“This is what humans do for Nightmare Night?” Granch idly raised one furred lion-paw and pointed a claw at the leering devil face hanging beside the cackling green-skinned witch on the Conversion Clinic's wall. “Hang up pictures of human Tirek and Chrysalis?”
“No,” Bram hung up a grinning ghost beside the first two. Some of the clinic's equine staff were watching and whickering in clear amusement. Behind them hung pony decorations, mostly of a menacing fanged black-coated demon alicorn with catlike green eyes. One of the non-equines, Mewsette the Abyssinian, swayed over in highly distracting fashion. Bram swallowed and said, “Well, yes, partly. These are decorations for Halloween. It's a human holiday and has been for decades.”
“I know,” Mewsette purred out. She lightly swatted Granch with her long tail. “It's in those memos we're supposed to read, remember? The ones about human customs and culture? We might as well know about them as long as they're still here – oh, sorry, Bram.” She set her hand on his shoulder. He felt the prickle of her claws. “I should have thought.”
“It's alright, Mewsette,” Bram gave her hand a squeeze. Beyond her Granch looked annoyed, his feathery crest rising slightly. “If you like, you can help me here.”
“Gladly.” She smiled at him and the temperature of the room seemed to rise a few degrees. She picked up a wall hanging of a grinning skull. “Just show me where to put these.” Mewsette wore as much as her people usually did, a belt with short skirt that barely reached below her hips and with a vest over it, pockets filled with pens and a smartphone. Her breasts swung free under it. When she noticed Bram's glance she grinned and gave a little shake. Bram gulped and turned back to his box of decorations. He wished Abyssinians didn't have such humanlike forms for Equestrians. Or at least didn't share ponykind's cheerily oblivious attitudes about public nudity. He knew from reading about the races beyond the Veil that Abyssinians flirted as a 'social lubricant', like insults from griffons or the at time intrusive friendliness of ponies. It wasn't a problem for them because they could pick up on scent cues that showed the difference between real sexual interest and simple amusement. Humans weren't so lucky. He wondered if Mewsette knew the effect she had on human males.
Mewsette just gave another inviting smile as she leaned against the wall to hang the skull up high, pressing herself against it. Bram quickly looked away. Where was Cynthia anyway? His dragon roommate was supposed to be here by now along with Tephra. Bram felt only relief when Granch spoke up and gave him something else to concentrate on.
“So, what, this is like the ponies and Nightmare Night?” Granch lashed his leonine tail at the ebony demon horse art behind him. “Everyone puts up scary decorations,” he made air quotes with his claws around 'scary', “the pony griflets put on silly outfits and try getting candy from ya or they'll soap your windows or put wet toilet paper over your nest, and everyone puts on some goofy costume an' goes to parties and plays dumb games?” The corners of his beak turned up in a smile, somehow. Bram recalled reading that at least a dozen human scientists had gone mad trying to figure out things like that and how ponies could grasp with hooves. “Sounds like Nightmare Night ta me.”
“Well, it isn't,” Bram snapped back, feeling nettled. Griffons were good at that. Granch's smug smile showed he knew it. “It's a lot older, centuries, maybe millennia old in one form or another. It used to be the start of winter in the Dutch country. The season ran through to the last of April, Walpurgis Night. Everyone got together for parties to celebrate the harvest and to pretend they didn't fear ghosts and whatever else they thought might be out there in the dark as the nights got longer and colder.”
“Like I said,” Granch shrugged as he said in a wickedly snarky tone, “Halloween is so Pony. Just like most humans.”
“Granch,” Mewsette purred out. “Be nice.” She swayed in close to Bram, soft and warm. Granch rumbled low and angry in his throat. His claws scraped, suddenly popping against the tiled floor. Mewsette's smile widened. Her arm slipped around Bram's waist to a chorus of amused pony whickers. Her voice became an even warmer purr. “Or I'll have to apologize to Bram and comfort him. The poor dear.”
He jumped as the door of the clinic slammed open behind him, followed by the click-click-click of claws on the floor.
“Bram!” Cynthia's voice filled the room as only a dragon's could. He relaxed and turned to see her grinning, baring fearsome draconic fangs, She held up a piece of paper in one black-and-gold scaled claw. “I got the permission from the Hawk Mountain people. We can take the kids up there in a couple of nights to Schaumboch's Inn.” She fell silent at the sight of Mewsette's arm around him. A thin trickle of smoke came from her nostrils as she asked icily, “Mewsette, you sure your arm belongs there?”
Mewsette shrugged and removed it, walking back to her shared desk with Nightshade. The ash-grey Thestral was busily typing away on her computer with both hooves. It looked like she just mashed them against the keyboard but Bram knew from experience that she was a better typist than he was. “Oh, Cynthia, can't I have any fun around here? I can't even tease people without you and Granch getting angry.” She sighed dramatically, tossed her long mane of hair over her shoulder with one claw, and sank into her seat the way Gypsy Rose Lee used to swing from a pole. Bram's sudden sweat turned cold when he noticed how both Granch and Cynthia glared. Mewsette smirked and tipped Nightshade a wink. Nightshade grinned and it got worse. The elegant bat-pony fluttered her eyelashes at Bram. No. Not her too! When did I get so popular with nonhuman women, and why?
“So!” Bram said loudly, very loudly. He nodded at the permission slip in Cynthia's claw. “Hawk Mountain's okay with us bringing the kids up there? You have a driver for the bus, and they know to meet here, and everything?”
