too blurry to make out, stared at him from over a ledge. Was he in a bed of some kind? Or a hole? He couldn’t tell how soft or hard the ground beneath him was. Due tried to speak, but all he managed was a thin rasping. His voice… He couldn’t control his voice! The figure with the familiar voice shushed him, reaching a hoof down to stroke his mane. Due didn’t feel it beyond a strange awareness that something was pressing gently against his scalp. “It’s okay, Duey. It’s over. You did well, just as I knew you would. Got the potion just right and everything.” Due strained to make words, any words, escape his throat. He managed only another hoarse wheeze. What was wrong with him? The head lowered until their muzzles were almost touching. The face became clear through the murky fog of his eyes. It was his own. The false Due Date smiled warmly. “This is always the hardest part. The dying is… unpleasant, but it’s here, at the conclusion, that I feel myself go weak at the knees.” Due had to communicate somehow. He resorted to mouthing his question. What is happening? The fake smiled and pressed a hoof to Due’s chest. He felt only a light pressure. “I’m sorry, boy. It always feels better when I make the trade with family. I don’t have to, of course, but you had all the right traits, biologically speaking. How could I say no when you just fell into my lap?” Pulling back so his face was an indistinct blur yet again, he asked, “Did you keep your promise? Live life to the fullest and all that?” A trade? What was he talking about? Due wanted to thrash about, to scream at this imposter, to do anything. All he managed was a feeble growl and to shift his foreleg a little to the left. His howl was little more than a faint hiss. “I hope you did. You deserved all the happiness you could muster in your short, short life. But if not… Well, that’s what you get for ignoring the words of a wise old stud. You’d think being a dozen or so centuries old would make ponies pay more attention to you, but it is not so.” the imposter disappeared over the shadowed ledge. “You know, I think I’ll live this life as a mortician. Good travelling job, makes it easy to meet potential candidates. Plus I’m a little rusty on my anatomy.” There came a grinding noise. Though it was subdued, Due gathered it was quite loud to normal ears. He tried to view his own body. Just lifting his head was like carrying bricks. He at last got a look, taking in his… yellow coat? But… but he was blue. Blue, not yellow. He’d inherited his colors from his father. And why did he look so big? Something landed on the hole above him, partially closing it. Due’s eyes went wide in horrible awareness, and the thrashing within his frigid, stiff corpse of a body resumed. “I won’t apologize,” the fake said, hidden somewhere beyond sight. “Not for what I’m doing to you, or what I did to your family. I do apologize for Miss Handkerchief, though. She was a fine young mare, full of life and vigor. But I learned long ago that the best way to keep hidden is to do away with those who care about the next host. They tend to ask questions.” The lid of the sarcophagus began to grind closed. Due’s faint hisses were the closest he could come to screams. If only he could move, if only he could speak, if only he could do anything! He tried to wrap his head around the impossibility of what was happening, that his own grandsire could do this. “Now, don’t you worry, Due,” the fake said merrily as the grinding lid blocked more and more of the torches’ dim light. “The magic that kept my soul connected with Broad Axe’s body is only temporary. Usually goes away after four or five days.” A beat. “Well, sometimes it goes longer. A week or two. A month. It’s an imprecise science, I’m afraid. But hey, you won’t be stuck in here forever. Good news, right?” All those days visiting his grandsire, all the stories. The wise words of advice, the comforting shoulder to cry on. When had it started, when? Those blue eyes like a sea of stars. The feeling of being hunted, of being stalked. All along… The lid was almost entirely on the sarcophagus. The world was dark as pitch. “Say, that pretty lawyer mare is waiting for me in the carriage, right? What good fortune! I can have a little fun with her before Due Date disappears. She probably won’t cooperate, but I’ve been living as a goody-four-shoes for way too long. What’s the point of living forever if you can’t live a little? Get it? Live a little?” A long sigh. “Ponies had more fun in the tribal days. More pillaging and raping.” Due bucked against his prison. He just had to reach, to block the lid, to resist! He heaved, his massive body trembling with effort. The fake’s head poked through the small triangle of an opening, blocking the light and appearing as little more than a black blot. “Thank you, Duey. You really were the best grandfoal a stallion could have. It was nice, playing that role again. I take it on so rarely. I wish I could make this easier for you. But I can’t, because you’re already dead, so… Yeah. Bye. Have a good afterlife. Say hello to all the other hosts when you see them. They’ve probably got some social club up there in Elysium. I’m sure you’ll fit right in. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a hot lawyer. Oh, it’s good to be young again. This evening has gone perfectly.” Due Date screamed within his dead shell. He screamed and cried and cursed and wailed. The sarcophagus lid closed, blanketing him in perfect black.