Bad Mondays

by Handyman

Chapter 37 - Ghosts and Ghouls

Apart from his little message to Joachim informing him that he was still alive and kicking, courtesy of the Antler Head Express, Handy had decided it would be best to maintain the illusion that he was dead and gone.

Think about it for a minute.

Aside from keeping the Mistress off of the real Crimson's trail and away from his friends in Gethrenia, it also served a more practical purpose – that of getting through Equestrian territory without undue delays. After all, Handy knew two things about what happened since the whole furore over the tournament: Jack and his brother Shit. Also, if he was going to hunt down that bastard Thunder, he was going to need time to get the lay of the land as he took advantage of his cadaverous status to search for the Mistress' servant. He was not on the best terms with Equestrians in general, and he'd rather not have ponies running for the guards when the mythical human, who was supposed to have died at a very public event a few weeks back, suddenly returned from the dead. In the middle of Equestria no less.

And yes, they were in Equestria it seemed, somewhere close to the much smaller eastern coast. The accents and dialects of Equestrian spoken here were noticeably thicker and harder for Handy to get used to than the language in the heartlands. There were quite a lot of words and manners of speech he flat out did not recognize at all, and sometimes he swore they were speaking another language entirely. This was the reality of living in such a vast and disparate kingdom. Even though there was a common tongue, it was not a unified and centralized language the way modern English was. He considered himself lucky it wasn't like medieval France, where you could legitimately walk into the next county over and the people spoke a dialect of French that was more alien than German. The more he thought about it, the more odd it seemed that most griffons in Gethrenia and Firthengart wrote and spoke in fluent court Equestrian, but it made a horrifying economic practicality given their raw importance in trade with the Equestrians. It was no wonder even the common folk followed their nobility and merchant classes in adopting it. Such thoughts brought his mind back to the runic script he saw on old road signs, temples to the All-Maker, and even the labels of that firebrand stuff Tanismore had gotten them all drunk on in the tournament, and he realized how very little he actually knew about his adopted kingdom and its people. He opted to remedy that one of these days when he was not busy trying to figure out how to traverse Equestria and complete his mission without anyone actually spotting him.

If you don't think this was a bad situation, please take a recap. Remember that vampiric human who had a frightening reputation, fought off royal guards, and challenged an Equestrian prince to a duel of honour? Who supposedly died and disappeared during the fiasco of a fall festival in Firthengart and now two griffon kingdoms on Equestria's borders were building up their military preparedness for unknown reasons? And now he just so happened to surface in the middle of Equestria itself after being missing for how long? Yeah, he'd cause rather a lot more than minor consternation if he were to be discovered.

Also, there was this whole geas thing. That pretty much meant he had to go searching for the Mistress and her minions in order to actually free himself and be rid of Chrysalis' influence, however indirect. So it was not without a lot of chagrin that he found himself conflicted. He had heard about the militarization in Firthengart, and Joachim for some damned reason was doing likewise in Gethrenia, and it was getting the Equestrians mighty spooked. Briefly, he wondered what was going through the bird's mind since his 'death', and his thoughts wandered over the time he had chewed out the young king for the lack of readiness in his soldiers. He shook those doubts from his mind. No, that couldn't have had anything to do with it; there had to be something he was not seeing. He learned from eavesdropping on a merchant caravan about the troubles going on back in Griffonia, with Thorax and Jacques interacting with the merchants for supplies while Handy made himself inconspicuous. It was all because of that bastard Thunder mucking up the tournament. He had no idea of the specifics, but if it meant that people as incompetent as the bloody ponies were taking precautions and had their hooves on their spears in readiness over instability in Griffonia, it had to be pretty serious.

After all, he was pretty sure Joachim had a firm control over things. He wouldn't be moving troops about willy-nilly for any reason, right?

He was glad now that he had opted to send the message to Joachim to let him know he was alive, even if he did specify that Wildwood not tell him about the little... deal he had made using his authority as Sword of the King. He emphasized he was working undercover, investigating the cause behind the disturbance at the festival and to quash it as a threat to the kingdom which, to be fair, was true enough, and as a result, Joachim should maintain the official line that he was dead. He suspected he wouldn't, but one lived in hope. He hadn't informed the others of this, instead wondering aloud about the idea of sending word back. Thorax had strongly advised against that, citing the only secure way to get a message back would have been with a changeling and there was practically no way Chryssi dearest was going to risk one of her agents. That told Handy two things: one, that there were changeling agents operating in Gethrenia, probably Skymount itself, and two, a realization that indebting himself further to Chrysalis, especially over a favour, probably was not the brightest of ideas.

All this and traipsing across the Equestrian countryside in the mud and the rain did not make for a happy Handy. The vast plains and rolling hills gave the region a very Mediterranean look, but the maps Handy had seen showed nothing to the north but temperate foothills and the Greenwoods and Griffonia further north and nothing to the south but rocky, sparse mountains and more temperate plains going to arid lands to the south of Equestria into the Minotaur realms, independent pony kingdoms, and those lands beyond it down the coast. To the west was more Equestria and to the East were the Black Isles Enclave and the great cities of the east coast of Equestria: Manehatten, Fillydelphia, and other cities with painful names. The map had no scale of reference Handy was familiar with, but Jacques roughly translated it all as to meaning 'a lot of land' though they weren't sure exactly where on it they were. It wasn’t as though they could just board a train bold as brass either.

So, with resignation, he contented himself with planning the hunt for Thunder. That and getting proper shelter and warm food and possibly some money would be nice. Money was always nice. Handy missed having money. They had been gifted with a generous amount of odd rods of silver from the deer, but he failed to understand their individual value. They were segmented, and in order to pay, you used a tool to break off the necessary amount to pay. They literally had an economy via lump sum of silver instead of coinage. Handy intended to flog the stuff en masse as soon as he could.

"So, what are our parameters?" Thorax asked.

"Que?" Jacques responded. "Parameters?"

"What do we know about Thunder?" Thorax clarified. Both ponies turned to look at Handy, who was busy seated on a rather large flat rock under the bower of a tree to take shelter from the drizzling rain as he tried, futilely, to get the mud out of his nice, new cloak. It was very fine, very expensive deer-crafted material, and a gift. And now it was probably ruined. Handy was displeased.

"What?" Handy shot as he noticed the two staring at him.

"This Thunder, what do you know about him?" Jacques pressed.

"What makes thee think I know anything about him?" Jacques gave him a flat stare.

"Between hiding a changeling in your company for Galaxia knows how long and the fact that Thunder seemed to know you quite well when I heard you two banter during the fight makes me a touch disinclined to believe you when you plea ignorance."