Cynthia shot one last annoyed look at the Thestral and Abyssinian as they returned to their secretarial duties. She looked at the paper. “Yes. Everyone knows, meet here about three, dinner is at the Inn. There's going to be about twenty kids.”
“And some parents, I hope,” Bram interrupted. He shuddered at the memories of similar trips in the past. “Or do they expect the two of us to control twenty hyper children of several species?”
“No, they don't,” Cynthia's shudder was very real. Even her tail-tip shook. “It's not going to be like that time at the school.” Bram remembered. She and Tephra went to a local school with several other members of the clinic staff in a Q-and-A session; it was one of the more common duties Conversion clinic staff was asked for. It ended with them dragging a seething Tephra away from several obnoxious children who probably had no idea how close they'd come to experiencing dragonfire first hand. Cynthia coughed. “Anyway! We go to Schaumboch's Inn, you tell some ghost stories, we spend the night and drive back early the next morning.”
“Hopefully with everyone's heads still attached,” Bram set up one last Halloween decoration, an old plastic stand-up figure of a ghost toting a pumpkin. He plugged it in and the light inside flickered fitfully. He stepped aside with a ta-da gesture to show his handiwork to everyone.
“Vell, I feel good and scared,” Nightshade said in a bored voice with her Trotsylvanian accent. “Sorry, Bram, but I vas hoping for something a little more grisly.” She tapped her keyboard and motioned for him and Cynthia to come over. They did. Bram gagged at the sight of the Halloween decorations she pointed at. They looked like effects from a slasher movie.
“Those would scare kids to death, not to mention any ponies!”
“How vell do you t'ink you know ponies? Ve haff faced real monsters.” Nightshade looked at him and smiled, revealing a set of Thestral fangs nearly as impressive as Mewsette's or Cynthia's. “Or children? I haff seen vhat human foals draw and look at in movies.”
“She's kind of right, Bram,” Cynthia chimed in. “Kids love creepy stuff for Halloween. I did. Didn't you? And Halloween decorations are more ornate than ever this year, what with --” She broke off. Everyone went silent for a moment and half turned away from Bram, the sole human in the room. No need to continue. What with the impending extinction of all humanity in a few years unless they transform.
“What were ya talking about, 'with everyone's heads still attached'?” Granch snatched one of the papers in Bram's hand to look at.
“Because of Killer Schaumboch's ghost,” Bram shrugged.
“Who?”
“Oh,” Bram walked back to the now-empty box of decorations, “you don't want to know. Unscary human Halloween stuff, remember?” The sound of typing stopped behind him. Granch's claws scraped against the floor. Bram smiled. He could feel the sudden interest in the room. “Just an innkeeper who murdered over a dozen men with an axe, stuck their skulls in a covered well, and served their flesh up to his patrons.” Mewsette or maybe Nightshade hissed low and fearfully. “Nothing to frighten any of you, of course.”
“Maybe,” Cynthia emphasized. “There's very little evidence he actually did any of those things.”
“Okay, according to legend, he did that,” Bram turned to face her and the rest of them. He deepened his voice walked closer to them as he spoke, looming over all of them but Cynthia. “Like it's legend about the screams of his victims coming down the mountain, or how he still tromps around his old inn after dark, axe in hand, looking for someone, anyone, to kill.”
A frightened inhalation rippled around the room before Nightshade spoke.
“Vait, vasn't that the story from your movie about the miner killing people on Hearts and Hooves – I mean, Val-en-tine's Day?” Nightshade turned back to her desktop computer and tapped a few more keys. Bram and Cynthia both looked and saw a photo of a gas mask wearing miner with a bloody pickaxe.
“Should we be worried that you can so easily find all the most gruesome horror movies and decorations at a moment's notice?” Cynthia pointed at her elegant clothes, all leather and velvet. “I thought you were more of a Gothic sort myself. You remind me a lot of that one unicorn with the purple mane and tail, what's her name, Unique?”
“Rarity,” Bram interjected. “The Element Bearer of Generosity. One of them, anyway.”
Cynthia frowned at his readiness to explain while Nightshade hopped to her hooves. “Hah! He iss right. Miss Rarity is a wonderful mare. She vas one of the vuns who came with Luna to tell us Thestrals we could come back out into the sun and open skies a few years ago.” Her eyes focused on him, long lashes fluttering. “Bram, at least, reads the paperwork I put so much effort into transcribing.”
“Translating, actually,” Bram said as he stepped back away from her desk. The office was returning to its usual level of activity. “Cynthia, wasn't Tephra with you when you got those papers?”
“No, he got a message from Volcano,” she shrugged. “It was a scroll in Draconic, got delivered by Lancer. He took off in a hurry, said it was very important.” Cynthia looked out the glass front doors of the clinic. His gaze followed hers to see a large scaly red-streaked gray form dropping down before them. “Here he is now. Tephra!” He hurried in with a determined look on his face. A few hellos greeted the dragon but he ignored them. His tail was lashing and smoke steadily puffed from his nostrils in anger. Bram frowned; this wasn't like him. He tried to take Cynthia's arm. She ignored him, walking up to the big male dragon. “Tephra, we're still on for Friday night, right? With the children and –”
“Cynthia.” His voice was clipped. Bram could feel the anger riding under his self-control. “We have to go and talk. Right now. With my elder brother. It's important.” Cynthia opened her mouth to speak. Tephra simply snapped, “Now!”
