The Nightmare Tree
Chapter 6
Deep within a dark cloud bank, four gargoyles bearing riders slid through soft partings, feverishly beating mighty stone wings in pursuit of a small, transparent blue figure. The blue colt was streaming stars and sparks behind him, flying faster and faster in the air currents, until he finally broke away from the pack. “Drat!” swore Scootaloo, “And we almost had him that time!”
Moundshroud arrived in spectral silence and swooped up in front, leading the foals along the cloud layer. “Well, I have good news foals!” he crowed back to the CMC and Featherweight. “We have arrived at our final destination!” Through the thick black clouds, music could be heard wafting up from the ground to greet the visitors.
“Alright, but, where are we?” Featherweight asked.
“Wait a minute,” Sweetie Belle cocked her head down to the ground and put a hoof to her ear. “That sounds like marimbas.”
“Oh!” Applebloom piped up. “That sounds like xylophones and those little guitars some ponies play!”
“Ole!” cried some crowd faintly from below.
“I betcha that’s a bull fight!” Scootaloo hoped up and down on her gargoyle’s shoulders.
Dark clouds soon parted, clearing the night scene to show a scene of plastered houses, brightly painted in greens, reds, oranges, and some left white. Lanterns hung from long lines cast between building corners and arches, illuminating the streets below in light that would have rivaled day. Cow, bulls, calves, minotaurs, and a couple buffalo were meandering in the streets playing music and cooking vast amounts of beaten corn into breads and other foods. “Taurus!” the foals realized and shouted in enthusiasm.
The gargoyles flew in the invisible winds, unseen by the populous below. Calves of all three races with skull masks adorning their faces ran in the streets from house to house, snatching cookies decorated with sprinkles, sugar, and all other sorts of confectionary decoration. Coffins were being made openly for sale, to match with little puppet funerals. A bull fight was being performed in an arena, where hundreds of attendants were watching a red dressed minotaur matador taunt a large red bull with his cape. The bull charged, only for the minotaur to pull out in the last moment, drape the cloak over his arm, and give the bull a good smack as he passed. The crowd cheered as the minotaur spread his arms, basking in the praise, only for him to be sent face first into a mud puddle when the bull kicked his rear end. Uproarious laughter lavished the bull, who now took his turn to raise booth front hooves into the air in acceptance, and body slam the matador into the ground. All the overly hammed up humor went on for some time, each opponent embarrassing the other until the bell sounded. Both stood up, shook hand and hoof, then walked out to rest and recuperate from the act.
Spectral stone wings clapped again as the four were lifted off towards the edge of town. A newspaper was snatched in the updraft, which Sweetie Belle caught with her hoof. “Hey! The newspapers are full of bones and stuff!” She hoofed some of the paper to her friends, who began scanning the papers in interest. The cartooned bones of the Tauric races were seen on display in the paper, with small effigies and biographies of the deceased. All sorts of little details were included, from their favorite foods, to personal achievements, and who they fathered or mothered.
“Wow!” wondered Featherweight, “I should probably do something like this with the Foal Free Press sometime!”
The gargoyles flew over a hill, dotted with the marble and stone markers of many final resting places. Troves of longhorn cows, minotaurs, and buffalos were trailing onto the sites, bearing candles, pictures, and mats to sit upon. “Wait,” Applebloom peered, putting aside her paper. “What are they all doin in the graveyard?”
“El Dia de los Muertos!” Moundshroud answered. “Far south of both Appleoosa and the Buffalo territories lies a subtropical land inhabited by settled buffalos, minotaurs, and longhorn cows. Here, once a year they visit the graves of the departed in loving memory.” Down below, a many cows and buffalos were sitting in front of graves, lighting candles in silent vigil and lovingly leaning upon their significant others. An old minotaur in military uniform, with enough brass on his chest to start a band, was saluting an older sepulcher.
The foals looked on in wonder, until a pale blue pony sped under them, out towards another gravesite. The gargoyles, spooked by the apparition, began to buck and cry out wildly, refusing to bear their riders anymore. Stone wings beat franticly as the foals cried and tried to remain atop. Swooping and sweeping down, the beasts ducked into an alley, and shook three of the foals off like fleas. They, in turn, fell safely into a wagon filled with hay. The last foal, Applebloom, was wrapping her gauze around her monsters neck, while it bucked wildly to and fro. “Ah, no you aren’t!” she yelled, hardly staying on the back. With a final kick, Applebloom was sent flying head first into the hay pile. Her gargoyle sped off to catch up with the others, who soared into the clouds to find their way home.