"Fine," Handy said, trying to think. He didn't want to reveal too much about the Mistress and his relation to her, and a quick glance at Thorax revealed nothing. He was reasonably sure she didn't share what the changelings knew. He'd feed Jacques just enough truth to get him to believe some bullshit down the road. "...He is an old magic user. And before you ask, no I have no idea what kind of magic that is, but it was what he used when he beat us all silly. He is after Crimson because she used to be thrall to his cabal. The real Crimson," he added as Jacques gave a sideways glance at Thorax, an eyebrow cocked. "I had taken her under my protection. Thunder sought her back. I found this objectionable."

"And where is the real Crimson?" Jacques asked, looking at Thorax.

"Safe." Thorax's ear flicked, or rather Charity Bell's did. The changeling had adopted the old guise at Handy's request. The white-pink coat, long purple-maned earth pony with bright yellow eyes had replaced the brown-maned and deep-red coat of Crimson Shade.

"Do I look like the sort of person who can just lie low and not draw attention?" Handy asked incredulously. "I am a baron, a royal knight, and Sword of the King. I have duties I must perform, responsibilities I must fulfil," Handy said, playing the indignant card for all it was worth to hide the real reasons he was after Thunder. "And sooner or later, this Thunder will strike at me and Crimson again. I must uncover him and his cabal as soon as possible."

"And revenge?" the stallion asked, eyes slightly narrowing.

"...And revenge," Handy admitted as he met Jacques' challenging eye. The pony simply stood there impassively. His cheerful demeanour had disappeared for the conversation as he followed this line of inquiry. Handy was not sure why. It was not as if he had any reason to care. He looked between the human and Thorax for a few moments, his tail swishing once behind him, brushing the tips of the grass. Then, very slowly, the same cocky, lazy smile breached the stone visage he wore and spread across his muzzle.

"Eh bien, je crois que ce sera beaucoup de plaisir alors. Then I shall help you," Jacques offered, raising a hoof and gesturing, hoof uppermost.

"Why?" Handy asked, slightly suspicious.

"Payback for the loss of my hat," Jacques explained before stroking his goatee. "Also, you are a rich stallion, and friends help friends, no?" Oh right, money. Handy guessed that much at least made sense.

"How can you help?" Thorax asked.

"Why chère, I know an awful lot of ponies who know an awful lot of ponies. Believe me, with the right description, I can find anypony." He paused as he looked at her, screwed his face up, tapping his hoof, thinking. "Provided we can get to Blackport that is."

"Why Blackport? We don't even know where we are!" Handy said, raising his hands wide and gesturing at the landscape. Jacques looked down from the hill they were upon and at the rows and rows of olive trees in neat ordered lines, like regimented battalions. They had landed near several farms of such trees and had... borrowed the fruit of some for additions to their rations. Jacques’ smile broadened.

"Oh, I have a fair idea where we are, mon ami." He trotted off towards an outbuilding hidden amidst some of the closer trees. "But to be sure, we can always head into the nearest town, no?" Handy scoffed.

"Yeah right, and how do you propose we get inside without me giving ponies a reason to call for the nearest guard garrison?" Jacques sauntered over to a disused wagon, pulling at the harnesses with his magic before rearing onto his hind hoofs and inspecting its contents.

He turned around and smiled at the two of them from the bottom of the hill.

--=--

"I can't believe this."

"Shh!"

"For God's sake, at least get off the top of it. I need some air!"

"Quiet!" Thorax hissed, hitting the top of the rather long wooden crate with a hind hoof. She was still in the guise of Charity Bell but had managed to produce a rather frumpy-looking shawl and cardigan from somewhere. Seated as she was atop of the crate, she got a rather magnificent view of the town they were approaching.

It was a humble affair, all wooden support beams and grey stone, steeple roofs of sunset-red slate, and streets of well-worn cobblestone with deep grooves from centuries of wagon traffic. It was an enclosed settlement of relatively low walls about four times the height of a pony that were in a state of disrepair incongruous with the fine state of the dwellings they protected. Ivy and creep covered the walls in places with several of the tower roofs, leaving their innards exposed where they had collapsed inwards. Whatever cause this town had to require such defences, it was a long time since it had reared its ugly head. It didn't prevent a rather conspicuous militia presence, however, which made sense given that it lay at the juncture of an important regional crossroads and was close to several other such centres. Maybe the town itself wasn't in any real danger, but that many loose bits and goods coming and going rather required ponies with pointy sticks to maintain law and order from time to time from opportunistic bandits.

"Lo there, friend! What’s your business this late in the day?" one particularly cheerful sounding earth pony guard mare called. Handy groaned as it took him a second to process the sentence and mentally auto-translate it to proper English. She was decked out in half-a-sallet helm and a piecemeal gorget of scalemail. She wore a thick brown tunic with two dark patches around her withers, with three vertical strips cut out, revealing the same lighter brown of the rest of her tunic beneath. A small iron shoulder pad clung to her right wither with the painting of an open book on display upon it, and a light blue cloak to shield her from the rain. It was a rather ostentatious yet practical display for a local town guardsmare. A quick glance confirmed this was par for the course with the rest of the town guards. Not that Handy could see, currently boxed and packaged as he was.

"Ah! Ma bonne jument, l'instant nous ne simples voyageurs qui cherchent à rester pour la nuit! Perchance nous pouvons quand même entrer dans la ville?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but I don't speak troubadour—" The mare gasped and put a hoof to her mouth. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I meant, I don't speak—"

"It’s quite alright," Thorax interrupted, putting on her best Prench accent and smiling gently as she looked down at the still smiling Jacques, who had reacted in no way to the guard's apparent faux pas. "My brother Swift Swipe here doesn't speak Equestrian all that much."

"Si vous ne étiez pas une si jolie jeune fille, je vous appelle un diamant chien ignorant, mais puisque vous êtes, je ne le ferai pas." Jacques took off his hat with a hoof, crossing it over his chest as he bowed his head at the embarrassed mare. He rose again to smile genially at her. Thorax felt a snort of laughter threatening to rise up and break her facade but held her ground.

"We're, uh, how you say, just trying to find a place to stay for the night, then we'll move on in just a few days. Is that alright?"

"I uh..." The mare blinked, still looking at Jacques before shaking her head and facing Thorax. "Right! Of course, you can come in." She fiddled with the spear in the crook of her foreleg and cleared her throat. "Just, uh, be careful. It’s the week leading up to Nightmare Night and the local foals can get pretty rowdy."

"We'll be fine, thank you." Jacques pulled the cart along but stopped as he drew up to the guard mare.

"Vous ne avez absolument aucune idée de ce que je dis," he said, reaching down to lift her free hoof up and kissing it. The befuddled guardmare's face completely flushed at the action, her nut-brown fur doing nothing to hide it. "Mais ça va sonner merveilleusement exotique et romantique à vous, et vous sont des jupes totalement vais oublier votre devoir pour inspecter notre caddie avant que nous sommes trop loin dans ville car vous allez trop penser à moi." He flashed her a winning smile, and she stammered in response like a filly with stage fright while he trotted on past her and into the town proper. He left the flustered guard having to explain to her captain later why she had completely forgotten to inspect the goods the strange ponies had carted into town.