Cynthia's head jerked back a little on her long neck as her eyes widened. She looked at Bram, Her wide eyes showed the confusion he felt. When she didn't move Tephra showed fang and added a sudden sharp hiss. It wasn't a word, but Bram recognized a command when he heard it.
“Tephra,” he stepped forward to look his friend in the eye. He stopped as the dragon turned and snarled. Those fangs looked like knives. The chatter in the office immediately fell still. Some of the ponies began sidling nervously, as though seeking the door. Other ponies, along with Granch and Mewsette, stepped closer.
“Not now!” Tephra turned towards Cynthia and froze. Bram saw his gaze catch the small TV in the office that was usually set to one or another 24-hour cable news channel. It was showing more about the dragon-led Cartel attack on that small Mexican town south of Nogales, just over the Arizona border. It'd been filling all the news shows for the past week, a full adult dragon bigger even than Volcano aiding a cartel's attacks on towns on both sides of the American-Mexican border. Tephra's eyes blazed. With a visible effort he calmed himself.
“Bram,” he said, his voice thickened with anger. “All of you. I apologize. But this is something for dragons only, and the sooner we get it done the better.” Cynthia's mouth was open to speak but Tephra cut her off. “We need you there, you and all the local New Whelps capable of flight.”
“Just 'where', exactly?” Cynthia asked.
“Follow me,” Tephra headed outside. A few weeks ago locals would have either gaped or started snapping photos. Now they simply made sure to give him room as he unfurled his wings for takeoff. “I'll show you where.”
Cynthia looked at him, flexing her claws nervously. “Bram. This is something big, whatever it is. I, I'll be back as soon as I can, alright?” She smiled but he saw the mixed nervousness and curiosity in her eyes. “Hey, we're still on for Friday, right?”
“You bet,” Bram called after her as she followed Tephra outside. Both dragons crouched, wings spread wide, and leaped skywards. Leathery wings beat heavily at the chill late October air. Bram hurried in time to see several pegasi, one in an Allentown PD uniform, scatter from their path as they flew up, circling to what looked like a few hundred feet. That was low enough for safe flying without having to worry about airplanes or wear transponders. They both vanished northwards. To the Poconos?
“Vy they go there?” Nightshade said as he wondered that aloud. “Vhat is in your Poconos?”
“Maybe Volcano got in debt at one of the casinos and needs to get bailed out,” Nightshade gave a short whicker. Bram followed her back inside. “Whatever it is, I should know by tomorrow. Hopefully it won't be too long; I need to help Cynthia with her Halloween costume.”
“If she's still comin',” Granch said as he returned to his own duties.
“She will,” Bram said as he got back to work. “I mean, she has to, right?”
# # #
“What do you mean, 'not coming'?” One day later, Bram shook his head in confusion over Cynthia's words. Most of the clinic were carefully avoiding the small knot of dragons and predators. Bram sank into a nearby chair. He repeated himself. “Not coming?”
“Just what I said,” Cynthia shook her head. She stood with Granch and Mewsette and Nightshade. Bram found them all together and having a hushed conversation when he'd entered. Tephra stood behind her in his armor. It gleamed dully in the sunlight, hand-forged by Tephra himself back in the Dragonlands. The sole modern touch was the dim flashing light on the required-by-fliers transponder on his chestplate. Cynthia's own showed on the simple vest she wore. “I can't be there for the Hawk Mountain trip. I,” she glanced at Tephra. His eyes flared up like a last gasp of a dimming fire. She looked back at Bram, her crest partly lowered and looking subdued. “It's important.”
“Okay,” Bram said, hoping he didn't show how worried he felt. “What is it that's so important?” He nodded at Tephra. “Why does he need to be wearing his armor. It's not another lawsuit, is it?”
“Not that,” both hurriedly said. Cynthia opened her muzzle, looked at Tephra. He nodded at her to continue. Her tail lashing in unease, she said, “You remember that Mexico thing? With the big adult dragon leading attacks on towns on both sides of the border?”
“How'd that overgrown flamethrower even get through the Veil from Equestria without anyone noticing?” Granch grumbled. Tephra gave a rumbling grunt like an angry crocodile. Granch ignored him.
Cynthia said, “That's something we're trying to find out. Volcano got all the local dragons who can fly together. Trueborn and New Whelp, Lancer and Napalm and myself and all the rest. We're going there to,” Granch hissed and she caught herself, “to help, with the whole mess. Humanitarian aid.” She laughed. Bram wondered if she sounded nervous. “Or whatever it is when dragons do it.”
“Best aid ya could give would be ta stop big smoky from killin' people,” Granch pointed a claw at the TV screen. A cable news show was on with the aftermath of one of the attacks. Buildings smoked and burned as men both in and out of uniforms stumbled through the wreckage bearing medical supplies. The camera tried to avoid the bodies and barely succeeded. Bram heard the dismayed noises of multiple species go through the room. “How many human towns did he burn down by now?”
“Something will be done about it,” Tephra snapped back, his tail slapping against the floor in emphasis. Granch's eyeroll showed what he thought of that promise. Tephra all but hissed out, “The human governments involved and Equestria asked us not to interfere. If they were wiser we could deal with our lawless kin very quickly. But since they apparently feel no concern for their own kind?” He shrugged human fashion before heading for the door. “Cynthia, we must be going. The hired pony airship will be arriving at the airport soon. Unless you want to fly with your own wings the whole way?” He walked to the door.
