Flim believed he was going mad when his hat began talking to him.
It came out of the blue, really. He was up late one night putting the finishing touches on his brother’s most recent get-rich-quick scheme when he heard his name being called from, oddly, above. Naturally, he turned his gaze to the starry sky in search of this addressor, only for the same voice to squeak in alarm and cry that it was going to fall of his gel-laden mane.
Swiftly, he rescued his hat and apologized for the scare.
Then, upon realizing what he just said, he jumped straight up and removed his hat at once, cautiously asking for it to speak again.
It did – said ‘his’ name was Bowler.
Flim asked if he meant the hat before shaking his head and asking a more appropriate question:
Are you alive?
Bow- Flim’s hat seemed taken aback and answered with its own query:
Should I not be?
That was perhaps too philosophical for Flim’s business-oriented mind, so he ignored it and ran to wake his brother.
Flam, huffing and not at all pleased at being stirred, half-listened to Flim’s tale, and when the hat deigned to speak and prove Flim’s point, he snapped that they had a big day tomorrow and turned over in his bed. The matter was put to rest.
Flim retreated to his own bed, scornful at the hat’s silence.
The hat spoke again when he and Flam stopped by a town to resupply and went their separate ways.
It apologized out of the blue, startling Flim so bad he almost dropped a bag of groceries. Flim was still steamed from last night and threatened to have the hat dipped in starch, even as he acknowledged how bizarre his situation was.
Bowl- dammit, his hat argued how rude it thought Flam was for not believing him. Admittedly, it added with a bashful tone, it was rather happy he didn’t because it didn’t feel comfortable talking to anyone but the pony whose head it rested on.
That was one of the strangest compliments Flim had received. Not the strangest, which was probably something of a red flag.
Flim huffed and ignored his hat because… well, what was one supposed to do when their clothing started speaking with you and only when there was no one else around in earshot? His mind was still coming to terms with it.
Not that his hat seemed to care – he kept- it kept talking to him, gushing on endlessly about the world it somehow saw without eyes. It didn’t delve too much into its origins; it was adamant that it simple ‘woke’ recently and gave no hints as to what might have been the cause.
It said it was glad to be with him; he seemed interesting.
Flim snorted in amusement. This devil was trying to butter him up? Please – he had done that so many times with mares that he could smell such a technique a mile off.
Flim met up with his brother, whom was excited about testing his new scheme on fresh, hapless townsfolk. As they went about getting ready, Flim found himself alone, and his hat asked what the scheme was about. Without really thinking, Flim explained.
The hat said it was a brilliant idea; his brother was so smart.
Flim flushed and said it was a joint effort.
The hat praised him as well.
Flim liked the tone of sincerity, so much that he jokingly said that actually the scheme was all his idea and Flam just took credit.
The hat didn’t praise him – it sounded genuinely distraught as it asked if it was true.
Flim stumbled. He was caught off-guard, but he didn’t want to look like an idiot, so he went along with the fib.
The hat said that wasn’t right, but it respected him for letting his brother share in the victory.
Guilt toiled in Flim’s gut as he murmured something that sounded like an agreement and changed the subject.
The scheme was a failure.
Regrettable but nothing they wouldn’t bounce back from – they made enough money to last them for a month and that was better than their last fiasco in Ponyville.
Flam took this one especially hard, though; he was so sure it would work and seeing it go up in smoke took a lot out of him. He bid good night and turned in early.
Bowler… You know what? Fine – let the hat have his punny name.
Bowler said he didn’t see why Flam was so upset since Flim came up with the idea.
Flim grimaced and replied that they did things as a team: when one failed, they both did and where one succeeded, they both did.
Bowler didn’t see it that way – if Flam wanted recognition, then he should earn it himself.
Flim flicked Bowler’s rim and told him to stuff a sock in it; he wouldn’t have his brother’s character insulted.
Bowler grumbled and stayed quiet from then on.
But… if Flim was honest with himself, he could partially appreciate what Bowler was saying. Since they were children, they had to share everything and that hadn’t changed when they got older; hell, they even shared sentences! Flim didn’t mind it too much – he loved his brother – but he sometimes wondered how life would be if it was just him.
Pah – what was he thinking? A life without his brother would be so dreadfully dull.
Bowler remained Flim’s little secret – he still had no clue as to why the hat had gained sentience, but he didn’t dwell on it. It was a shame Bowler refused to speak aloud since he was sure they would make a good deal of money on that shtick.
As days passed, Flim gradually developed a quiet acceptance of Bowler’s existence; he listened when Bowler spoke, took in his perspective on certain matters – oddly wise for having no brain – and treated him with great care.
Flam thought it was weird but didn’t push the issue.
They had another scheme to work on anyway.
After that disastrous foray, Flim stormed off to a nearby stream and washed the dried sweat from his face, cursing the entire time.
It hadn’t been his fault. Flam should have checked if the screws could withstand that sort of stress before yanking on it so violently. Of course Flim didn’t build the back portion of it so sturdy, not when they could use those materials for the final act – that could have saved the whole show if Flam hadn’t been so gung-ho about everything.
Bowler, for once, didn’t talk. He just listened as Flim ranted and shared his thoughts, and it felt good to do so.
When he was done, Flim felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
Bowler told him it will all work out.
Since then, Flim confided in Bowler when he had the chance – there were just some things he couldn’t talk about with Flam.