--=--

"What the hell is Nightmare Night?" Handy asked casually, receiving nothing but a kick to the top of the crate in response. He rolled his eyes. Great, that meant some nosey buggers were coming over to say howdy to the new arrivals, and he just had to put up with being confined to the tight fitting box all the longer... And his nose was beginning to itch. He wasn't sure what in God's name olive farmers needed a six foot by one crate for, but there was straw present in the box along with the strong scent of varnish. And he was beginning to feel woozy as a result. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

He felt the cart stop and shift, dropping forward. Jacques must have unhooked himself. Thorax seemed to move and clamber down off of the cart itself.

"I suppose we'll go talk to these nice folks about putting us up for a while, right, Swift Swipe?" Thorax prompted, just loud enough for Handy to hear.

"Oui," Jacques replied oh so helpfully, thus leaving Handy well informed that he should do absolutely nothing to raise suspicions while his companions were gone securing lodgings and that he should be a good little moving crate and remain inanimate. And his nose was itchy. He also let out a small yelp as he felt his wrist seemingly convulse with sudden, stabbing pain. His other hand shot around and grabbed a hold of it as he tried to not make any noise as his left arm shook uncontrollably before eventually settling. He breathed heavily as he waited for the pins and needles running up and down his arm to settle, his left wrist and a bit of his upper arm feeling taut and high strung, much like how one's leg felt after a bad muscle cramp.

'What the hell was that?' He thought about raising his wrist to his face to look at it but was stopped short when he heard a splash of water and the clippity-clop of tiny hooves drawing nearer. He froze, turning his head around at an awkward angle to try to look out through the only hole in his crate that let him see the outside world, a tiny beam of dying sunlight spilling into the crate as he saw what was approaching him.

It was a tiny tan unicorn filly, golden-haired with a small turquoise bow in her mane, bright azure eyes sparkling with innocence and curiosity and small, muddy hooves from walking in the mud approaching the cart from across the street. Her head was tilted, and she was looking up at the crate Handy just happened to be residing in. For a brief, horrifying moment, he thought she could see him through the small hole, his head facing towards the open end of the cart and out to the street. He cursed inwardly. He must have shaken the crate or partially opened the top of it when he suddenly moved to grab his wrist. She was at the cart now and her tiny hooves raised and placed on its edge, curious sea blue eyes poking over the edge and under a bank of golden mane to study the crate.

'Go away, you hellion!' Handy thought furiously at her. 'Fuck off, this isn't your property! Go away! Go on, get!' She did no such thing of course, instead trying to peer deeper into the face of the crate, as if willing for it to tell her its deepest darkest secrets, her tiny innocent head wondering what kind of hidden treasures or wonders the moving box might hold. Perhaps gypsy gold! It did seem to belong to a pair of traveling ponies she saw come into town. Oh, maybe it had some magic or some weird pet they kept! It was Nightmare Night coming up – maybe there was some kind of monster in there! And only she would know! She had to investimagate, for the good of the entire town!

"Reveal to me your secrets, gypsy box!" the little filly stage whispered.

'Oh dear God, what?' He didn't get the opportunity to ponder what line of reasoning led to the filly spouting such nonsense, the pony grunting with effort as she managed to swing one of her hind hooves up, the other kicking in air as she struggled to clamber onto the cart. Four proud, muddy hooves dirtied the wood as the filly wore a triumphant smile and a determined expression at her victory over height and gravity, silently mouthing 'yes' to herself and looking behind her to the ground below. She turned her gaze upon the crate and tip-hoofed her way closer and closer to Handy's position. 'Oh for fuck's sake, I am not getting exposed over something so stupid!'

"Hey!"

'Oh thank God.' The little filly turned her head and, though Handy could not see from his vantage, her happy little face of determination slowly fell into one of dread.

"Watcha doing over there, Barley Top?" a slightly larger, red earth pony colt called out, flanked by a trio of other foals that clippity-clopped all the way over to the edge of the cart.

"N-Nothing!" the apparently named Barley Top answered. "And my name is Golden Eye!" Not for the first time, Handy was struck by the oddity of pony naming conventions. Why the hell give a pony a name like that when the characteristics that defined it were at odds with it?

'That's like naming a baby boy Finbar when his hair is blacker than sin. Fucking ponies,' Handy thought derisively, then felt the cart shift and more weight placed upon it and the hurried cloppity-clip of multiple hooves around the wood of his crate. 'FFFFFuck...'

"Yeah well, whatever, Barley Top. Wha’s all this then?" the colt asked, kicking one of the boxes as Golden Eye pouted at him. Handy was equally distressed at the foals fooling around with the other crates, considering they held pieces of his armour.

"Nothing, just boxes."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Then why are you up here if there's nothin' funny about them?" the red colt asked. Handy couldn't see either of them now as they were busy walking across the various crates. The little hole he had revealed the other three foals talking quietly amongst themselves and trying to pull themselves up onto the cart. Handy's eyes widened.

'Where the fuck are those guys!?'

--=--

"Why we'd be happy to put up such a lovely young couple," the elderly mare said happily.

"Siblings," Thorax corrected and the old woman waved a hoof.

"Bah! I thought I had it guessed right! I normally have an eye for these things."

"Whose at the door, Gleam?" a gruff voice shouted from somewhere within the old wooden two storey house.

"Just a few young'uns looking fer a place to stay!" the mare called back into the house.

"Tell them no solicitors!"

"They're not selling anything, they want a place to stay, you deaf fool!"

"Oh... tell them not t'open the door to solicitors!" the stallion replied. The old eggshell-white mare turned and smiled at the pair of ponies.

"Oh, don't mind him right none. Never liked cold callers none since them weird folk by Lake Sandlorn came knocking. Swears they stole his hearing right outta his ears!"

"Lake Sandlorn?" Jacques asked. "I haven't been to Caulkinsborough in a few years, but I don't believe I ever heard of such a place."

"Oh, me neither. Fact, I ain't never heard o' nopony from yonder place. The darn fool went off there about this time last year, following some light blue pony type there."

"Light blue?" Thorax asked, her ear flicking.

"Oh yeah, magey type sort too, real haughty and full of themselves. Brick here swore theys had all sorts of weird magic."

"Weird magic?" Jacques looked at Thorax, who shared it for a moment before turning back to Gleam.

"Can we perhaps talk to your husband about this place?"

--=--

"Hey, leggo!"

"I don't see your name on it, short stuff!"

"It’s not yours!"

'Fuckin' children...' Handy had been putting up with the petulant back and forth between the foals for some time now. If he listened closely, he would have been able to tell the dynamics in this little exchange weighed heavily against the little Golden Eye and that Hide Bound, the red colt tormenting her, had been doing this little song and dance for a long while before this current incident. His cronies helped. Handy didn't give one shit but at least they stopped poking his stuff.