“I'll be there in a moment,” Cynthia called. She turned back to Bram. “I'm sorry. But this is really important. We need to show everyone that dragons will help when one of their own does wrong. You understand?” Bram nodded. What else could he do? Cynthia grinned, gave him a quick hug and a nuzzle against his cheek. “I'll be back as soon as I can. Anyway, I asked Granch, Mewsette, and Nightshade to help with the trip and the kids, they said yes.”
“I'm thrilled,” Granch said in a bored voice. “But somegriff has ta help keep an eye on the human an' keep him outta trouble.” Nightshade tossed her head in eager agreement.
“Ve'll keep an eye on Bram. Cynthia,” she almost purred the words out. “You help vit the dragons.” She walked around Bram, fluttering her long eyelashes at him. “Ve vill make sure he doesn't get lonely.” Cynthia frowned but nodded.
“Or overwhelmed by a buncha kids,” Granch gave a short sharp laugh. He turned and said to several disbelieving ponies, “Hey, you never had ta give any presentations at these human schools. Standin' in front of two or three hundred yelling, cursing, junk tossing, jeering human fledglings?” He smiled. ”It feels just like back in Griffonstone.”
“Anyway,” Cynthia walked out the door, “like I said, I'll see you all in a week or so. Maybe less if everything goes well and we,” she broke off at Tephra's growl, “if we can provide the right kind of help. Bye!” Neither dragon said anything more. Both leaped into the air, wings beating heavily for altitude. Warm sulfur-scented air washed down from them. They shrank into the clear sky, circling tightly to clear the buildings. As soon as they flew high enough they vanished eastwards towards Lehigh Valley International Aiport.
Bram looked after them for several minutes, missing them both. It felt odd to think that when until a few months ago he'd been happy to be living alone.
“Don't worry,” Mewsette said, patting him on the back. “Hey, they'll be fine. They're dragons, right? What can hurt them?”
Bram nodded but as he walked back inside he caught a glance of the cable news. They were showing Mexican and US army troops assembling with grenade launchers and some of the biggest rifles he'd ever seen. He shook his head to put it out of his mind. He'd promised Cynthia he would show the kids a good time, and he meant to.
Besides, these were going to be children. And he'd have help. It couldn't get that bad, could it?
# # #
The next two days flew by as Bram got all the final preparations done. He felt thankful that it kept him too busy for worry. Everything from making sure of the driver, a genial old still-human Dutchman, to putting together a set of faux-19th century clothes for himself to match the tone of the Schaumboch story and boning up on the local legends to creep the kids out with. His one worry had been what to do for treats. Unlike Philadelphia and other big cities, the Lehigh Valley had yet to open any species-specific groceries. He knew some basics, like no chocolate for carnivores. And dragons could eat practically anything. But he still wanted to make sure he wouldn't poison anyone. He suspected that would go down poorly with the clinic staff.
“Don't vorry,” Nightshade told him at the clinic when he broached the question. She handed some papers over. “Dat is the basic guidelines for New Foals and the rest. It vill tell you vhat is and is not safe.”
Bram looked at the list. “What! Newfoals should avoid tomatoes, garlic, meat, dairy and bread products... But I've seen you eat meat and drink milk.” He looked at her as Nightshade finished off a cupcake with one gulp, fangs flashing. “And I think ponies live on sweets.”
“Vell, yes,” Nightshade responded with a grin. She licked her lips as she did, slowly. Bram colored. Only this mare could make eating a cupcake look lascivious. “But dey are Equestrian s'veets, brought here. Your local vuns don't,” she frowned, “taste quite right. Scholars say there is some difference between Equestrian chocolate and this vorld's. Other foods too. It von't make us sick, but it tastes, vell, not as good as home. Because not made or grown by Earth ponies.” She shrugged prettily, a ripple running along her leathery wings. “Maybe ven Princess Celestia and Luna makes the worlds, they don't like your Earth as much as Equis.”
“That should have been obvious to everyone,” a Trueborn unicorn nearby said with a mocking laugh. Bram coolly ignored him. The pony was a stranger. The unicorn snorted and walked up to Bram. “As for you, human, my oldest colt Superior Spell will be on this 'expedition' of yours. So be careful with him!” He pawed a forehoof against the floor. “Understood?”
“I'll take care of him as if he were you,” Bram nodded. The stallion gave him one final look of the I'll-be-watching-you variety and went back to the conversion rooms proper, rehearsing his speech as he went. “So, sir-or-madam, you have the good sense to become not just a pony but a unicorn, the true masters of Equestrian magic? Allow me to congratulate you on your perspicacity, and I...” He thankfully closed the door behind him.
Bram looked at Nightshade. Unlike most of the other ponies, she didn't give him a strained smile of apology. She simply said, “I think he's a, vat is that word, an 'ass' too.”
“He's part of the new staff?” Nightshade nodded. Bram sank down in Mewsette's chair, she being out right now.“What did you do to deserve this charmer?”
“Ask Ms, Apple,” Nightshade went back to her paperwork. “He vas originally out on your Left Coast...”
“West Coast, though I've heard humans use that phrase too,” Bram told her. “He saw the Veil come in?”