“Sweet skulls! Sweet skull!” a piping voice lilted from down the alley. A pony dressed in a multicolored coat and wide brimmed sombrero that obscured his face came into view. “Sweet skulls! Sweet skulls! Sugary candy sweet skulls!”
“Whoa, gang! Look at the candy he has!” Featherweight exclaimed. Leaning over the ponys’ shoulder was the branch of an ancient tree, and hanging from the twigs were the chocolate smiling faces of white candy skulls with red lettering inscribed along the forehead.
“Give me your name and I give you a skull” the colorful tunic wearing pony offered.
“Featherweight!” Snap! A small pony skull with his name was yanked from the branch with a black horseshoe and hoofed over to him.
“Oh! Scootaloo!”
“Sweetie Belle”
“Applebloom!”
Each of the foals were tossed little sugar and chocolate pony skulls bearing their respective names. The foals giggled and inspected the little treats, until the shadowy pony laughed in a short, high pitched cry.
“Hold the dark holiday in your hoof,
Bite it, swallow it,
Come out the dark, black tunnel of Nightmare Night
And be glad, oh so glad you are alive!”
With that the pony tossed his cape and tunic aside, revealing Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud, throatily laughing. The foals stopped, with the treats just barely in their mouths, gawking at the strange outburst from this even stranger pony. “Alright, that’s it!” Featherweight shook his head. “What was that even about! You fly us halfway across the world, through tombs, dark fields, and all the scariest stuff I have ever seen! Then give us candy and go off on some song or poem or something like that! Do you know just how creepy this is becoming!”
“Well to be honest, yes I do” Moundshroud answered. “It is my job to be creepy this night, and last I remember, nearly everything is creepy or scary on Nightmare Night. The poem you just heard is a very common piece down here, and can be found in several songs throughout. If you are wondering if it was some incognito threat against your lives, I can assure you; I don’t kill ponies, and I will not ever do so. Go ahead, eat your treats.”
Cautiously, the foals began to chew on the snacks, eyeing Moundshroud the whole time. Featherweight looked back over his shoulder in the direction of where Pips’ ghost had gone. “Anyway, we should go find Pip and save him.”
“Right you are little skeleton, Nightmare Night is slipping away!” As the last bite was finished, Moundshroud summoned a wind overhead, bearing the piñatas of a mummy, witch, monster, and skeleton. With a twirl of his cape, Moundshroud himself was turned into a miniature piñata and joined the dance. Up from the shadowed alley, several calves and young minotaurs ran up with skull faces and sticks. They swung enthusiastically at the paper and cardboard containers, until one stick connected with a solid Thwack right between Moundshrouds’ eyes! The piñatas turned into a swarm of bats as the calves ran screaming in fright. A black swarm of winged furry bodies snatched the four foals into the air, and carried them off.
Way out beyond the walls of the town, in a forgotten low spot between two hills nestled an abandoned graveyard. No cow or minotaur visited here, and the grass grew tall and unkempt. The squeaking swarm flew to the front of a large door in the hillside, and set down four laughing and tickled foals on the ground. Shadowy and silently, the form of Moundshroud appeared from the coalescing bats.
“That was actually kinda fun!” Featherweight exclaimed.
“What’s next?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“No more time for fun and games foals!” Moundshroud throatily laughed. “The night ends here!” With an outstretched hoof he gestured to the door, which swung open by its own accord. Filthy mist seeped out into the air from some deep, dark, filthy place within.
The foals stared wide eyed for a moment. “Is Pip down there?” Featherweight hazarded a guess.
“Yes, he’s waiting down in the catacombs. Simon says, bring him up” Moundshroud finished, his voice echoing down the stairs.
Featherweight walked to the edge, then peered down into the abyssal dark. He looked Moundshroud in the eye, and in the most determined voice he could muster said, “Fine! We’ll go get him, but we’re keeping him for ourselves!”
“Bravely spoken, Skeleton! Pip would have liked that.” The brass watch was again brought out from some deep pocket, “Now hurry! The dawn approaches!”
Leading the way, Featherweight stepped down into the gloom. The foals stepped past piles of dust, over leering red rat eyes, and through cobwebs. Eventually, they made it to the base floor, and stepped into the chamber. When their eight eyes had adjusted to the low light, the four gasped in fright. “Mummies!” Applebloom shrieked. All about them, down every corridor, the desiccated and dried out bodies of cows and minotaurs were lining the walls in niches and cubbies.