"What’s in these boxes anyway?"

That little fucker.

"I don't know, just… just go away!" Golden Eye said, her voice nearly cracking.

"Or you'll what? Cry at me?"

"Hey, give that back!" In his defence, Handy was at least a little curious about what the colt was doing to the filly, if only because he was just a touch grateful for her enduring suffering a bit longer so he could go on being undiscovered. Truly a worthy cause in his mind. What’s that? Handy didn’t seem to like children very much? Noooo, whatever gave you that idea?

"Nuh uh! You'll get it back when I say you'll get it back!" the haughty little shit announced. There was quiet for a moment before he heard girlish giggling, presumably from Golden Eye. "Wha's so funny?"

"Nothing, just didn't think you were into bows is all, being a colt." There was a trio of snickers coming from all around Handy from the other foals that was suddenly shushed after a few clippity-clops of tiny hooves, indicating wee little Hide Bound had turned around and shushed up their mirth at his expense right quick. Handy was getting quite annoyed at all these rambunctious youths hanging around his cart and threatening to expose him to the world at any minute. Yet there he lay, stiff as a board, trying not to cause a single sound that would draw the foals’ attention back to the box that contained a horrible monster.

And a vampire, but that was beside the point.

"Have your stupid bow!" Hide said. "Wouldn't want to keep anything that belonged to a scaredy-filly like yourself anyway!"

"I am not a scaredy-filly!" Golden whined.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Prove it!"

"P-Prove it?"

"Yeah!" Hide pronounced, echoed by his trio of cronies who were otherwise happily chatting about candy and something about a moon of nightmares. Was that some kind of special lunar event, like a blood moon or something? Handy didn't think that would be a case in a world where pony princesses threw around the celestial bodies like tennis balls, but then again, he didn't really pay much attention to what was going on in the sky most days, largely because once he actually saw a particularly rich-looking griffon land on a cloud.

And open a door on a cloud.

And walk into the cloud.

That was shaped like a house.

That was pretty much the straw that broke the camel's back for Handy's patience regarding the God-damn sky. Between that, the fact that people had to control the weather to get it to work, the fact that the sun revolved around the planet, and the fact that he was pretty sure that the stars were changing semi-regularly, made Handy firmly believe he had no business looking up at the damn thing.

"H-How?" the filly asked.

"This Nightmare Night..." there we go again. "The old Neighson house, we're going to do the human summoning!"

What?

"B-B-But you can't!" No seriously, what?

"Oh I can!" Hide Bound said, his voice low and challenging. "I heard if you draw a circle in chalk and chant his name three times during Nightmare Night while standing within it, he'll appear!"

'Okay, I'll bite. What the fuck is this?' Handy thought, suddenly listening very intently.

"That's not how magic works! S-Summoning isn't, well, that isn't how it works!"

"You would think so, nerd!"

"I'm not a nerd! And that's not what human lore says!" He heard the stomp of a tiny hoof.

'I have lore now? When the hell did I go from Dracula to Bloody Mary to a DnD monster?' Handy thought incredulously.

"Oh yeah? I think yer jus' scared!" Hide Bound teased.

"A-Am not!"

"Then be there!" Handy heard an oof and a tiny body falling over on the cart. "You'll be the one doing the summoning since ya know so much abou' magic!"

"B-But—"

"Wonder what’s in this big box?" Handy's head snapped back to pay attention to the other foals, and his eyes widened.

"Must be important. I wanna see!" another foal said.

'Crapcrapcrapcrap, fuck off, you little shits!' He felt hooves move and shift places on top of the crate above him. And he saw brief slivers of light as tiny hooves attempted to lift up the crate lid.

"Umfh! It’s heavy!"

"Here, lemme help!"

'For the love of Christ, where are you guys!?' Handy thought furiously, preparing to leap from the crate and make a run for it before too many ponies saw him. 'Exposed by nosey little shits of children, are you fucking kidding me!?'

"Hey, what are you doing there?"

'Oh thank holy fuck, Thorax!'

"Uh-oh! Scramble!" Hide Bound shouted, and a flurry of clippity-cloppy hell thundered over his crate and the cart and onto the earth below as they got out of dodge. He heard one set of hooves pause beside the end of the crate where his head lay and a small sigh sounded.

"I wish I got to see what was in there," Golden Eye said before she joined the other foals in scampering.

'Fuck me, I could kiss that changeling... right after I strangle her for leaving me completely alone and unguarded!' There was the sound of more hooves, heavier than the foals, clambering onto the cart, and the top of the crate opened, revealing the evening sunlight, a tree whose branches were mostly emptied of their fiery-coloured leaves, and the apologetic smile of Charity Bell, Thorax's chosen guise.

Handy's eyes narrowed at her.

--=--

"Welcome back to the land of the living!" Jacques called out as he locked the door and closed over the blinds on the sole window. The imagery of Handy emerging from what may as well be a human-sized coffin was not lost on him, and he scowled unappreciatively at Jacques' comment even though he probably didn’t know what he had done.

"And exactly whose idea was it to leave the cart alone where just anyone could saunter over and poke about?" Handy challenged as he brushed off the straw from his pants. Neither answered. Both it and his tunic were severely worn and in near tatters. The past month, as it was, had not been kind to Handy's attire. He wasn't sure where in the hell his socks had gone. He swore he had been wearing them before, but when he was taking off his armour for operation human-in-a-box, he was surprised to find them missing. The thought occurred to him that they and they alone were possibly whisked away by the vortex shard, but that would be ridiculous.

--=--

"Eat your soup dear," a mother told her foal.

"I don' wanna!" the little colt whined. "It tastes icky."

"I will have none of that." The thestral waved her spoon at her colt, and the little unicorn shifted uncomfortably, his horn lacking the ridges of most unicorns, being smooth and slightly curved. That and the tufted ears, chest fur, fangs, as well as the slit eyes betrayed the foal's heritage. "It’s good for a growing foal. Now eat up!"

"But it tastes like socks..." His mother gasped in shock.

"Arcane Crabapple Mist!" The boy winced at the use of his full name. "You will take that back right this instant, young stallion!" the mare said with a haughty raising of her muzzle to the heavens and a rustling of her leathery wings. Her cooking could never be so bad. Her husband was just always late home from work because of overtime, and he totally wasn't eating his dinners literally anywhere else. That would be ridiculous! "And where did you learn about those... things!?" The boy played with the spoon in his magic and looked anywhere other than at his mother.

"... Well I read them on the cover of those funny books dad hides in the closet," the colt mumbled as he consigned his father to the couch for the foreseeable future. The mare was absolutely livid.

"Eat. Your soup. Honey," she said through a strained smile. "I'll have a... talk with your father when he gets back."