Nightshade flicked her ears, visibly caught herself, and nodded. “Yes. He is vun of the ponies that think the post-transformation therapy is a vaste of time if ve vish to save all the humans.” She looked uncomfortable. “It, ve vere still learning how to deal with the different human herds on the coast. Ve weren't done when the Veil came, and, well?” She lowered her eyes and pinned her ears back. She looked haunted. From what Bram read about the Veil's arrival on California and Mexico's Pacific coast he didn't blame her. The Veil made landfall weeks before expected. A last-minute panic hit that the Equestrians had only barely controlled. “It made for some trouble here and back in Equestria. Anyvay!” She looked at him and smiled. “No more sad speakings! I am making myself ready for the trip, and,” she laughed, “you think that human ghosts and goblins are scary?” Nightshade gave a wink. “Vait and see vhat I vill be going as!”
”I'll do everything I can to make them scary,” Bram thought back on the old local stories he'd been reading up on, ghosts and monsters and murder. “It's Halloween. Everyone deserves one good scare to go with the treats. So,” curiosity bit at him, “what will your costume be?”
At that Nightshade just laughed and shook her head no, telling him to be patient and wait. So he had, and here was the bus and driver and the most mingled pack of children he'd ever seen and him with his costume and what he hoped would be good treats that wouldn't poison anyone.
Granch and Mewsette were there too. To his relief Mewsette wore something only slightly daring, a fur-trimmed low-cut red dress that clung to her curves. She'd also dyed her coat black, a proper cat-witch for Halloween. He doubted the Equestrian kids would have noticed some skin, or fur, but the parents of any converts and still-human children might not be so forgiving.
“At least we can't be accused of corrupting the morals of minors,” Bram said as Mewsette offered him her paw with a look of regal condescension. He bowed over it and lightly kissed her. “M'lady, you look ravishing. Whoever you're supposed to be.”
“Bram, you say you read Equestrian history, and you don't know about Katrina the Mad Abyssinian Witch?” She purred amusement. It made her form shiver in a truly delightful way. “She's a big villain in old pony histories, back when they lived in just this one valley. Of course they say they reformed her and made friends, but they would.”
Bram turned to Granch beside her. He wore some tattered and torn leather and metal armor that looked vaguely Scythian to Bram – so many correlations between human and Equestrian cultures – along with a golden crown. “And you are?”
“Annoyed,” Granch said with a clack of his beak. Mewsette gave him an admonitory claw-swat along his back. Granch shook his head. “Fine. I'm the last Griffon King until the ponies told us that hen Gilda oughta be queen.” He leaped to his hind legs. “King Guto at your service, that is,” he shook himself, setting the broken armor to rattling. “King Guto after the dweeb lost his fight against Arimaspi. Dunno why we remember him when he lost everything Griffonstone valued.”
“That statue?” Bram racked his memory. Ponies didn't know much about griffon history to go by the translated Equestrian books he'd read. “The Idol of Boreas?”
“I said something we valued,” Granch's voice dripped contempt. He scratched his beak. “He lost all our bits tryin' ta get the Idol of Boreas back.”
By this point the families had arrived. There were about twenty kids ranging from two bright blue Changeling nymphs, grade-school age or the equivalent, buzzing over their father's back, his green carapace and horn shining in the mid afternoon light, through humans and pony fillies and colts to a furred and feathery griflet with a surly look. There was even a pale green dragoness too young for wings yet, wearing a short skirt and open-toed boots.
She noticed his attention. “New Whelp, twenty-four years old,” she said, sounding bored at what must have been the millionth explanation. She pointed at a still-human twelve-year-old girl nearby with a dragon picture on her shirt. “Here with my little sister. Okay?” Her slit-pupil eyes narrowed in an obvious 'got a problem with that'?
“Okay,” Bram said, feeling relief to see no one wearing any costume too ornate or delicate for the day. The trip to Schaumboch's Tavern was mostly via the bus, but with a short hike. He didn't want to deal with a child or parent made furious over a ruined costume. He did notice that the still-human kids and children of families who'd decided to all transform at once were mostly on a fantasy theme, using ideas taken from the multitude of books and comics and films made about Equestria and its denizens in the past few years. The Trueborns on the other hand were dressed as things like astronauts or movie monsters or anything else new to Equestria.
Anyway. Bram smiled and clapped his hands to get their attention.
“Greetings, everyone,” Bram called over the noise of the crowd. They settled down save for two teens, a unicorn and a pegasus. Bram remembered that new unicorn at the office and his warning about his son. This must be him. He cleared his throat and they gave him sly looks that boded no good. The silver-coated unicorn colt wore a golden collar that looked vaguely royal, and the pegasus mare wore nothing at all. Her dawn-crimson mane and tail along with a coat the pink of the setting sun, together with large wings, made her a looker by pony standards. Her smug look said she knew it too. “Just to be sure, you all know this trip will be late, right? Food and drinks served at Schaumboch's, and nobody to go wandering off in the woods?” There was a chorus of yes's, some more enthusiastic than others. He pointed at the bus. “Okay, soon as everyone takes a seat we'll get going and the stories will start.”
“Yay, ghost stories!” Some of the kids immediately cheered. At the rear of the crowd the unicorn colt rolled his eyes and gave a snort of contempt. The pegasus beside him, turning to reveal her cutie mark of heart prints done like hoofmarks on her rump, giggled.
One of the Changeling nymphs asked eagerly, “Will they be nice scary stories, with lots of ghosts and murder and blood in them?” His brother looked just as eager.
“Children!” Both cringed a little as their father said, “No matter what you heard back in the hive from Pharynx, those aren't good things to talk about! We Changelings used to be like that but we're different now.” He looked at Bram and said, almost desperate, “We are, really.”
