//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: The Nightmare Tree // by The Ancient Wyrm //------------------------------// The Nightmare Tree Chapter 3 Somberly the whirlwind whistled into the distant night air, echoing the faint and desperate cries of a small, Trottingham colt. Four frightened and confused young ponies stared after the trailing autumnal leaves which marked the way their beloved friend had gone, while pumpkin spiced smoke puffed down from the tree. “Augh!” shrieked a voice weathered with age. “Bother! Bother! Bother I say!” bemoaned the pale unicorn, leaping down from the open veranda. “Do you know what he has done?” he demanded from the foals, closing his cape about himself with a quick snap as he landed, “Now my entire night schedule has been thrown off!” Scootaloo, a little more than angry, stepped forward. “Where did you send Pipsqueak!” she exclaimed, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t send him anywhere you little monster!” Moundshroud retorted. Featherweight marched up to Moundshroud, “Well then Cara-Cala-Clava…erm” “Cla-va-cle” Moundshroud enunciated. “But you may call me Mr.Moundshroud.” “Whatever yer name is, bring Pip back!” Applebloom ordered. Moundshrouds’ dark eyes looked forlornly to the horizon, “Hrm, if only life were that simple”, he sighed. “By now, Pip has escaped to the Nightmare Nights of years past; no telling where or when he may be now, or how long it will take for me to find him again.” Sweetie Belle lit up again, “Find him?” “We are coming to help!” Scootaloo finished, crossing her front legs. “Impossible! You ALL have helped quite enough, Thank You!” Moundshroud threw his nose up and away from the foals. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” a cross Featherweight began, “we are going with you to find him, and that’s that.” “Besides, tonight is Nightmare Night,” Sweetie Belle intoned, “and if last year or this year is proof of anything, it is proof that even the impossible can happen on Nightmare Night.” Moundshrouds’ eyes popped open with surprise, which quickly soured to glowering hate. Turning his baleful gaze upon the CMC and Featherweight, Moundshroud growled, “And just what do you know about Nightmare Night? Four foalish foals blunder to my house, refuse to enter when invited, disrupt my precious work, and not a one of them knows why they are dressed as a mummy, witch, monster, or…” Moundshroud stopped in mid tirade, turned and began to tap his chin with a hoof. “Now wait a minute, it is a long journey.” Green light summoned and opened the pocket watch, “And it is hours before dawn, so I… we could indeed have time.” “We could?” beamed Sweetie Belle. “Yes,” Moundshroud smirked, turning to the foals, “if we fly fast enough, we may indeed be able to catch Pipsqueak, retrieve my pumpkin, and have a scavenger hunt as well. That way, we will be able to find out who you are, what you are made of, and retrieve your friend at the same time.” Moundshroud stood proudly over the foals, “Well? Will you come with me if that is the case?” The four trick-or-treaters exchanged half a glance before truning back to Moundshroud, “Yes!” they all exclaimed. “Wonderful! I haven’t had this much fun in ages!” Moundshroud flashed his sharp smile while clopping his hooves together. “Very well, to the Nightmare Nights of yester year we go!” He rushed ahead to the crest of the hill, “Feast your eyes foals! Out there are a thousand Nightmare Nights, ready to swallow us whole!” His eyes searched for a while before alighting on a small square not too far away. A well-dressed hoof was stretched before him, “To that barn! And on the sides of that barn are the making of an Autumnal kite!” Applebloom and Sweetie Belle shared befuddled glances, while Scootaloo merely cocked an eyebrow at the now raving stallion. “This way, skeleton! This road, mummy! This fence, witch! This meadow, monster!” and with a brisk pace full of high kicks, Moundshroud began down the hill to a decrepit barn. “Do you see? Do you see?” “Are we sure about this? He seems a little loose in the head.” Sweetie Belle asked the group. “Ya got a better idea fer savin’ Pip?” the mummy deadpanned. The witch dipped her head and sighed, “No.” before following the group down. The aged barn was worn and battered, with time stained siding and greyed roof. Half the east face was missing, while a broken lantern hung from an arm over the entrance. Covering every square inch of the remaining wood were the poster tapestries of a circus. Tame monsters and trick ponies in frozen ink parade were standing at the ready all about the way. Applebloom squinted her eyes at first before recoiling in surprise, “Wait just a minute, this here is the barn Rainbow Dash destroyed for me an’ mah sister last year! An’ that barbed wire is