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// Shadows of the Future 
// Story: A Hearth's Warming Tail 
// by BirdsBooksBrownies 
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Mist crept across the cold ground and the air filled with a ghastly chill. The clock had ceased to vibrate and Collection Notice for the first time in a very long while felt a dreadful fear grip his heart whose beat seemed to echo in his ears. 

Looking around at the fog that warped and twisted around him like so many drunken serpents he saw a shadow that was deeper and blacker than even the bleakest Canterlotian night.

This shadow loomed out of the mist as some ancient primordial creature, huge beyond sensible measure and ever so dangerous. It took the form of a winged pony, near that of the alicorns but distinctly not. It was as if some cruel deity took the idea of an alicorn and twisted it's very nature into a horrifying mockery.  Bony wings as of some giant beast and a horn that was seemed to slice the very air with its unusual length and sharpness. It wore a ragged cloak and saddle made of some material that was woven out of the purest black that even the finest tailors and haberdashers could scarcely dream to replicate. It was also silent. Where the other two spirits cajoled him with messages of wisdom or cheer or knowledge, this dark entity just stood without uttering even the slightest of sounds, not even that of breathing. 

With a gulp Collection Notice took an timid step forward and asked "Do I stand in the presence of the future?" The Spirit, for it could be nothing else, did not answer. Instead it lifted a foreleg that gave off the impression of leather bound around willow switches and pointed into the distance. Collection notice shuddered and replied "Ghost of the Future, I know you mean me well from how I was, but your presence carries about it a sense of foreboding and doom that I am scarce able to acknowledge what with my mortal senses. But as I know you do indeed mean well I implore you to begin your lesson." The ghost flapped its wings and seemed to gather the mist around them into a choking cloud and with Collection Notice in tow, vanished into the night.

To Collection Notice, the sudden transport left him feeling dizzy and lightheaded and was glad to have not eaten for some time. They stood in a great avenue that reminded him of the fiduciary establishment that was but a block or so from his own business. Around him he could see the well-dressed stallions and to his surprise a few mares going about with bulging purses and books of accounts. One small knot of these business ponies stood near enough by that with a subtle nod from the Spirit Collection Notice took in the animated discussion.

"So the old buzzard is dead is he?" said a rather pursy mare with a face turned up at the nose and a sneer all but engraved on her features.  A stallion with thin mustachios  and a mane the colour of unpolished metal yawned widely in clear boredom "So I've heard, but what does it matter to us? he's dead and gone and I am doubtful of any sort of residuary benefits. A rotund stallion with a voluminous moustache replied with a sharp angry sounding bark of laughter "Pah!" A weedy stallion with pointy knees spoke fourth in what Collection Notice thought was supposed to be humorous but couldn't tell because of his flat countenance "What say we go? To the funeral I mean, The rotund stallion laughed again with the dangerous mirth of an angry drunk "I'll go if supper is provided." The sneering mare shot back snidely "A beached whale likely needs that supper more than you do". 

Collection Notice thought on this seemingly arbitrary exchange as the Spirit ventured further into the city. It was clear that someone had died, and from what little he could infer wasn't the most respected personage. 

They turned at a corner Collection Notice hadn't ever gone down before and the buildings quickly lost the polished glow of the business district. Here in this alley where brick and stone prevailed, the buildings were all in various forms of disrepair, crooked shutters and more than one window stuffed with oily rags to keep out the dank air. There was a foulness that leached into the very soil beneath the poorly hewed excuse for a road. It was at a juncture between two crooked houses a large tent that was patched over again ten-fold. In this tent for it was here the spirit led, Collection Notice saw a positively bony stallion with a crooked buck-toothed grin and a long greasy mane and tail. He called out into the alleyway upon which with a start Collection Notice was, had he been anywhere near corporeal, pushed aside by a sickly green ZEBRA mare of all things who said in a deep voice stained by years of smoking "I return my friend with some exceptional odds and ends" The bony stallion, with a gravely phlegm coated voice cackled  "Oh ho, Mz. Mwizi, you always did have an eye for aesthetics" The mare smiled an ugly smile that was all teeth but no warmth "Watch your tongue you flirtatious