“Yeah,” the colt pushed past both the Changeling and Bram, roughly shouldering them both aside. The Changeling cringed as he said, “Now you need ponies to defend you when you used to just feed on us.” Several of the other kids and parents also looked either embarrassed or angered at his words.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Bram said to the older Changeling.”Believe me, no one here is going to bring that up again. As for you two,” Bram leaned over the nymphs and gave a wink, “The stories will have ghosts, and some very gruesome murders in them. I promise they'll be good and scary.”
“Yay!” The nymphs clapped their claws and went on board, the elder Changeling following with a weak, “I hope not too scary.” Bram looked over the rest of the crowd and relaxed to see a clinic unicorn among them. He was wearing what looked like a classic wizard's outfit, complete with long beard. He gave Bram a smile and wink as he got on. Bram had decided on something extra for this year, and felt glad he'd been able to get Show Stopper, an entertainer back in Equestria before joining the Conversion Clinics, to agree to help. The clinic proper would be a little understaffed, but only for a day.
Now Mewsette and Granch were getting on, with Granch grumbling about the lack of room on these human bus things for griffon wings, and what did the humans think when they designed them anyway. As they did he asked, “Where's Nightshade? I thought she'd be here.”
“Huh? Oh, Nightshade!” Mewsette gave him a wicked smile, fangtips showing. “She's got something special planned. She's up there,” she pointed into the blue sky, “and she'll be meeting everyone at Hawk Mountain when story time comes.” She leaned close and purred,”It'll be a surprise. The kittens and foals will love it, believe me.” Mewsette grinned. “It'll scare the wits out of them.” Bram felt the beginnings of a cold sweat as she found a seat. He hoped the night didn't end with him tracking terrified children through a dark forest. He felt no desire to end up on one of those Internet videos about mysterious vanishings in the woods.
Once on the bus, Bram waited for the driver to pull out, heading for I-78 and Lenhartsville. He'd asked him to take it easy so he could start with some ghost stories. Looking over a bus full of cheery kids and parents of all species, save for the unicorn Superior Spell and Hot Trot in the back, who only had eyes and other body parts for each other. His scowl was mirrored on Granch's beak, as he sat beside the surly griflet. Mewsette gave him a reassuring smile.
He took the mike, cleared his throat, and began. “Hello, everyone. How many are locals? Okay, and how many are Equestrians or other visitors? Well, then I can be sure these stories will be new to some of you at least...”
# # #
“...And that's why local people from Easton still fear to go atop Hexenkopf Hill to this day. Because it's where the brauchers sent all the dark magic from the curses they lifted, it festered there to become a pit of ill-luck and wicknedness, and – yes?”
The slightly larger of the Changeling nymphs spoke up. “Why didn't they just have someling use the human Elements of Harmony to send the dark magic away, like back in Equestria?”
“Cobalt!” The little 'ling winced as his father spoke. “Humans can't do things like that, remember? They're, what's that phrase, mana voids, remember?”
“But they must have magic, how else could they be civilized?” Bram didn't catch who said that, but he heard Superior Spell's jeering response.
“Because they're not civilized. Like griffons and dragons and other savages back home,” he looked smug. Almost every human and nonhuman on the bus stared daggers at him. “That's why, what did Mother call it, debility --”
“Did she mean 'destiny'?” Cobalt said. The little 'Ling gave a shiver as the unicorn glared at them before speaking as though no one said anything.
“That's why Destiny brought ponies here. To save them like we saved all of you.” He sat back down with an expression that left Bram wishing he could kick him in the rear. Hot Trot giggled and pressed closer against his flank.
Cobalt sniffled as his father and brother nuzzled him. Bram hoped his next story amused the little ones. “Now if we can get back to the ghosts, next is the story of the man-eating wolf of Burn Bridle Hill and,” he tipped the short dragoness a conspiratorial wink, “the dragons of the Spitzbarrick, the Pinnacle on Hawk Mountain...”
# # #
Bram got halfway through the dragon story before the next interruption came,
“Wait,” Emerald interrupted, raising a scaly green finger. At least it was a polite one. “You're saying that fiery streaks shooting over the River of Rocks from the Pinnacle are dragons? There weren't any dragons around here back then! So where'd they come from?”
Bram fought down his annoyance. “They were created out of the ghosts of Indian lovers who leaped from the Pinnacle to their deaths. Because their tribes wouldn't let them marry.” He gave Emerald an intimidating glare. She just smiled faintly.
“So. They killed themselves because they couldn't marry. Which turned them into dragons.” Emerald just stared at him. “That's gotta be the dumbest thing I've ever heard.” Snickers trickling through the bus suggested she wasn't alone in her opinion.
Bram smiled, keeping his lips tightly together to hide the grinding of his teeth. “Well, the day is still young, miss. Now, moving right along...”
# # #
“And that's how the Pennsylvania Gorilla terrorized the Keystone State in the winter of 1920-21. Any more questions?” Bram glared around the bus.
“Wait, humans were scared of some overgrown monkey?” Granch looked ready to laugh. “Human, back home, ponies faced a whole ARMY of those things when the Storm King invaded. An' they had bombs that could turn ya to stone, too!”
Ponies and changelings and dragons and griffons all laughed in agreement. Bram slowly and carefully sat down in his seat.
“The stories about the rest of Hawk Mountain's ghosts,” he croaked out, “can wait.” At that moment Bram thought he understood what drove some people to join the Human Liberation Front.