from when the cows asked for a new fence!” Featherweight walked to the first poster and read, “Trottingham World Famous Expo.” “What’s a barn that was totaled doin’ here by your house wit posters from Trottingham plastered all over it?” Applebloom asked. Moundshroud simply shrugged, “You tell me, I don’t remember building my house by a river, yet that’s how you came here.” Turning to the barn, “Now, let’s build a kite.” And green light erupted from his horn, illuminating two loose rafters from the barn and crossing them. They were then bound with coils of barbed wire which bit into the old oak before being set in the meadow. “Time for you to help” Moundshrouds’ slit of a smile beckoned. The foals looked to each other before Scootaloo and Featherweight trotted to the side of the barn. The animals and beast, the cockatrices, the basilisks, the wyverns, and the hydras, seemed now to be pleading and begging for release, with restless eyes and coiled muscle held only by glue to their wooden prison. Seizing the initiative, Featherweight bit down on the loose corner of a flyer bearing a manticore and ripped it loose from the barn. The freed paper leaped into the air and promptly turned upon itself, ripping the image of the manticore into pieces, which fluttered over to Moundshroud. “Good! Good! That’s the idea! Rip and tear foals, there’s more kite to build!” At this the four friends began to seize the animals from the weathered walls. The unshackled painted creatures leapt into the air to be torn into fragments of claw, eye, and fang. Scaly wings and fiery breath mingled and wormed into the air above Moundshrouds head, where the unicorn picked pieces deftly with his magic, and flattened them against the kites’ skeleton. Green fire sizzled and sealed the tongues of scrap together until a tremendous kite, larger than any manticore or hydra in existence, had been formed. Moundshroud then summoned a rope from inside the doorway and secured it to the shrieking monstrosity. He struggled, but eventually hauled the kite into the air, where it hung like a chimeric abomination that would have made Discord proud, howling to the four corners of the world its’ feral objections. At first the kite hung there, then it dipped left, right, and finally dived down before Moundshroud grunting heaved it back into place. “The kites missing something” Scootaloo cocked her head. Featherweight furrowed his brow in concentration before a candle ignited over his head. “A tail!” he exclaimed running forward, “We need a tail!” He climbed a still raised fence post and leapt out just as the kite sailed overhead. As the corner was just about to escape his reach, the pegasus flitted his wings and latched on with his teeth. The kite gave a great yowl and snarl all at once, while the sound of scrabbling hooves and claws sounded from the arms. “Right colt! Who else for the tail?” Moundshroud laughed. “Oh! That is so gonna be me!” Scootaloo cheered. “Not before me!” Sweetie Belle chimed. The CMC gathered below the kite and began to jump in the air after Featherweight. First came Sweetie Belle, who clung around Featherweight with her front hooves, then Scootaloo in the same manner. Applebloom was having difficulties, until she unhitched a ream of her gauze and lassoed it onto Scootaloo. The kite then began to climb into the sky, higher and higher as the wind caught it, trailing a tail of foals. “That’s it! Fly! Fly!” a racing Moundshroud called up. He then tied the rope about his chest and tucked his legs under himself. His cloak billowed out and fanned behind him, almost like a pair of wings. Kite and passengers rose above the trees, above the house, and finally passed over the town. Down in the square, ponies were bobbing for apples, throwing spiders into nets, and passing from door to door for candy. The dark and imposing shadow passed over the townsponies, casting many in its moon laden gloom, but not one pony noticed. Pinkie Chicken Pot Pie was still leading the foals door to door, Rainbow Lightning Dash was following ponies with a cloud and new devil costume, Scare Applejack Crow was supervising the games, and Mayor Mime Mare was pantomiming the yearly speech. Not one single pony batted an eye as the shade of a flying chimera passed overhead. Sweetie Belle looked down in wonder until a thought rose in her head. “Um, girls, this is much higher than the zip line we set up behind the clubhouse.” “Don’t you dare let go Sweetie Belle! My wings can barely hold up my weight, what do you think will happen when we all fall down?!” Sootaloo glared. “Ah’m more worried about Feathers’ teeth fallin out!” Applebloom wailed. Featherweight for his part was regretting his decision to hold on with his buck teeth. Sure, he could hold his own weight just fine, but now that the weight of three