"But it tas—"

"It does not taste like socks!" the mare near shouted. The two of them winced and screeched as they covered their eyes, a blinding flash appearing in the air over the table. There was a wet, soppy splash and the mare felt something hot wash against her coat as her bowl spilled over. When she blinked her eyes open, what she saw rendered her speechless. Both she and her son looked at the bowls of soup before them for a long, quiet moment before her son started snickering.

"...Well it does now!"

--=--

"And what, pray tell, took you two so long?" Handy asked, walking over to what appeared to be a disused workbench while the other two finished lifting the crates in from the cart outside.

"Just talking with our landlords," Thorax said happily, practicing that chipper voice for Charity Bell. Seemed she was keeping that French accent for now.

"Landlords?" Handy asked, not turning around as he rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, inspecting his left wrist. His gaze lingered on it for an uncomfortably long time before he rolled his voluminous sleeve back over it. One more thing to put to the back of his mind as he resolved to never, ever, ever give in to the temptation to scratch it again and making it... worse.

"You didn't think we'd be lodging for free, did you?" Jacques smiled, placing the box with Handy's helmet on top of his 'coffin'.

"What? All three of us? Here?" Handy looked around the rather spacious work shed. It was nearly entirely taken up by useless bullshit, metal poles, half-worked wood, numerous junk, and detritus, as well as work tools and some disused farming implements both too big and specialized to be any use to the tending of the small pumpkin patch he spied through the window. As well as shelves filled with God only knew what. He had grabbed a ball of twine, taking one end and preparing to wrap it about his wrist to tie down the sleeve of his tunic.

"Well, really more just you," Thorax said with a smile. God, he hated French Charity Bell. What happened to not-French moody Charity Bell he loathed? At least she had character.

"Just me?"

"They offered us rooms for the night, and that we could store our belongings here." There was a pause. "What? You didn't think we would have been able to agree to get them to give asylum to a four hoof walking nightmare, now did you?"

"... I will admit I had not given consideration to that little hiccup," Handy admitted, not commenting on the pony unit of measurement. Trying to figure out how six feet equated to four hooves was a problem for future Handy. "So how long are we staying here? Hast thou figured out where we are yet?" He looked at Jacques, who smiled and took his hat off with a flourish.

"Ah vous avez si peu de foi en moi, yes. This is Bridlesborough, a quaint little hameau not far from the Black Coast enclave."

"The what?"

"It’s this little patch of Equestrian land on the east coast that was ceded to the Black Isles," Thorax explained, opening the crates and taking out the armour as well as her own packs and goods from the grateful deer. She paused when she pulled out Handy's side pack. A quick glance up at Handy, and she quickly put it down beside the crate in full sight of him.

"Why? I thought the Black Isles was far off Equestria's West Coast?"

"It is, but it was given to them to house their eastern navy. Supposedly to help curb piracy." Jacques snorted. Handy didn't know the history nor the politics involved, but he did keenly recall the issue of piracy in the eastern ocean off the Equestrian and Griffonian coasts was a major issue during the talks in Canterlot. If Jacques' reaction was anything to go by, the Black Isles weren't holding up their end of whatever deal was made.

"It is also home sweet home to yours truly," Jacques said. "I have many friends there. We'll be able to find your Thunder quite easily, I assure you." Handy's eyes narrowed.

"Thou soundth like thou hast experience using thine contacts to track people down before," Handy said warily. Jacques smiled and looked towards the window, studying the blinds, the half-light filling the room hiding any subtleties to his expression.

"I am a mercenary mon frere. You were once too, no? We take work wherever we find it, oui?"

"Anyway..." Thorax butted in. "We'll actually be taking off for the next day or two." Handy started.

"What? Why?"

"Because we may not need to go as far as the enclave. It appears our dear landlord Brick has experience... with a certain light blue pony with strange magic in a nearby town." Handy rose to his feet.

"Then what the hell are we doing here then? Let’s go!"

"Easy ami, let’s not rush into anything."

"It’s probably best you stay here," Thorax added.

"Excuse me?" Handy's voice was incredulous.

"It is only a short distance away," Jacques began, "but I'd rather not be weighed down by uh... hauling the wagon just so you aren't spotted."

"And he's probably not even there," Thorax explained, "but we'd draw far less attention without you, and I... We can get information a lot easier without anything to worry about." Jacques raised an eyebrow at her, and Handy gave her an unimpressed look. "...Fine, I'm hungry alright? I don't want you getting weird about it."

"Didn't you say you can feed just by standing in a city?"

"Can't you eat by subsuming on breadcrumbs from the floor?" Thorax riposted with an unamused face. She then turned to Jacques as her tail flicked. "This... isn't going to be a problem, is it?" Jacques tipped his hat up and returned her look, the smile still on his face but otherwise betraying nothing.

"You aren't going to hurt anypony, right?" he asked.

"...No."

"Then I suppose it won't be that much of a problem. I don't see why it would."

"But..." Thorax began before closing her mouth and turning back to Handy, who was busy watching the exchange with curiosity. "In any case, if he's there, we can get you. If not, then at least we'll be able to move on from here relatively quickly. It shouldn't take too long."

Handy did not care for this at all, but he could see their logic. "Fine. How long am I staying here then?" There was a small cracking noise, and suddenly smoke filled the room. They coughed and spluttered until someone had the sense to open the door, Jacques waving his hat to encourage the dark substance to filter out into the air.

"Sorry, désolé, mon mauvais! I was looking at these shelves when I dropped one of these odd metal balls." Jacques indicated the offending box of metal spheres. "Pourquoi ce vieux étalon ne ont quelque chose comme ça?" His voice sounded annoyed.

"S-Should only be a few days," Thorax said, coughing, the air now substantially more clear. Thankfully, the smoke wasn't toxic, but it was still agitating. "We'll leave tomorrow."

"Oh, and exactly what am I going to do when the old pony comes waltzing right in here while you two are away?"

"He won't. He almost never comes out here, according to his wife." Handy narrowed his eyes at Thorax. "...Okay, right, that almost certainly means he will, but we at least have the key so we can lock it."

"Give it to me."

"What? Why?"

"Because if thou art going be gone for three days, I at least want control over where I go to the privy."

"Oh...right, yeah." Thorax blinked, floating the key over to the waiting human's hand. "Anyway, we should go back inside. The old folks invited us for dinner, and we need to make excuses for why we'll be leaving tomorrow but leaving our 'stuff' here. We'll bring you out something."

"My thanks." Thorax looked back at Jacques who was outside, moving the cart farther from the door.

"And don't think I've forgotten about that talk we're going to have, Heartless. Jacques may not have noticed, but I did." She pointed to the human's wrist and the length of twine that tied the sleeve to his wrist. He moved it behind his back and scowled at her. "The mission is still paramount, human, and I will get the pendant back to make my report when I return. I will not be taking no for an answer." They looked at each other hard for a long moment, neither breaking their gaze before Thorax suddenly turned and left the work shed. "Be sure to keep it locked at night." Handy watched her go as she closed the door with her magic.

