//------------------------------//
// Chapter 3: Dust in the Hoof 
// Story: How 'Bout Them Apples, Boy? 
// by Cold Snap 
//------------------------------//

I cowered under that bed. My worst fears had come to life...not that this was avoidable anyway, as of course she’d notice when her firstborn son wasn’t even coming out of his room.

The fact remained that now, my mother was home, and she was going to find out about what happened to her son, and what show he was indulging himself with. She wasn’t the kind of person who waited for all the information to come out first, either--she often jumped to conclusions, sometimes before I could finish my sentences. My mind was racing as to how I could ever explain this to her, especially now that I was talking so differently, and couldn’t help myself. She might think I was just another animal that had gotten into the house!

I was thinking at a thousand miles per hour, as one sometimes does when in a panic, as I wondered just how it would all come crashing down upon me.

Through the wall, I could hear the muffled words and sounds of what was going on; I'd trained myself to interpret sounds down a hall and what they mean, like I did with Mark's running to my room earlier. I could hear Mom putting her purse down, and Mark saying something (I couldn't make out exactly what)...and I couldn't help but think of all that had happened since waking up, and my new quadrupedal inhuman existence. There's no way this was real, right? Any time now, I'll wake up in my bed, heart beating 200 times a minute thanks to this nightmare (no horse pun intended).

I actually try to grab the dust bunnies that had accumulated under this bed. Oh man, I was really, really wishing that something, ANYTHING, resembling fingers would spread out and grasp that dirty stuff...but no such luck. All I can manage is “scooping” it with my hoof, towards me.

And that’s when I hear it: the thumping of more feet coming my way. That has to be Mom...all I can do is cower. My hands--hooves--lay on top of my head as I duck-and-cover like in an old nuke-safety drill video.

And...I hear the door opening.

But not my door.

It’s the door to the bathroom, at the end of the hallway. My door was right next to it, on the wall to the right of it.

I breathe a small sigh of relief--which spreads that dust around, and makes me put a hand--HOOF--to my mouth in an attempt to keep the bigger clumps of dust out.

And then my door opens. I hear a whisper.

“Matthew?”

I can tell it’s Mark, thank goodness. I crawl forward enough to see him.

He looks down and quietly says “I did the best I could--I think she’s onto something. I’m so sorry!”

Yeah, a growing feeling in the back of my mind is telling me that I can’t just hide in my room forever...as much time as I spend in here, I do still see Mom every day at least once. Hiding my love of this show was a cakewalk compared to hiding what had just happened to me.

I tell him “No, I gotta be--it ain’t yer fault, Mark...ah’m the one hidin’ here.”

He looks back, and realizes he’d left the door open--wow, that could have been bad. He shuts it, then says in a very uncomfortable voice “Uh, Matthew, I don’t know, but, uh...maybe you should...I don’t know, just tell her?”

My eyes pop wide open in fear at that idea. “What?! But how?! We don’t know how she’ll take havin’...her...her son be...” I drop my head onto the carpet again, on the verge of tears. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep such an obvious change hidden for longer than 24 hours...especially since I had another day of college scheduled tomorrow.

And that’s when the meteor hit.

Mom opens the door, and says “Don’t forget to wash the--”

I retract my head into the underside of the bed, almost like a turtle. I pray that I wasn’t seen.

I can hear Mark jump a little at the surprise. He says nothing.

I can’t see the look on Mom’s face, but her tone of voice tells me a lot. She’s wondering. “Oh, where’s Matthew?” She looks into my bathroom, which is the only other bathroom in the house, and thankfully is just a doorway away from my room. Of course, I’m not in there.

Mark stumbles in his response. “I, uh, guess he’s out and about. I’m looking for him too.”

She doesn’t sound like she believes him. More bad news for me. “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean? He spends most of the day in here, and he’s not eating breakfast.” In the afternoon. Curse my sleeping habits.

Mark is still really defensive. Can’t blame him--this is a pretty big event that he was completely unprepared for. “Uh, look, there’s, uh...”

“What? What is it?” She takes a couple of steps closer, each step taking more and more of my will to hide away.

I hear him sigh. Oh crap, this has got to be the moment of truth.

At this point, I start to sob. Here I am, hiding my presence from my own mother. Hiding my situation. I went from five feet, nine inches tall to about three feet...uh...long. How does someone explain that to their own mother, in a world where magic isn’t exactly common?

“Look, Mom, there’s a...problem,” he says. Oh shoot, here it comes.

“What?! You’re giving me a heart attack here!” she says, exasperated.

I don’t even notice that I’d started to extend a hoof forward. I was so absorbed in my own tears, I had lost track of my own body somehow. Maybe it was Applejack’s need to be honest, I don’t know. The point was, something orange was starting to emerge from under the bed. And whatever it was, it was making noise. Sounding sad.

I hear Mom yelp in shock at the sight. She must have lost her balance, too, since Mark rushes to her and apparently holds her up. “Mom, it’s not a snake! That’s...uh, what we need to talk about.”

“What?! What are you talking about?!” I can tell from the sound that she’s backing off, towards my door again.

And that’s when I sniffle.

“...Ah’m sorry, Mom...” I say, eyes jammed shut in tears.

I slowly bring my head out from under the bed. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, but the ears catch Mom’s scream really well.

“AIIIE! What IS that?! Mark, what’s going on?!”

The fact that my own mother sees not her own son, or even a person, but some animal-thing she doesn’t recognize...that doesn’t exactly help my weeping heart.

“...Please, Mom, it...it’s me, y-yer son, M-Matthew...” I squeak out in soft, terrified tones.

I hear something muffled. Mark must have his hand over her mouth. He says “Mom, really, it’s okay! I think. Uh, let’s let him explain!”

She apparently gets his hand just loose enough to say “What’s there to explain?! What’s going on?!”

I figured she didn’t hear me, or catch my words. So I say them louder.

“Mom, really, it-it’s me! Yer name’s Linda, and ah’m Matthew...Matthew Alexander Harrison! Ah’m not an animal! Please let me explain, Mom!”

I cover my face with my forehooves, and cry some more into them. I wasn’t exactly an emotional man before, but after this happened, just about anyone would be. I still haven’t opened my eyes, not wanting to face my mother’s reaction. I had taken the baby’s route of “if I can’t see it, it’s not there” in regards to this situation...it’s amazing what being overemotional will do to a person.

Mark had gone silent. All that I hear is the droning of my ceiling fan, the distant hum of the hallway bathroom’s air conditioner, and my own crying and sniffling. I slowly take my right forehoof down, opening that now-big eye, shivering in fear...seeing my mother and brother against the opposite wall, near my bathroom door.

To try and further prove who I am, I let out some more info that only I would know. “Ah go to San Jacinto College...ya drive me there every class day. Tuesday an’ Thursday...Mark an’ ah got you that manicure-pedicure fer Christmas last year...please don’t be scared, Mom, it’s r-really me, ah swear...”

It’s Mom’s turn to have the shaky, cracking voice. She is naturally quite hesitant to accept things like this. “...No...Matthew?” She looks to my brother. “Mark, is this a joke? This is a really sick joke, isn’t it?”

Mark says “That’s what I thought too...”

I get an idea, not that it will help much. “Uh...M-Mark, maybe you should sh-show her that video...th-the one we watched.”

“What? What video?” She’s looking back and forth between us, as if doing a double-take.

Mark swallows hard. “Uh, hang on, Mom, I’ll get it...” He goes back to the video in question.

As he gets on the computer, I have to hope that beyond all odds it will make a difference, that somehow it will give me back my family...