Flim spoke of all his ideas, ones that he knew were wonky at best, ones that he knew Flam would poke holes in – rightfully so, admittedly – if he conveyed them aloud. Bowler listened and never once tried to play the part of the realist; he offered nothing but support and praise.
Flim knew criticism was crucial when it came to a business partnership, but since their last scheme went awry, it felt nice to have someone say ‘you’re doing good’ instead of ‘we can do better’.
Flam approached him one night and instead of apologizing for how he acted, he said that Flim’s conversations with that ‘stupid hat’ were getting difficult to ignore. Flim wished Bowler had spoken out in that moment just to prove him wrong, but he had to settle with making a biting remark and stomping away.
In secret, Flim worked on a scheme by himself, but when he unveiled it to Flam, all he received were complaints and an entire list on why it wouldn’t work.
Well, so be it – Flam played no part in crafting it, so he wouldn’t share in the glory. Scoffing, Flim set off for the latest town they had come to, leaving his brother to huff and snort about.
The scheme failed.
Bowler whispered comforting words into his ear as he trudged back home, trembling with rage and humiliation.
This was no failure to be shared: Flam had no part in it, so the consequences were all on Flim. And oh, did he pay. The scheme failed so spectacularly that he had to stay and sort out the mess he made, all the while enduring the dark glares of the vexed townsfolk.
If Flam had been there, then it might have been bearable.
Flim knew he had acted horribly to his brother and that he deserved ridicule, but he hoped that maybe Flam would see all he had gone through and be supportive like Bowler was.
That hope was dashed as soon as he saw Flam’s smug leer.
In that instant, Flim felt a sickening surge of hate coil in his stomach.
Bowler, as always, kept quiet as Flam chewed him out.
The gap between Flim and Flam grew with each passing day; they barely exchanged pleasantries and they had not come together to form a scheme in weeks.
After being fed so much glowing praise from Bowler, Flim found his brother abrasive and condescending. In turn, Flam said he was acting like a petulant foal who was so soft he needed an imaginary friend to kiss his boo-boos.
Flim found himself nurturing a vitriolic hate that festered and grew until it was all he could feel. He knew, in some part of his mind, that this was not healthy and that it would just get worse if he didn’t try to make amends with Flam, but it was difficult: why should he have to take the first step? Why couldn’t Flam?
He echoed these thoughts to Bowler, and Bowler echoed them back.
Flim jolted awake one night, sensing something was amiss.
Bowler was gone.
Leaping from his sleeping bag, he caught sight of a shadow moving in the distance and stormed across where they had made camp. He yelled for them to stop.
Flam turned around with an icy glare, Bowler in his grasp.
They argued.
They screamed.
It seemed that every little slight that had happened between them was now an unforgivable insult – Flim’s voice cracked as he felt as if he had been mistreated and was only now wise to it.
Flam responded in kind, but he brought up Flim’s obsession with Bowler – he called it ‘stupid fucking hat’ – and said that since then, it was like he was a different pony.
And then he threw Bowler on the dirt and started stomping on it.
Flim’s vision went red and he charged forward to knock Flam backwards.
Flam wobbled as his hoof slipped on the grass near an incline in the campsite. His eyes widened in terror as he teetered.
Flim’s insides froze as he reached out.
Just like that, it didn’t matter if Flam never apologized for that one failed scheme; neither did all the little things he did that annoyed Flim matter – Flim would forget all of it if it meant he could be quick enough at that very moment.
Bowler was shouting something, but Flim didn’t hear it as he watched in disbelief as Flam tumbled down the hill and disappeared into some shrubs.
It wouldn’t have been so bad.
Perhaps Flim could have helped Flam to his feet, apologized, and they could have laughed about it and put it all behind them.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if that one branch hadn’t been jutting out of that log as it had been.
Flim was coated in dirt and dripping with sweat by the time he got Flam back to the campsite, but he barely noticed.
Bowler told him everything would be fine, that it would all turn out okay.
Flim loaded Flam into their travelling wagon and went to retrieve Bowler. He placed him atop his scalp and fastened the wagon’s reins to his body. It would be tough to pull by himself.
Bowler assured him it was an accident, that he didn’t mean to do it. Everything was going to be fine.
Flim gave a hollow smile and trundled along the dirt road.
“No, it won’t be.”
Someone had to be the realist.
“Is that really horror?” Pinkie Pie asked, and if it had not been so sincere, Starlight might have taken it as an insult. “The only thing creepy about that was the talking hat. And to be honest, I’ve made scarier cupcakes.”
At the very least, Starlight was vexed. “The hat’s a metaphor: it’s about how bad thoughts can lead you to a dark place and how it could lead to situations you never meant for if you let them control you.”
Pinkie Pie scratched her poofy mane and somehow pulled out an entire bucket of popcorn. Twilight scowled – wonderful, now her provisions list was messed up.
“I was hoping for something more traditional. So far, Dashie’s been the only one to do that.”
Seeing Starlight huff, Twilight smiled supportively. “I thought it was interesting.”
Starlight seemed to cheer up a little as she got up and blew out a candle.
The room grew darker.
“You know…” Starlight began as she laid back down. “I think Pinkie should go next to show us what she means by ‘traditional’ horror.”
Twilight nodded. “That seems fair.”
“Alrighty then!” Pinkie put her popcorn down, grabbed a flashlight, and put it under her chin. The lighting would have made her face unsettling if it weren’t for the exaggerated grin and kernel stuck between her teeth. “Aunt Pinkie shall teach all of you what horror is!”
“I’m still a year older…”