//------------------------------// // 1 // Story: The CMC and the great shut-in caper // by PennyDreadful //------------------------------// It was a chilly autumn day. Right on schedule for October. The pegasi were always punctual with the seasons. Chilly winds blew through the treetops, dislodging the occasional leaf that had yet to be knocked down in the coming weeks marathon. Crisp little breezes, who’s tendrils carried on them the scent of fall. For each of the fillies leaning against the fence, it made them think of something different. For Scootaloo, it was the touch of distant frost. The promise of colder and darker nights and the festivities within. Towering corn mazes, and hayrides along the edge of the Everfree Forest. Nights where the foals were allowed to stay up late, listening to ghost stories told by slightly cidered-up old folks. All culminating in trick-or-treating on Nightmare night. And after that, as the weather schedules grew colder, the distant promise of snowball fights and igloos and sled stunts. For Sweetie Belle it was the dirt from the pumpkin farms. Loathe was Rarity to venture out to the pumpkin patch, but every year she, Sweetie Belle, and their parents made the trip. No matter how much the unicorn would complain about the dirt, it was tradition, and Sweetie Belle always relished the chance for the full family outing, especially in the years since Rarity had moved out. And then the night was spent carving the things. Sweetie Belle couldn’t match her sister's careful manipulations of the knife quite yet, but she greatly aspired to. Not because of the praise the town lauded on the aesthetically-focused unicorn's immaculate carvings, but because she simply looked up to Rarity. It was time well spent together. For Applebloom, it was apples. Of course, it was always apples to her, but when you spend so much time around them, you learn to appreciate the nuances. In this case, it was the apples of autumn. The crisp and chilly-tasting apples flavored by the cold nights that would end up in the holiday meals. The last of the year's harvest who’s taste brought to mind bobbing tubs and the taste of smothering caramel applied by overzealous pink-coated bakers. And who’s taste meant a shift in the chores. That thought made her grumble a little as she adjusted the saddlebags on her back, each one packed full to bursting with apples, so as to look like she was carrying a pair of bowling balls. Scootaloo chewed the long sprig of hay slowly, eyes never moving. All three of them contemplated the house. “Do you think it’s a big ghost, or a small ghost?” the pegasus ventured. The house. The old place on old Drywell road. A two-story building, surrounded by tall autumn-coated trees. Built in much the same manner as the rest of ponyville, with sturdy timber and the typical hay-thatched roof, but clearly uncared for for some time, with the roof sagging so as to lend it’s angles a menacing shape, and the timber warping ever so slightly as to offer it an air of menace, as if it were hanging slightly forward like a lurking beast. The garden around it was overgrown, grass ungrazed, with the shrubs gone wild, and the rosebush in the sideyard allowed to run free, thorny vines climbing and gripping the house like the tentacles of a hellish octopus. “Zap Bagem’s radio show said that ghosts are invisible and can only be detected with special spells.” Sweetie Belle chimed in. The house was, hypothetically, haunted. Drywell road had always been seen as a spooky spot, even when ponies lived there, but after the owners of the house had retired to Mareami, it had become a spot ponies avoided altogether, except for schoolfoals who had dared each other to climb down and back up out of the eponymous dry well. But there were always those who swore something lived there. That the windows of the house lit up at night, and that its boards creaked with hoofsteps. “That feller just wants ponies to pay t’ see his museum fulla junk in Las Pegasus. There ain’t no such thing as ghosts.” Applebloom grimaced. “An if there is, they definitely don’t order apples.” The idea of the house being haunted was poppycock to the few who made deliveries there. If it were abandoned or full of ghosts, then why did the mailponies always have things to leave in its mailbox? And why, Applebloom reasoned, did her older siblings always flip a coin to see who had to cart a heap of apples out to it? Well, now it was her