Idly, he rubbed his wrist, taking care not to rub the fabric of his tunic too hard against the skin as he thought about how much of... it she had seen, if anything. Maybe she had just seen how oddly preoccupied he was with it. Then again, maybe not – he couldn't be sure. He just knew it was itching something fierce and he really really really needed some more salve. The memory of the pain shooting through his arm, suddenly and without any apparent cause, helped him put that urge in its place, however.

Just one more thing, one of many, he would rather not think about at that moment.

--=--

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Handy mouthed as he spied upon the world outside, taking the opportunity to stave off boredom and take his mind off of... everything by watching the ponies of the town. Jacques and Thorax had taken off that morning and weren't due back until at least the morning after Nightmare Night. Speaking of which...

You see, it was one thing that the ponies had an analogous holiday for Valentine's Day, even if it was in the summer time rather than upon the cusp of spring as the holiday he was familiar with took place. What he had not anticipated was, for lack of a better term, Pony Halloween. Don't get him wrong: winter solstices, autumnal harvests, national holidays, religious customs, all of that made sense to him. All of them were perfectly valid reasons for having any number of festivals during the fall. That was fine.

What was inexplicable was ponies running around in costumes while houses and buildings were dressed up in spider webs and bat decorations and little wooden statuettes and bric-a-brac strewn everywhere in a near carbon-copy replica of modern Halloween customs from back home. Now, being Irish, Handy had shall we say, a somewhat personal association with All Hollow's Eve, both as the ancient pagan festival that had survived well into the modern era with quaint little traditions with rather macabre origins, as well as the religious feast day for all of the saints. Also, it was one of his favourite holidays next to Christmas and Easter, and the day brought fond memories of violent exchanges between his neighbours across the road as a child in friendly firework wars where you scored a point for every 'screamer' that hit the other house's wall. Of the community coming together around the village bonfire, drinking openly while playing music and instruments as the children played hide and seek in the surrounding trees of the park forest in their costumes and scraping knees and getting bloody noses from inevitably tripping, falling and chasing each other with sticks to banish the bad monsters of the group. Of mummery, where great honour was had in perpetrating the greatest fuckery of another person's property without legitimately destroying it. He remembered one of the old man's tales of how he and his friends lured their boss away from his house, deconstructed one of those old fashioned, rather massive haulage wagons of days gone by and reassembled it within his kitchen, literally filling the room to the brim and taking their boss days to get it back out. And then hitting mass before or after the shenanigans began, whichever usually came first.

Sure, it was dangerous as hell, but then again, these memories came from back before everyone was a faggot who hated fun. Handy couldn't remember the last time he saw a bonfire in his home town. Health and safety concerns or some such nonsense. But that just brought him back to his present predicament. You see, all of those silly little traditions of modern Halloween? As stupid as they were, they all made sense. They all had origins and reasons as to why it turned into what it now was. Handy, for the life of him, could not understand why the ponies at this time of the year just up and decided to have a spooky holiday that was aesthetically indistinguishable from an American TV show's depiction of the holiday. The only thing missing was the pumpkins!

...Wait a minute, why didn't they have any pumpkins? Handy looked at the pumpkin patch that the elderly couple were growing in the back yard of their house. They appeared to be reasonably affluent despite the run down appearance of their home, especially in comparison to the other homes he saw from his limited vista of the town, most of which were clustered together along the cobblestone roads and almost none of them had plots of land to grow anything themselves. However, whatever their affluence was, it didn't come from their small gourd farm that was noticeably overgrown, with a fair number of large ripe pumpkin any sane family from back home would already be haggling the price of in order to get ready for the holiday.

Looking about, none of the houses had pumpkins or anything like them upon their porches, or hanging from the door, or resting within the window. Logically, it followed that the ponies probably didn't have a tradition of carving faces into a gourd to make it reminiscent of a severed head used to fool and scare off evil spirits. That took a special brand of insanity his ancestors had in abundance, but given everything else the ponies had...

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a green claw clambering over the top of the low wall separating the pumpkin patch and Handy's hiding place from the road. He pulled back from the window quickly, closing the blinds before he was spotted. He drew closer to it once more and pulled it juuust enough to the side to let him spy outside when he started hearing familiar voices.

"Oh come on! Help me with this!"

"I dunno, Hidey!"

"Don't be such a baby, Felt! And don't call me Hidey!"

"But mom—"

"Shut up! Help me steal these!"

"But stealing's wrong, Hide!"

“We’ll give it back!” Yeah there was no mistaking it; that was the voice of the kid from when he was in his coffin. What the hell were they up to? “Sides, don’tcha wanna see the look on little Barley Top’s face when we scare her?”

“Not really,” replied the colt who was apparently named Felt. Hide Bound appeared to be wearing some kind of weird lizard pony costume, head of a pony with two horns but with a serpentine body and clawed paws and feet. Felt appeared to be a soldier of some sort, with armour made out of bits of wood and tack. “Ow!”

“Come on, I need your help. Here, help me get a big one.”

“All the way to the house on a hill?”

“Yeah! We’re gonna get Barley to do that stupid human summoning ritual thing you hear about, then we’ll spook her!”

“How we gonna do that with a pumpkin, Hidey?”

“...Uhhh, I’ll figure it out. Now come on.” Handy stepped away from the window, thinking. That’s right, he did hear those kids mention something about a human summoning ritual. That had to be referring to him. What the hell had the pony grapevine been doing to his rep down here? Turn him into Freddy fucking Krueger?

Then Handy got an evil idea, a truly insidiously malicious thought that, now that it was in his mind, refused to leave. You know, he was trying to hide his presence from the Equestrians and for good reason too. But it was Halloween after all, a day of trickery, deceit, and scares, and he did owe those kids back from getting their filthy fucking hooves all over his boxes. He eyed the pumpkin patch once more as he saw the two kids heft a rather large pumpkin over the stone wall, then looked about the various tools of the shed he was staying in, and a plan slowly formed in his mind. He had around three days to fuck around. that should be plenty of time to prepare. He just needed to wait until nightfall to find the house they were talking about. Neighson house. It was stupid, very very stupid, but he had just spent two weeks in a hell forest and was relegated to a shed for a few days and had to travel in a coffin. He needed something to relieve the stress. And besides, a little filly really did want to see what was inside the gypsy box.

She should really be careful about what she wished for.

--=--

That night, he got to work. He had to wait at least sometime after midnight before he felt safe leaving the shed. The streetlamps were doused, and the town had gone to bed, nobody on the streets but the occasional pair of cloaked guardponies doing their graveyard shift, small lanterns hung upon billhooks as they did their rounds.