fillies had been added, his tortured dentures were screaming under the stress. Sweat was pouring over his eyes when he noticed a blue figure desperately tumbling sidelong into the skyline. He flailed his front legs in the direction, hoping beyond hope to catch the attention of somepony below him. Applebloom was the first to notice and exclaimed “It’s Pip! Over there!” “Where is he going?” Scootaloo asked, puzzled. “Not where, when!” Moundshroud called, “Four-thousand Nightmare Nights ago! Pipsqueak, with my pumpkin, has gone ahead, or should I say past. I can smell it!” The kite passed through the cloud banks. Lunas’ moon began to blink. Faster and faster it began to wax, to wane, and then to wax again, until a thousand times over it flickered, and in flickering changed the landscape below. Green and rolling hills gave way to mounding dunes, rivers ran dry and then nonexistent, the clouds dried away, and the still warm air rose to greet them. Just ahead, a sprawling clay and mud town was tucked between three great polished limestone pyramids, shining with the moons silver glow. “Wait, that’s Neighjypt, all the way across the Southern Sea!” a disbelieving Sweetie Belle gasped. “Not just that, what else do you notice?” Moundshroud smirked. The foals searched the ground below until Applebloom spat out, “Why! It’s all brand new! Just like Zecora described it. Ah guess we really did go back in time after all!” At this the kite gave a great screech and, refusing to take the passengers any longer, shook violently until the tail was dismembered upon a nearby sand dune. It immediately tore itself asunder overhead, and set to the winds chasing the lost eyes and fangs to the ends of the earth. Moundshroud, with the delicacy of a vulture, landed only a half-step away. After a quick dusting, the pale unicorn began to pace toward the village, foals in tow. Featherweight had to pry a bit of poster that was struggling between his buck teeth before he could move. The village was made from dried mud bricks, reinforced with thin timbers. Houses were low and long. Outside the fabric doors, food and drink was placed on reed mats, while all through the streets wafted the striped ghosts of zebras. They danced in the oil and incense smoke, wailing and moaning as the living passed them by. Empty eyes and dry tongues grabbed at the food left upon the porches, swallowing what they could. Four foals stared in stark terror at the scene before them, clinging to Moundshroud in a tight ring. Moundshroud, for his part, walked forward unabashed. “A-a-are those real live ghost?” gaped Applebloom. “They prefer to be called ‘spirits’” Moundshroud corrected. “Are they trying to get into the houses?” Sweetie Belle peeked from under Moundshrouds’ cloak. “Indeed.” “And the food on the porches,” Featherweight queried, “it’s for them?” “It would seem so.” Applebloom broke from the group to get a better look. “Why, it’s trick-or-treating!” she exclaimed brightly. “Here in Neighjypt!” “Four thousand years ago?” wondered Featherweight. “Yes! Yes!” chortled Moundshroud, “Imagine that!” As the knot of ponies slowly walked through the dirt streets, Featherweight pointed and exclaimed, “Look! Over there! That spirit looks just like Pip!” “Kssssssk” hissed Moundshroud, “Let’s sneak up on him.” But Pipsqueak had noticed the group of ponies, and more importantly Moundshroud. He dashed into the house with his jack-o-lantern. As the CMC made it to the entryway, a zebra dressed in white with her mane braided to the left side pulled back the curtain. She looked at the foals curiously, and then smiled as her eyes looked up into Moundshrouds and she smiled. “Come in! Come in! Sit and eat with us, you are all welcome!” and she moved aside, still holding the curtain. The four trick-or-treaters looked up to Moundshroud, who merely flashed a small, sharp but encouraging smile to them. Cautiously, the foals entered the house, thanking their host before sitting on pillows before a table with two younger zebras and an old stallion that seemed to be asleep at the head of the table. As the mare began to make her way to the table, servants filed in from another room bearing plates laden with hard bread, cheese, and some foods that simply were unidentifiable. “So,” began Sweetie Belle, “what is going on out there with the gho-, er, I mean spirits?” “Once a year, the dead of the past walk amongst us to visit and comfort the living” the mare answered with a warm smile. “Unfortunately, some spirits may bring bad luck if they aren’t appeased, so we offer food and drink to them on the mats outside.” “So that’s what it’s all about” wondered Scootaloo. “But, why is everypony dressed in white? Not to be blunt, but it looks like all of you are at a wedding. Is it to make the dead happy?” The zebra chuckled, “No