turn, what with both of them being busy mending the barn roof before this weekend's storm. And she wasn’t going to let all the ghost talk scare her. “Well whatever it is, if we can uncover the truth, I bet we’d totally get our cutie marks!” The three fillies grinned at each other, before letting out a cry in unison; “Cutie mark crusaders: Ghost-busters!” Applebloom approached the door, and with a lurch, tipped the packed saddlebags off her back. They thudded onto the doormat, and then, with a glance to her friends now hiding in the bushes, raised her hoof and rapped three times on the door. The knocks seemed to ring out much louder than intended, and Applebloom bit her lip as she dove across the way and into the bush, taking her place alongside her two friends. All three of them glanced back and forth, but at the first sound of creaking wood from inside the house, stifled their breathing. The three grew still as the sound of approaching hooves could be heard, each one thumping down the stairs and causing the house to groan menacingly. Applebloom shivered a little. She knew the place couldn’t really be haunted… but it’s hard for ponies, especially foals, to banish the little wisp of primal worry that maybe, no matter how illogical a fear was, it was justified. The door began to crack open. Sweetie Belle gasped. Applebloom bit her tongue. Scootaloo looked thrilled. It was justified alright. In the darkness beyond the doorframe, a pony-shaped figure was visible. But its boundaries were unclear. Where its hooves should have been was an indistinct and trailing curtain, and only the end of its pale muzzle was clear from within the folds of its ghostly form. The shifting folds of its shroudlike pallor seemed to suggest the size of a stallion, but it was impossible to tell.  The ghost leaned down and nosed at the abandoned saddlebag, before straightening up and looking around. Its hood seemed to linger on the bush where the girls were, and all three of them could feel each other trying to hunker down as small as possible. It leaned back down and grabbed the bag with its teeth, and began to pull it inside… “What are we waiting for?! GETTIM!” Scootaloo cried and leapt out of the bush, wings furiously humming. The other two fillies followed her immediately, and all three of them let out a whoop as they sailed forward, eyes screwed shut and pulses pounding. The sight of the specter was enough to give chills, but not enough to hold back the rush of adrenaline they each felt as they launched themselves into the doorway. The ghost reared up in surprise, shortly before all three of them impacted with it, knocking it over. As they all sprawled across the floor of the entryway, the three rolled, quickly hopping up to their hooves. The ghost however, sprawled out on its back, panicked, scrambling and desperately trying to right itself, but only succeeding in getting itself more tangled up in what, up-close, was not a ghostly death shroud, but a gray blanket. “P-please, a-are you from the ERS?! I p-paid this year’s due in full!” It wailed. “What? No!” The three glanced at each other. This was… not quite what they were expecting. None of them knew what they were expecting, frankly, but a ghost who was worried about taxes wasn’t it. “Agh! T-t-then… you must be from the library! I-I meant to bring them back! Please! T-tell miss Sparkle that I’ll never keep books this long again! I j-just couldn’t catch the mail carrier to have them taken in!” The blanket was now balled up, flailing limbs having sucked into a fetal position. “We ain’t with Twilight neither!” Applebloom huffed. This was just silly now. “Yeah, she collects overdue books herself.” Sweetie Belle snickered. [1] “You’re one wimpy ghost.” Scootaloo rolled her eyes, stepping forward and pulling the blanket back over the hyperventilating haunt’s head. “Ghost?” The earth-stallion underneath blinked hazily. One of his hooves emerged to adjust the pair of small round glasses that balanced on his snout. His coat was white, but not white with the radiance of a Rarity or canterlot-sheen of a Shining Armor. Rather a sickly pale white that felt reminiscent of a cobweb or an antique chess piece. His mane, a deep black-gray, was quite messy, and clung to his head in a manner much like the rosebush outside had clung to the house. Frankly, he looked more ghostly without the blanket draped over him. “Uh, yeah! This place is supposed to be haunted! That’s why everypony