Moundshroud stepped from a hole under the stairs. “Their families couldn’t pay the rent for their graves, so the grave digger put them down here!” He cleared his throat before continuing, “A little too dry for me.”
The four friends were about to move forward when a soft sound reached Featherweights’ ears. He motioned for silence and strained to hear the sound again. Slowly, he realized where this familiar sound had been heard before; one year to this night ago, when Pipsqueak softly sobbed when he feared that it would be his last Nightmare Night. Peering down a corridor, Featherweight saw the pale blue colt standing alone at the end, still clutching his pumpkin. “What are you doing there Pip!” Featherweight called.
“I have to stay Feathers!” Pipsqueaks’ hollow old voice called back. “I’m trapped!” he mourned.
“What do you mean trapped? It’s just us!” Featherweight pleaded, stepping forward. With a snap and crack, the closest corpse began to move, and soon, all the skeletons and dried bodies were waving their hooves in front of the way towards Pipsqueak. “Oh sweet Celestia, they’re alive!” Featherweight recoiled towards the CMC, who were now bundled into a ball, hugging each other.
Moundshroud stepped forward, silencing the dead, and placing a hoof upon Featherweights’ shoulder. “Why do you wear bones, colt?” he demanded.
“Well, because my dad, Snowflake the bodybuilder dresses up as the reaper, so we thought it would look funny if we wore matching costumes” Featherweight honestly explained.
“Oh!” Moundshroud moaned, removing his hoof to stamp on the ground. “Have you learned nothing tonight, colt?!”
Featherweight looked back to his scared friends, searching for an answer. He looked back upon not only the night he had just had, but also the other nights in his short life. He wondered about how some ponies scared others, how some like his dad, dressed up to make others laugh. Then the idea came to him, if he could just put it to words.
“Maybe,” he began hesitantly, “when we dress up as our fears, and look death eyeball to eyeball, we don’t truly fear it? When we dress up as our fears, and greet and entertain each other, death can’t scare us anymore, and it loses its’ power over us!”
“Yes! Yes! Very good skeleton, that’s using you skull properly! Now, since you have answered the riddle…”
Featherweight turned to face the long hall to Pipsqueak. “Now it’s my turn to save Pip…alone,” he gulped. Stepping up to the edge of the corridor, Featherweight gathered himself, closed tight his eyes, and then began a mad dash between the skeletons.
“That’s it!” Scootaloo jumped from the ball, cheering on Featherweight. “Just go straight!”
“Don’t open your eyes!” Applebloom shouted.
“I can’t look!” Sweetie Belle cried, burying her face into Applebloom’s shoulder.
Skulls collided with each other, hooves skittered upon empty floor, and ribs jangled with others, rattling to sit still upon the floor. Featherweight ran as fast as he could, not daring to open his eyes to the horrid moans and crashes coming about him until he finally reached the raised dais before Pipsqueak, gasping for breath. “Oh Pip! Don’t die! Please don’t die! I’m so sorry!” he wept openly before Pipsqueaks’ feet.
“What do you mean Feathers?” a baffled Pipsqueak asked. “You made it! You got to me!”
“No, it isn’t that Pip,” Featherweight sniffled. “Long ago, after you joined up with us, I wished you would go away so the others would listen a little more to me again. I was happy that they forgave me for taking those pictures, and just wanted to keep making them happy with me, and saw you more as a rival. I let my jealousy get the best of me. I just never imagined it would be something as bad as Colitis! Could you forgive me?” he pleaded.
“For crying out loud, Feathers! Nopony could have guessed I would be here or wished it!” Pipsqueak admonished. “How about this, I promise to listen to you more often, and you forget about this whole mess. Honestly! There’s nothing to forgive!” he assured, reaching out with a hoof.
Smiling away the tears, Featherweight reached out with his own hoof to grasp Pipsqueak. When the hoofs just brushed each other, Pipsqueak became solid, and dried with the onslaught of countless ages. His coat bleached out, fell out, and his skin turned shallow and cracked. The cracks ran up the withering body, weaving across his features until they reached his head and still face. The skull and chest caved in, releasing Pipsqueaks’ dust into the air and falling in a small pile to the floor. “Wait! Pip! No! What happened!” Featherweight yelled, when a dry laugh came from back in the door.
Moundshroud, cloak about him, laughed almost manically. “Well, this has been fun hasn’t it foals!” With a flourish he produced Pipsqueaks’ pumpkin from under his cape. It was still lit and slowly whispering away its’ song. “And I know just where I am going to hang this!”