no, here is very different from Roam; here the color white is a symbol of death, and black a symbol of life. The floodwaters of the life giving river leaves black silt that grows crops, while the white sands are barren of all life. It is the marked on the coats of all zebras that we are composed of both elements, and are mortal.” “That makes sense; remember when Zecora was gettin ready for Nightmare Night and she wore that black robe?” Applebloom piped up. “Originally she had a white one, but the Mayor and everypony else thought she was getting hitched, so she had to switch to black. She was a little more than confused herself.” “Right you are little apple” Moundshroud glinted his smile at her. He took a shred of some barley cake, “Each culture has some custom and private symbolism that honors the dead, and it was no different with the zebras.” As he nibbled politely upon the bread, his eyes slowly slid across the room. “Anyway, if you were standing over the porch like that, then you must all be starving. Please eat” the mare insisted, pushing a bowl of steaming something towards Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle looked into the bowl and, smiling, pushed it to Applebloom, “Thanks, but that bread looks delicious, if you don’t mind?” Applebloom took one sniff and backhoofed it to Featherweight, “Ah was just followin’ mah friends. Ah’m not that hungry, ma’am.” Featherweight, whistling hoofed it to Scootaloo. Her eyes dilated at the pasty glob in front of her. Forcing a smile, she picked up the bowl and began to hand it to the old stallion at the head of the table. “No no, I’m sure you must be starving sir! And it would be rude if we were to eat it all. Here, have so-“and if her eyes could get any bigger they probably would have. It took every bit of her strength not to drop the bowl and run out the door screaming. The stallion was bound tight in aged gauze and linen, with his front hooves resting upon the table top. His head was sagging to one side, and teeth were missing from his exposed and open mouth. For the past minute or so she had been sitting down next to a mummified zebra and hadn’t noticed. The other foals quickly took notice, and their eyes bugged out as well. “Who is That?” squeaked Sweetie Belle. “Our great grandfather!” the younger zebra mare replied. “Please don’t make a fuss” the young stallion whispered, leaning over. Applebloom, eyes glued to the real mummy, stammered, “H-h-he, uh, don’t look so well.” The older mare laughed quite warmly at this, “Oh dear, our great-grandfather has been dead for sixty-seven years. We take him out of his sarcophagus every year to eat with us. Now please, eat before it gets cold. “Uh…uh…uh” twitched the beast, eyes plastered at the closest dead thing she had ever come into contact with in her short life. The bowl was still outstretched when the mummy gave a sigh and the head lurched to the left. That was all it took for Scootaloo to lose her control. Dropping the bowl on the table, Scootaloo screamed in fright and back peddled into a set of empty pots. As she was falling in, a blue specter holding a pumpkin for dear - well usually one would say life but given the circumstances, afterlife - rolled out from one. “Ah ha!” leapt Moundshroud from his seat. However, the spirit was already running out the door by the time Moundshroud even got to his hooves. “Well foals, it seems we won’t have time for dessert” Moundshroud flitted his smile while wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. The other four didn’t need a second reminder, and quickly sped out of the house after Pip, hurriedly thanking their guests. Featherweight was at the lead, chasing the blue Pipsqueak as fast as he could, but quickly losing sight of him. “Quick, Mr. Moundshroud!” called Applebloom, “We’re losin’ Pip!” However, Moundshroud was nowhere to be seen behind or in front. Just as she was about to call out again, Moundshrouds’ fluted laughter came from above. Racing across the desert sky was the black beetle form of Moundshroud, cape folding upon itself till the red interior seemed the crimson feathered wings of a bird. “Yes! The time has come! Hurry! Race! Your first trial awaits! Haha!” and with that he disappeared over the closest pyramid. The four foals were gaping at the disappearing scarab when Sweetie Belle intoned, “His horn wasn’t even glowing! How can a unicorn fly or anything without their horn glowing?!” The other three could only give wary glances to each other before rounding on the path to the pyramid. They again stopped to gaze upon the structures before them; the pyramid glinted and shined with a silver glaze, while mighty granite monoliths of crowned zebras, each easily thirty feet tall, gazed towards the village. Great bronze basins were lit at the guardians’ feet, lighting the way to the polished tombs within. “Sweet Celestia!” exclaimed Scootaloo, “They’re giants!” The CMC and Featherweight made their way to the shrine in front of the moon bathed pyramid. As they neared, a supporting column crowned with the head of three outward facing zebras moaned, sand fell from his lips. “Pip didn’t go in there, did he?” Applebloom questioned. “Yeeeeeesssssssssssss” sighed the pillar, sand falling like an hourglass. “Ah, ponyfeathers” Applebloom shuddered, sitting down. “What are we supposed to do here?” asked Sweetie Belle. As if to answer her, a long linen trail stretched out from the shrine like the coiled tongue of a snake. “What d’ya think that’s for?” questiond Scootaloo. “Do you think Pip sent it?” Featherweight asked. The four foals gathered around the outstretched linen, when it rose into the air, and snapped tight to Appleblooms’ neck! With all the unceasing force of time, the linen tugged Applebloom towards the gloom of the tomb. “Help! It’s got me!” Applebloom wailed to her friends. The three foals ran after the red bowed mummy as quickly as possible, nearly catching up, only for the linen tongue to lurch little Applebloom down a side corridor. The walls were decorated in the pictographic language of the zebras, illuminated by oil fires to either side of the hallway. At first, the pictures were merely paint on the cool, smooth stone, but eventually they changed. Soon, pieces and parts of the pictures were replaced with gems, and metals. Continuously, a great golden sun was shown, aiding the zebras in some way or form, growing crops, sowing seeds, teaching math, or some other great benefit. Then suddenly, a great black beast with crescent white horns gored the sun, and all light was smote. The foals passed through darkness for a time, as the beast gloated over its’ victim, only for the next image to show the sun alive again, though this time wrapped in a mummys’ linen. Again the beast slew the sun, again the sun came back. Eventually, the linen tongue holding Applebloom pulled upon her more urgently, quickening the pace. The images began to blur, the plates of gold began to move together in harmony. Each day the sun was led across the sky, only for the night beast to kill it again and again. It slit the suns throat, bashed the skull in, crushed the chest underhoof, but no matter how horridly the sun was slain, each day it arose triumphant upon the wings of burning golden eagles. Night and day passed as such, and soon followed summer and winter, but always the sun was there, no matter how dark the night. The linen strip soon stopped in a chamber, where it immediately let loose of Appleblooms’ neck, to coil, like a cobra, at the hooves of an open sarcophagus. A tall, lean mummy was laying in the propped up metal casket, with golden mask upon his face, painted eyes staring outward. “You!” a dusty voice, filled with terrible age demanded, “With the mummy wrappings and mummy face!” “Wha!? Who me?” a now breathless Applebloom asked. The stallion mummy uncrossed his front hooves and raised his right hoof, revealing the blue tattoo of a sun, “Day is killed by night.” At the mention of night he raised his left, revealing the tattoo of the crescent moon. “Summer is slain by winter. The great benefactor, the sun is murdered by her sister the moon and darkness! This is the origin of seasons!” and with that he clopped both hooves together, producing a great intermingling of golden and blue light. When the light died down, Applebloom lowered her hoof, “Is that what the ancient Neighjyptians thought of Nightmare Night?” “You tell me!” the stallion mockingly demanded, slinging the golden face from his own. The foals gasped in shock as none other than Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud stood before them. “Why do you wear that costume?” Applebloom, a little taken aback, stammered a little before answering, “Well, I was talkin’ to Zecora, who is a zebra friend of mine. She was tellin’ me all about her homeland, and Ah thought this would be a neat costume. Ah have ta admit, Ah’m not sure why Ah thought it would be a neat costume, but Ah have seen other ponies dressed as ones.” Moundshroud sighed, “You are a mummy, young filly! Because that is how the Neighjyptians dressed their dead for eternity! Spun round in silken thread, they hoped to emerge like fresh butterflies in some far off, dear loving underworld” he loftily motioned to the ceiling, where fields of grain and balmy, lazy days were decorated in lush pictures. Then he slammed both Sun and Moon to the floor, “Know your cocoon girl! Touch the strange stuffs!” Applebloom passed a hoof over her cheek in thought, the asked “So, every day, and every night was Nightmare Night to them; this whole thing with life and death?” Moundshroud smiled