stays away… or dares each other to come near.” Adjusting himself and standing up, the stallion took great care to keep the blanket draped over himself, although now with his head fully exposed. “Aheh… w-well, I’m sorry to disappoint. My name is Shiver. Shiver Shakes. And There’s no ghost here. Just me. Because I live here. So… I guess there is kind of a ghost. Insofar as the world regards me.” He tried to laugh at that, but the resulting wheezing cough showed how fruitless that attempt was. “I’m pretty surprised there’s actually someone living here…” Mused Sweetie Belle. “Well mah family wouldn’t be deliverin apples here there weren’t, now would we?” Applebloom stuck out her tongue at the other filly. “Ah, y-your the apple-delivery filly? Thank you for making the trip… C-can I offer any of you three anything to d-drink? I’m afraid I don’t have much… but it’s people like your family and the nice mail-ponies that allow me to… s-stay indoors as much as I do, s-so… if I can repay the favor at all…” He took a few shaky steps and gestured to the dark doorway that split off from the entryway they were all in. He winced a little when he glanced through it however, realizing the living room he had just beckoned them into was in no state for hospitality. “Ah, s-sorry! J-just have a seat. I-I need to clean a little…” The three fillies soon found themselves lined up on the dusty sofa, giving each other the sideeye as they watched Shiver plod back and forth across the living room, weaving between thick piles of books and hulking piles of furniture, all covered in drab white cloth, turned a dull gray due to the layer of dust. Hypothetically, he was trying to organize the piles of sheet-covered junk that filled the room, but instead he just seemed to be morosely gazing at it and nudging it awkwardly with his hooves. The space had clearly gone unused for quite some time, as every hooffall left a clear print on the floor. Scootaloo sneezed. “‘Scuse you. So uh, mister Shakes…” Applebloom ventured. “Why do ya live here all alone? An’ why ain’t ah ever seen ya in town?” “Ha, I-I suppose that’s a good question. Perfectly reasonable. What with it being so… unreasonable for me to do. No… normal pony would choose to stay indoors all day alone, s-s-spurning her majesty’s daylight, eating delivery… achieving nothing…” He sighed. Sweetie Belle hopped off the couch as he talked, sending up a wave of dust. Scootaloo Sneezed again. "Gesundheit. Anyway, I s-stay here because I have to. Ordering whatever I need through the mail. If I ever go into town i-it’s because I absolutely have no other choice but to burden ponies with my presence. Nobody should have to bother with me. I-I’m a living nightmare.” “Aw, ya ain’t that ugly.” Applebloom and Scootaloo hopped down as well. “Say, mister Shakes, if’n ya want any help dustin in here, ah bet we could do it lickety split!” Scootaloo beamed. “Yeah! I bet we’d have the whole place spotless in minutes!” Shivers didn’t quite know what to say. “I-I appreciate it girls, but I couldn’t ask you t-” He was cut off by a unified cheer of “Cutie Mark Crusaders: Dust-Busters!” “First thing we need is some natural light! It’s way too dark in here!” Sweetie Belle’s horn glowed and the dust covered shutters on the room's window swung open, filling the room with the bright glow and fresh air of the outdoors and cutting into the musty atmosphere.  Shiver recoiled, foreleg raising as he squealed in shock. His eyes were clearly far too adjusted to the dark. “Aieee! G-girls!” “Then we just need t’ wipe stuff down!” Applebloom’s mouth grabbed the corner of one of the room's many sheets and tugged it upward, reaching to use it to wipe off a stack of books. However, the sheet she had grabbed was in fact the corner of the equally pallid blanket draped over Shiver. The tug jerked him off his balance and into the melee with the three fillies. “And then we just need to- to- to-” Scootaloo couldn’t finish her sentence. All the dust in the air was too much. She could feel a really strong one coming. “ACHOO!”  The force of the sneeze sent Scootaloo flying backwards, and Shiver toppling over with a yelp. He and Applebloom tumbled over the coffee-table, knocking over the piles of books on it and landing in a startled heap in the light in front of Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth fell open as her brain tried to process what she saw. Eventually, she managed. Sweetie Belle screamed.