He felt a light touch on his shoulder. It was little Cobalt, his wings a buzzing blur. “Uh, I liked the stories, Mister Bram Human.” Then, after glancing back at his father and in a lower voice, “Will we still get to hear the ones about murders?”
Bram smiled. “Yes, my little shapeshifter. I promise you will.”
Cobalt buzzed his wings in delight.
# # #
It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to set, casting long creepy shadows, before they reached the road up to Hawk Mountain. The trees rose tall on all sides, with darkness shrouding them after just a few feet. Bram smiled to see a few lowered ears and set-back wings among the kids. Maybe now they'd appreciate these old stories.
They seemed more impressed now by the ones he'd told on the way in, to judge by how they spoke after the bus stopped and they all got off.
“This place looks like that Long Swamp place with the devils in it.” The griflet said uneasily as he stepped off and took to the air, hovering at about five feet. He swallowed. Bram began to wonder if he should've told that particular story. “They killed those human kids. Do they kill griflets?” He looked around, shivering, as Granch walked out behind him.
“Naw,” he said, giving the little fuzzball a tap on his feathered head. “'Cause I won't let 'em. Hey, kid, griffons fought the giant Arimaspi. Ya think we gotta be scared of some puny human devils that a guy shot with a musket?” The little griffon gave a weak smile but looked unconvinced.
To Bram's relief the brief hike to Schaumboch's tavern went well. Some of the fliers had to be corralled by parents or elder siblings when they flew off to look at, or try eating, some flowers or grass, but nothing else happened. He supposed that the deepening shadows all about under the old trees kept them close. Well, that and the promised treats waiting for everyone. Finally the building appeared of the shadows before them.
“Well, there it is,” Bram pointed at the one and a half story tall building in front of them.
“Killer Schaumboch's Tavern.” In the dusk the white stucco over its sandstone walls combined with the recessed windows and doors made it look like some monstrous skull. Even he felt a shudder. Looking around, he felt relief to see a fire pit with wood ready for the bonfire, well clear of the trees. “Okay, everyone. Let's get situated, but nothing too permanent. Remember we'll be going to the campground later and they'll be having a Halloween party there, along with treats and costumes.” Kids and adults both looked delighted. “But first, we have our fire and then,” he lowered his voice to what he hoped was a spooky tone, “we get the last ghost story. Killer Schaumboch and his victims who still walk this mountain.”
Almost on cue something screamed higher up on the mountain towards Kittatinny Ridge. Bram froze as it rose wildly, growing more shrill until it ended on a shriek like a murdered woman. Judging by the pinned ears and bristling fur and feathers he wasn't the only one impressed. Even the young dragoness Emerald huffed out a short blast of fire before she grabbed her little sister beside her.
“D-don't worry, little sis,” she gulped and squeezed her sister tight. Her eyes were wide with panic. “I-I'll keep you safe!”
“Not so tight!” The human girl pushed her back, or tried to. “That was just a cougar. We heard one years ago in Yellowstone, remember, big sis?”
Bram felt his heartbeat slow back towards a saner rhythm before someone said, “Hey, at school we got told cougars were extinct in Pennsylvania!” The whatever it was shrieked again, and so did most of the kids and several of the adults. It was even closer now.
“Th-th-that was a trick!” Superior Spell yelped. Ears pinned, he kept circling to keep Hot Trot between him and whatever it was. He stared at Bram, eyes rolling in equine panic. “You did something to make that sound!”
“No,” Bram said, trying and failing to keep a smirk off his face. “But I know what did.” He walked over to a nearby bush. As he did the shriek sounded again. He pushed the shrubbery aside, and a red-furred streak shot out and ran through the small crowd of humans and Equestrians. Yells turned into laughs as they saw the fox race by. The animal crossed the clearing, turned and gave them all an ears-pinned gekkering snarl, and dashed off into the woods.
“Hah!” Superior Spell tossed his head and mane right in Bram's face. “I knew it was nothing.”
“I'm sure,” Bram muttered. He walked back to the main group, keeping one eye on the snotty colt and another on the skies. Where was Nightshade? He needed some help with this bunch. The first bright stars were appearing above, along with the crescent moon, ready for a witch to go flying across it. He'd read in the papers that weather ponies from Equestria, working in the clinics and earning some cash on the side by managing local weather, promised a clear and dry night for Halloween. It looked like they were keeping their word. Weather control by magic flying sapient horses from another dimension. Once I would have found that strange.
Bram supervised making the fire. Emerald was a great help. Several of the still-human kids clapped for delight to see her breathe fire. She turned and traced an elegant bow to them.
“Wait until your wings come in,” Granch muttered to her, sounding amused, “and they start begging you to let them ride you.”
“At least they don't pet you,” Mewsette purred at them both. Judging by the looks aimed her way, Bram suspected it was the fathers and older brothers who wanted to be petting Mewsette right now. As he thought that she raised one hand-paw and almost idly splayed her claws, looking like a fistful of knives. They immediately found better things to do than watch her.
He put a grill up and set some hot dogs and hamburgers over the fire, along with some soyburgers for the ponies. The driver and Show Stopper looked after those.
As they did Bram gathered the kids around.
“I told you most of the ghost stories on the way here,” he began, leaning forward to let the fire cast his shadow towards the small crowd.
“Not that they were very scary,” Superior Spell stage-whispered to Hot Trot.
She just giggled back at him. “Oh, honey, you're such a riot!”