and stepped forth from the sarcophagus, “Yes Applebloom, yes! You’re a clever little apple, aren’t you?” “Then, were there other ancient ponies who thought like that, too?” “Yes, yes indeed there were” Moundshroud gestured with the sunny palm to the walls. The pictographs began to shudder and shake, moving of their own accord, until the whole of the chamber was filled with a lush green haze. Throughout the new forests and jungles ponies ran in herds, never stopping, always running. From behind rocks, within lakes, and up trees came manticores, hydras, and wyverns. Timberwolves herded ponies until the young or old fell behind, and were dragged into caves, behind boulders, or other deep and dark places to be eaten. All this by day, was only worsened by night. By night, the slaying only increased, ponies huddled together in weeping attempts to survive, only to be selected one by one for the dinner platter. “Now you see the ancestral fear of night,” murmured Moundshroud, “the old fears of our ancestors, and the real fears of us today. But hold, what happens when the quarry learns?” And in a flash, a storm had settled over the forests, and lightning struck where timberwolves were chasing a herd. The timberwolves leapt back with fright, and a set of stallions and mares took hold of burning sticks and branches, began to bash and flail the nearest timberwolf, who was now immolated. Burning and screaming to the heavens, the wolf ran to the distance, followed by its’ pack, briar tails tucked between legs. The ponies grunted and brought back their fire to the herd, throwing them upon piles of dried leaves and twigs. Ponies gathered around, warming themselves and laughing at the frightened eyes of predators. “Ah’m sorry Mr. Moundshroud,” Applebloom began to apologize, “but what does this have to do with Nightmare Night? All Ah saw was a tragedy!” Moundshroud, taken aback, replied, “What does it have to do...Well blast my bones it has everything to do with Nightmare Night! When all you do to survive is run and run, always running, you don’t have time to think. All you do is try to not be killed, but the moment you stop,” at this the wall pictographs froze, “and the moment you can wait and think, that’s the moment you begin to wonder! You stop and wonder; what happened to my friend eaten by the manticore last week? What happened to my father who died last month? Where will I go when I die? Sure, I know about where the body went, but what of here?” and Moundshroud pointed to Appleblooms head. “And what of here?” and now he pointed to her heart. “Where does that go when I die? Only now could ponies begin to wonder, and turn their musings over in their minds.” “And all of this is because of fire! Fire which lights the way! A little sun in the cave, a little bit of light in the dark! The great benefactor in miniature now aids the ponies in the darkest of hours. Now the old ponies could think long and hard thoughts for themselves, like what was happening to the sun in winter, when the great white snows came across the lands. Was the sun dying? Could the sun die? What would happen if the sun died? These were the first thoughts of ancient ponies, and oh how that must have scared them! The Neighjyptians asked it 4,000 years ago, and the ancient ponies of the ponylithic asked it before them.” The pictographs faded away, leaving the fresh writing of the Neighjyptians behind. “Ah think I get it now,” Applebloom mused. “Nightmare Night started long before anypony could really talk! Back with all the fears we had!” “Yes, yes!” Moundshroud again clopped his hooves together, “You’re getting it now little apple!” However, as he was finishing the praise, the soft sound of bells and hooves, harps and mourners could be heard from down the hall. “What’s that?” asked the newly realized mummy. “I believe that is Pipsqueaks’ funeral” Moundshroud noted with finality. “It seems they are wrapping him up as a gift for eternity, now.” “Ya don’t mean right now, do ya?” Applebloom panicked. “Save him Applebloom!” Moundshroud pointed to a shaft with the moon. Applebloom didn’t need to be told twice, and sent herself hurtling down the shaft, front first. She slid down a good ways before sliding across a well-polished floor, head first into a small sarcophagus. She stood up and shook her head to realign her eyes, resting a hoof on the metal casket. “Applebloom?” a small, frightened voice called from within. “Is that you?” “Pipsqueak?” Applebloom peered down to the face of the sarcophagus, and saw that the golden mask was indeed that of little Pipsqueaks! Decorated with painted eyes, blue striped crown, and a baseball bat crossed with a little toy pirate sword under his chin. Along the sides of the sarcophagus were the decorated images of Pipsqueaks’ life; Pipsqueak one year