Avoiding them was easy enough. What was hard was navigating pitch black alleys and streets without any light himself. It was cloudy that night, so the moon wasn’t any help, and being a vampire unfortunately did fuck all to help his night vision on its own. He remembered thestral blood rendering that negligible, the night appearing as bright and as clear as any day and—

No, none of that now, Handy, you were only going to make yourself hungrier. It had been over a week – don’t make the pangs any worse. He had taken one of the pumpkins himself, not too big of a one, and wrapped it in some old dusty sheets. He kept his distance from any windows as he stalked through the streets. The town wasn’t that big, at most a thousand souls in all with the winding, zigzag random street pattern of an old settlement that had grown up over the centuries rather than being planned. It was easy to get lost in it if you didn’t stick to the main streets. He used the landmarks such as a steepled bell tower and a particularly large watchtower at the western wall to get his bearings while keeping a wary eye on the windows of the quiet homes. That said, it had taken him over an hour to find the house he was looking for. At first he wasn’t sure he had the right place, but sure enough it was the right building. How could he be sure? Because there was an honest to God post box near the rusted front gate proclaiming it as the Neighson residence.

‘You have got to be fucking kidding me,’ he thought to himself as he looked up at it. It was on the northern edge of town, nothing for forty metres in any direction but briars, dead grass, and an honest to God spooky swamp the size of a small garden at the back where the property met the wall, separating it from a rather run down part of town that seemed to have a collection of abandoned houses. The house itself was entirely wooden, rotten, and black with age, its stained wood groaning under its own weight with yawning, irregular window frames with mismatched shutters that flapped and clashed against the wind. A crooked, gnarled, dead tree, blacker than sin, grew out from the side of the hill, its empty branches reaching skyward like vengeful claws and a lone, forlorn swing hung from its branches on one solitary rope, the other having rotted away. All it needed was some lightning to flash in the background and a wolf howling in the distance and it’d be the archetypical, cartoonish home for the local neighbourhood vampire.

…

This place was fucking perfect.

--=--

Meanwhile, Thorax and Jacques were having a pleasant time being entertained by the friendly ponies of Lake Sandlorn.

Thorax hated the place immediately.

“Oh relax, would you?” Jacques said, putting up his hat for the night. He reached with his magic to take off his sword belt, hesitating just a moment in thought to spare Thorax a glance before deciding to follow through, putting his weapon up as well. “So our quarry is not here. A waste of time, yes, but can we not just enjoy the friendly hospitality nonetheless?”

“I don’t like it,” Thorax said, walking with a limp, ensuring she didn’t put too much weight on her injured leg. Her tail twitched, her ears flicked, and her nose itched like crazy. What the hell was it about this town that was setting her off? “Everything… tastes weird.”

“Ohhh? I didn’t know you were hungry, mon chère,” Jacques chided playfully. She pushed him off as she continued pacing the small room.

“No, this is serious,” she said, still in her guise as Charity Bell. “I got a… taste of the town when we arrived. Everypony was smiling, happy, doing their business, but it felt… hollow, faded.” Jacques shrugged.

“Wouldn’t be the first town where everypony was not as happy as they appeared.”

“Yeah, but apparently this town is new? The buildings all look clean and recently built. Even the lake supposedly wasn’t here before. And if it’s a new community, why would there be such underlying resentment as to make everypony’s feelings seem so… well, unreal?”

“I will admit, last time I was out by this part of the countryside, I do recall this place being little more than wilderness. The wonders of earth pony land reclamation on display, no?” Thorax considered it for a minute. The streets were freshly laid cobblestone, yet each and every one showed such wear and tear that it as if every single piece was lifted from previously laid roads elsewhere. The lake was fresh and clean and had plenty of fish but seemed to have no source of water contributing to it at all. None of the main roads connected to the town directly, nor did any signposts lead to it. They had had to ask directions from a rather… odd looking merchant pony who tasted cold and stale. The ponies were happy and lively and behaved exactly as one would expect them to anywhere else. Almost too exactly, almost as if it were practiced. The buildings were new but their designs seemed archaic and there was that pervasive sense of everything being just a bit ‘off’ that wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t put her hoof on it. She jumped when she received a peck on the cheek from Jacques, realizing she must’ve spaced out. “Get some sleep; it’s been a long trip.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, shifting uncomfortably from the brief burst of warmth as she fed on the tiny sample of passion he had given her. This was going to be a problem. She had no idea how to actually deal with this, but it could wait. Then she noted that there was only one bed. Huh. “Don’t get any ideas. I don’t know what you think of my people but we—”

“Were you saying something?” Jacques asked, turning around, currently raiding the linen closet to lay out some makeshift bedding. Thorax closed her mouth. Well, that simplified matters. She smiled, closing her eyes and raising her hoof to her chest.

“I’m flattered you’d be so chivalrous as to give me the bed for the night. Thank you.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Jacques said as he walked over to the bed, hopping up onto it. “The linens on the floor are for you.”

Thorax blinked rapidly. “Wait, what?”

“Goodnight, chère,” Jacques said, blowing out the candle and casting the room into darkness with nothing but the moonlight for guidance. It took Thorax all of five seconds to decide that no, in fact, she would not be the one to be sleeping on the floor that night and proceeded to tackle her would-be paramour off of the bed. The ensuing wrestling bout to decide who would be sleeping where caused quite a ruckus, with lots of shouting and things falling over, a situation that doubtlessly would have been hilarious to the ponies down below if such creatures had been capable of such simple things as true laughter.

Instead, it went unnoticed and unremarked as the clouds drew over the face of the moon and blocked out the stars. A mist crept up from the lake before expanding and bathing the hamlet in a fog so thick one could not see from one end of the street to another.

And upon the break of morn, when the sun had risen yet not penetrated the expanse that blanketed the town, a keening whine could be heard in the distance.

--=--

The first night had been educational.

First of all, Nieghson house was a fucking death trap in some parts. Handy wanted to scare the balls off of the kids, not fucking murder them. One room, he discovered, the floor was rotting away under his feet and threatened to give way to fall into a small sinkhole that descended a good five metres, just to give an example of the danger involved here. He couldn’t stop the kids from coming here without revealing himself, so he did the next best thing and tried to create a controlled environment. He closed over the windows and locked the shutters from the inside of the more dangerous rooms, to dissuade children trying to enter the house through them, before closing over the doors themselves and moving some of the heavier cabinets and wardrobes in front of doors to disguise their existence.

There was a trick to this. Children were naturally inquisitive, and if this Nightmare Night was anything like Halloween from back home, the kids were going to troll each other by ‘daring’ the scared kids into entering the spookier rooms. Yeah, not on Handy’s fucking watch they weren’t. They weren’t even going to know they existed by the time he was done. However, you didn’t get anywhere by just denying children everything – you had to give them something. To that effect, he went to the front foyer, little more than a glorified cloak room, and did some shenanigans. He locked the door using the simple push lock but left the window next to it wide open, the window blowing the moth eaten curtains about. That should make the more adventurous of the little bastards enter this way.