Bram found himself wishing a riot would happen to the two of them. Instead, keeping an eye on the eager Cobalt where he sat astride his worried-looking father's back, he said, “But I kept the best, the darkest, and the creepiest for the last.”
Cobalt and his brother looked like it was Christmas morning and they were about to get their present. They pressed closer,eager for every juicy bloody bit. Many of the other kids followed their example, the griflet leading the pack. Superior Spell just blew through his lips in contempt.
Bram bent lower, leaning close and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. Like he was including them in a secret meant for them and them alone. “So here it is. The story of the Hawk Mountain Hatchetman, the keeper of the bloody tavern, Killer Schaumboch!” He finished with a yell, rising and throwing his arms out wide.
The kids shrieked and clapped for glee as he began. “About a hundred and fifty years ago, here on Hawk Mountain, someone built a tavern and inn on the site of an old Indian massacre. The man who ran the inn was named Matthias Schaumbacher, though almost everyone called him Schaumboch --”
“Why?” Cobalt piped up with a look of total innocence. Before Bram could respond Superior Spell stuck his two bits in.
“Probably because he was a liar and a thief, like Change-” He fell silent as Granch and Mewsette both gave him looks that promised serious pain if he finished that thought. He flinched and leaned back on his haunches, folding his forelegs and looking away in obviously faked unconcern. “Like how some creatures are from back in civilization, I mean Equestria.”
Bram hurriedly headed off any more interruptions.
“Because it was easier to remember, and it helped make him distinct from other unrelated locals named Schaumbacher.” Bram walked slowly back and forth between his audience and the bonfire. The flames danced, casting his distorted shadow across the wall of the old inn behind them. He grinned to see some of the kids shifting uneasily. “Anyway, Schaumboch and his wife were supposed to run the inn for people traveling, mostly afoot back then, over the mountains from the Lehigh Valley and Philadelphia and the Poconos to Berks County beyond. The roads were dark and lonely and long, and once you left the towns and got into the woods you'd be hearing all sort of strange noises about you and no knowing what made them. So you just kept a close eye on your light if you had it and a good grip on a walking stick, and felt very happy when in the middle of all that unfriendly darkness spread out around you you saw a yellow square of light in the distance that promised warmth and food and people for company.” As he spoke a bright yellow light came on in the window behind him. The kids and their parents all gasped. Bram glanced at Show Stopper. The unicorn gave the slightest smile and nod of his head. Good.
“So, quite a few folks enjoyed the sight of the lights on at Schaumboch's Tavern when they saw it,” Bram grandly indicated the whitewashed walls behind him before he dropped his voice low, “but not everyone who stayed there, left it.”
“W-why not?” Cobalt's little brother asked from atop his worried-looking father.
“Because someling got them with an ax, right?!?” Cobalt flew into the air, wings buzzing. He made a chopping motion with one claw as his father cringed. “Whack! Whack! Whack!” Many of the other kids grumbled or glared their annoyance, lead by Emerald.
“Yeesh, bug, don't ruin it for the rest of us!” Superior Spell snorted, before quickly adding. “Not that I care about this little foal stuff.” The growls and grumbles were a little louder now.
Cobalt looked incensed but returned to the ground beside his parent. Bram took a deep breath and continued.
“Folks living nearby noticed as time went on that Schaumboch wasn't what you'd call hospitable for an innkeeper. He kept his barn locked up tight, all the time Folks noticed that though he owned only a few pigs and cows and chickens, he seemed to spend a lot of time in there alone butchering some kind of animals. Once some local boys sneaked up to the place. They saw blood splashes leading to the barn. Odd thing was, they came from the inn. They remembered their fathers telling them how Schaumboch only had the one fellow staying, a sutler who sold old Civil War uniforms. It would be odd to butcher a whole pig to feed just the one guest. They froze when they heard noises, groans and gasps like something dying, coming from the closed barn.”
On cue a groan came from the tavern. Bram felt his own hair rise at how realistic it sounded, trailing off into a sort of sloppy gurgling. Some of the kids shrieked this time. Hot Trot was one of them, stepping away from Superior Spell as he tried to twine necks with hers. Her eyes rolled in the firelight. Superior Spell scowled his displeasure. Cobalt's little brother flashed with blue light as he turned into a turtle and quickly yanked his head and limbs inside his shell. As his father and brother whispered at him that it was okay to change back, Bram went on.
“The boys walked closer. The groans grew louder, and louder, before they broke off in a shriek. They were all hunters and been raised on farms, but this didn't sound like any dying animal they knew tell of. They went up to the wooden door to listen...” Bram kept lowering his voice, before yelling, “Just in time for Schaumboch to come out the door at them with a roar, an axe in his hands and his clothes soaked with blood!”
Something roared behind Bram as the inn door slammed open. The faces of the kids and their parents went from interest to wide-eyed terror. Their shrieks filled the air. Between his feet leaving the ground and his heart resuming beating, Bram thought, What the devil is Show Stopper doing?
He froze to see Show Stopper's eyes as wide as everypony else's. This wasn't him. A svage voice roared behind Bram.
“BWA-HAHA! Did you really think Sombra was gone forever? Foals!”
Bram turned to find himself face to muzzle with horror.
A massive armored unicorn stallion gave a maniacal laugh. His crimson horn curved like a scimitar. Fangs lined his mouth. His ebon mane and tail were both unkempt and wild. With a roar he reared and sent a spell blast right at Bram's face.