old, Pipsqueak climbing a tree, Pipsqueak at his first Nightmare Night, Pipsqueak tugging Princess Luna’s mane, and Pipsqueak meeting the CMC. “Applebloom? Is that you?” the little voice pleaded again. “Yeah!” Applebloom said, leaning into the face of the sarcophagus, “It’s me Pip. What happened to ya?” Panting slightly the trottingham pony replied, “I think I’m dying! I can see through me and everything!” “Ya are not!” Applebloom lied more to herself than Pipsqueak. “Ya can’t die! Not here and not like this! Remember all the plans we had! Ya were gonna to show me how to climb trees like ya! Really! Ya can climb trees better than Fluttershy’s squirrels! And I was gonna take ya to the next rodeo with mah sis!” Applebloom began to cry. “Climbing trees won’t be that hard for you to learn” the little sarcophagus admonished. “You’re an Apple, you had to have fallen out of one right?” A little smile began to blossom beneath Appleblooms’ watery eyes. “Listen, Ah’m gonna get ya outta here, and then we’re goin’ home, got it? Now just wait a sec.” Applebloom put her shoulder to the lid, but no matter how she tried, or how hard she pushed, the lid would not budge. All too soon, she heard the funeral procession make their way down the corridor. Panicking, Applebloom hid herself in a niche, crossed her arms, squeezed her eyes shut, and played dead. Ten zebras entered the room, two led the procession, wearing cheetah pelts and with shaven manes. Four were strong stallions wearing white, and the other four were mourners playing harps in tune with the chants they kept. The strong stallions shouldered the heavy sarcophagus upon themselves, and followed the priests up, keeping in perfect step. Only when the music had just begun to fade away did Applebloom dare to open her eyes. She stepped out into the corridor to see the tail end of the mourners turning the corner. “Aw, now what do Ah do?” she bemoaned, ears flattened. Up in the grand chamber, Moundshroud was listening for the funeral procession. “Kssssssk” he hissed, “To the niches and cubbies with you, cross your arms, and play mummy! Don’t move a muscle and shut your eyes!” As the three foals did as they were told, Mounshroud leaned back into his own open sarcophagus. The procession entered the room, and the priests stood to either side of Moundshroud. Just as the music was silenced, the still room was interrupted by the moans of the dead. The zebras shot their heads to the doorway in surprise to see a little mummy, not taller than a young foal, with a torn red ribbon upon her head was waving her arms and moaning in a menacing manner. The zebras were in full panic, the stallions dropping the sarcophagus on the floor and knocking off the top, and mourners running out the moment Applebloom flailed within the room. The priests were amazed, and would most likely have stayed had Moundshroud not rose from his own sarcophagus and demanded “Now now Pip! That’s enough; you’ve had your fun!” That was simply too much, and they too fled behind the whirling Applebloom. Pipsqueak sat up in his sarcophagus, cradling his pumpkin. “You and I have an appointment to keep” Moundshroud implored, then his voice turned hard as iron. “You must keep it!” In Pipsqueaks’ lap, the pumpkin began to throb with light, and soft murmurs, like the tune of a distant song could be heard, “li… li…ve… li…ve…li…liiive..liivvee.” With the last syllable, Pipsqueaks’ color returned, his coat becoming the pinto coloration of his life, as one hoof began to feel the warmth of his cheek. “No!!!” declared Moundshroud, and all color drained from Pipsqueak, as the hoof that traced his cheek came down on the pumpkin, striking is sideways. The jack-o-lantern began to spin, and was soon doing so under its own volition. A gale was spun up in the little chamber, unraveling Moundshrouds’ coat and cape from the wrappings. The pumpkin rocketed up, and Pipsqueak was pulled up with it, screaming through the ceiling. “Quick guys!” ordered Applebloom. “Up the air vents!” “Yes! Yes!” Moundshroud crooned, flashing that sharp smile. “Find him! Catch him!” When the friends emerged from the air vent, Pipsqueak had already caught his pumpkin, and was roiling across the sky. Moundshroud emerged like a scarab from the tomb entrance, and was wheeling towards Pipsqueak when he saw the foals. “Quick kids! Four corners, one for each of you!” and with a toss of his head, unlatched the cape, which fell to the CMC and Featherweight. “He can run,” crooned a still levitating Moundshroud, “But if we follow, we can go seek! Haha!” He dived straight for the spinning Pipsqueak as the four friends fumbled to tie the cloak around their hooves. As Sweetie Belle finished her knot, the cape went spinning into the air behind Moundshroud, pin wheeling the ponies to their next destination.