He also discovered the foyer’s walls were rotten down. One fell down into the room next to it when Handy just so much as touched it. It revealed a crawl space in between two walls that would let him climb easily up to the first floor into another room whose own thin wall had rotted away, giving him a truly evil idea. He placed the fallen wall back in place, ready to be removed when necessary.

It went about like this for some time, cutting off certain sections of the house he didn’t want anyone going into and directing the flow towards others. In one room, he emptied the heavy furniture to block off some doorways and deliberately placed a rocking chair facing a closed window, a hole from the room above allowing him to lower some thin twine to connect to the chair. In another, he found an old toy ball, red but worn with age and decided to keep a hold of it, just in case some kids had enough balls to try the stairs.

Speaking of the stairs, they were at the back of the house, right beside the door that led out into the swampy backyard. Handy wanted that door off fucking limits, so he piled some shit in front of it while making the stairs look as foreboding as possible by draping black and grey sheets over the railings. There were some faded pictures of ponies around the house. He gathered them up and put as many of them on the wall beside the stairs, facing the doors to the rest of the house so when ponies thought to use the back door, they’d see the really ominously blocked backdoor and the creepy ass stairs leading up. He gathered more of the ruined sheets he found about the house and wrapped them around the wooden handle of a rotten brush. He had an idea to use them in conjunction with those metal spheres in the shed Jacques had found.

Finally, there were two other concerns. First, the front of the house was full of briars. If he was scaring these colts and fillies out of their fucking wits, he didn’t want them storming out the front door and getting caught in all the briars. It’d be funny, sure, but crying children could be a real fucking damper on some good mummery you got going on. To that effect, he made the third exit of the house an easy sell. It was also locked to prevent them entering it, but the side entrance should be easily accessible to Handy now that he knew a few of this house’s nooks and crannies. It led to a relatively clear path down the hillside into the town towards the market district where they should run into plenty of wary adults. He hid the door leading to the side exit with a tall full body mirror with another sheet drawn across it like a funerary shroud, just obviously enough of a blockaded door for even children to recognise. If everything went as planned that was.

The entire process took hours, and he still didn’t get around to his secondary concern before someone took notice of all the odd sounds coming from the old abandoned house on the hill at all hours of the night. Handy stopped what he was doing when he heard voices at the front door. Quietly, he tiptoed his way across the first floor to where he knew the entrance to the crawlspace was. Two guards entered the front door, the unicorn having unlocked it by poking his head through the window.

“I’m telling you, Far, there were some weird noises coming from here. And some of the guys swore they saw blue lights in the windows.” Handy quickly doused his witch torch. It had taken him a full hour to work up the courage to strike a match to light it, even with his hands covered. He cursed inwardly. He should have been more careful when working near the windows with it.

“If it’ll shut you up, we’ll have a look around, okay? I’m here, aren’t I?” The two stallions tramped about the ground floor. Handy couldn’t see them from the room he was in. He kept creeping to the crawlspace until his foot caused a particularly old floorboard to creak loudly.

“What was that!?” the more jittery guard shouted. Handy screwed his eyes shut and winced, cursing internally.

“It’s just the wood settling. Get a hold of yourself, Iron.”

“It came from upstairs! I’m gonna have a look.” There was the tell-tale flap of feathery wings and four iron show hooves landed on the mezzanine overlooking the main room. Handy had barely gotten the cover of the crawlspace back up before a furry, armoured head poked into the room he had been in a moment before. Never before had he been so grateful to not be burdened down by his armour. “I… could’ve sworn I heard breathing,” the pegasus said as he searched the other rooms.

“Hey, what’s this?” he managed to hear. Seemed like the unicorn had joined his comrade upstairs. “A pumpkin?”

“What’s a pumpkin doing here?” Handy resisted the urge to groan. He knew he was forgetting something. He had put the pumpkin down while he was doing his work.

“My guess? Some kids.”

“Well, whatever. Wanna take it?”

“What are you going to do with a pumpkin?”

“Well, I thought we could use the juice!”

“We’re on duty, Iron. Come on, there’s nothing else here,” the unicorn said, presumably the guy named Far something or other. The two eventually finished looking around the house. Thankfully, they didn’t think to question why they could only find two out of three doors to the house, nor why the backdoor was blocked so deliberately. But then again, it was an abandoned house. You probably wouldn’t question it either.

When they left Handy decided it was probably best to call it a night. The sun was rising, so he didn’t have a hope in hell of getting back to the shed in time without being seen. He was dog tired, even though it felt good to be working on something constructive to take his mind off of things. Taking great care, he used the crawlspace to relock the front door before returning to the first floor, heading to the loft and retracted the decrepit ladder that he couldn’t be entirely sure would hold his weight and closed over the entrance to the loft. There was one round window that he blocked with some more sheets. It was rough, but by this point in his life, he was used to sleeping rough.

He found some ancient linens that had an approximate fuckerton of moths inside them when he disturbed the bundle. He used it to sleep in, taking care to hide behind the detritus of the attic just in case someone investigated the house during the day while he slept. At least this way when the old fart who owned the shed he was technically ‘renting’ while his companions went off and sherlocked Thunder’s location for him entered it to nosey about, all he’d find is locked crates sans one conspicuous human.

He guessed that worked. At least this attic was a lot more spacious than his fucking coffin. Briefly, he wondered how the other two were doing, before eventually deciding to dismiss it.

They would be alright without him for a few days.

--=--

Thorax’s lungs burned as she galloped through the streets, ignoring the pain and aches in her still healing leg. She skidded around a corner as she went down yet another street. Horrifying near-pony things shifted and convulsed at the edge of her vision, some even crawling out from under carriages and carts, their limbs bent unnaturally and their movements jerky and surreal.

She couldn’t find a way out. The hill leading up to the main road simply wasn’t there anymore, replaced by a yawning chasm with an endless abyss at the bottom, and she lost Jacques. He hadn’t been there when she woke up that morning. The linens she slept in had turned to rotten cloth; the wood of the inn they stayed in was rotten and diseased; flies covered virtually everything, and there was the persistent scent of decay and rot everywhere.

Her horn glowed and tore a wooden sign from a shop off its hinges from where it hung over the doorway and swung it, braining one of the… things. It let off a horrible, scratching noise that hurt her ears, and she swung again and ran on blindly. She eventually came to an intersection and had to stop, breathing heavily. She looked around desperately. Nothing, none of those things were around. She walked over to a wall and leaned against it, catching her breath, the sign she used as an impromptu weapon fallen on the ground beside her. The wall was wet with condensation. When she had recovered, she pushed off and looked around her again. Turning back to the wall, her heart stopped.

‘There was a hole here. It’s gone now,’ the words read, and for some reason Thorax felt incredibly shaken. Shivering, she backed away. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears as she stared at the strange message, unsure about why it had such an effect on her.