"'Scuse me, Mister. Are you H.P. Fearcraft?"
A tired-looking grey stallion looked up from his salad and regarded the three fillies. His expression and manner were those of one realizing he had made a mistake by seeking peace and quiet at an outdoor cafe on a busy street. That is, he was struggling to not respond snappishly.
"In the flesh," he said. "And for that matter, the bone."
For a moment, the Crusaders paused at this unusual introduction, before Apple Bloom, who had been the first to speak, said: "We heard you have a scorpion for a pet."
"And you wear this freaky white mask when you write..." Sweetie Belle said.
"And you eat red meat!" Scootaloo said, grinning at the thrill of an encounter with the strange and unusual.
"The first two rumors are true," Fearcraft said. "The third was started by me."
Apple Bloom cocked an eyebrow. "Why in th' world would you do a thing like that?"
"It is a small town. I wanted to see how long a scandalous rumor would take to get back to me." Fearcraft's eyes narrowed a bit, and his voice gained a bitter undertone. "In this case, about six minutes."
Awkward glances passed between the Crusaders before Fearcraft spoke again.
"Unless you're avid readers of weird fiction, I assume that's how you know about me. And I believe I've heard of you three—the, ah, 'Cutie Mark Crusaders'."
"That's right," Apple Bloom said. "We were just wonderin', well..."
"About this?" he gestured to the marking of the horse's skull and crossed hip bones on his left flank.
The fillies nodded in tandem.
Fearcraft glanced at a small cloth satchel that sat on the table beside his plate. Then he turned back to the Crusaders with his eyebrows arched and a devilish smile on his muzzle. "Alright," he said, "here is the story, to the best of my recollection.
"My family lived on an estate in Hollow Shades. To the south of town, rising out of the forest, there stood a lone hill upon which no plant ever grew. There, the powdery, pale grey soil exuded a foul smell—like burning rubber mixed with rotting meat. If you went to the hill alone and stood at the top, and waited quietly, you might begin to feel as though some presence were watching you. But when you looked around, you saw you were alone.
"The village children used to dare one another to stand alone up there, but I was the only one who did so regularly, and without being asked, for I was unafraid—relatively, at least.
"One night, I went to sleep with a heavy heart, because I had been asked by the schoolmarm to write a short story, and with a dearth of inspiration, had run out of time. The story was due the next morning, and I was doomed.
"But that night, I had a vivid dream. I found myself at the edge of town, and something compelled me to go into the woods. Soon, I found myself climbing the dead hill. There was no wind, and so the foetor was stronger than on any of my previous visits, and twice I nearly gagged. At length I reached the top, and stood at the centre, facing south.
"I waited—I didn't know what for, or for how long. I felt no wind in my hair, and heard none of the forest's usual night sounds. There were neither moon nor stars, but a sourceless ambient glow made this night clearer than most.
"After few minutes, movement from above caught my eye, and I looked up to see the clouds swirling in a great vortex above me, as if they were being drained away from the skies and into some aether beyond the equine eye's ability to see. The heavenly whirlpool glowed with bloody red light.
"Then, I felt a sharp pain in my right fore ankle, and I will never forget what I saw when I looked down. A talon made of of long, thin white bones, reaching out of the dirt, had fastened around the limb.
"I tried to scream, but choked on the pervasive stench. I scrambled backward, and though the thing that gripped me did not hold me back, neither did it let go. As I retreated, I pulled more of the macabre limb from the ground. I remember it being long, thin, and intricate, which was odd, given the strength with which it held me. Whatever was down there, I was helping it out of the earth.
"After I pulled a considerable length of bone from the ground, something halted my progress—as if the thing had snagged. I gathered my strength and gave a mighty heave. There came a cracking from below, and the greater part of it burst forth in a shower of dust. I saw what must have been ribs, a spine, shoulder blades... not a single one of which quite resembled that of any creature known to the modern world.
"But the skull! I will take its unnatural features to my grave. To this day, I still sometimes see it when I close my eyes. And it looked something like...
"This!" In a flash of off-white light, Fearcraft flung open the satchel on the table and drew forth a grotesque mask. It had a flat face, sharp teeth, and a carnivore's jaw, and Fearcraft glowered at the Crusaders through its empty eye sockets.
Sweetie recoiled, wide-eyed. Scootaloo grinned and leaned forward. Apple Bloom rolled her eyes.
"Well, at any rate..." Fearcraft returned the mask to its bag, and continued. "I awoke then, covered in cold sweat. It was just past the witching hour. I ran to my typewriter, and when the marm called for the stories that day, I was ready.
"Unfortunately, she was a mare of limited imagination, and tried to have me expelled, saying I was disturbed, and must be dangerous. I was obliged from then on to attend the school across town. And although the image of bones on my hide often makes introductions dubious, I've been told it suits me.
"When I found this mask in a Manehattan junk shop many years later, I recognized its shape from my dream. The merchant told me he bought it from a zebra pedlar, but no zebra I have ever spoken to has recognized it—or so they have said.
"At any rate, it has been useful. Some ponies have thinking caps, and I have a thinking mask. But someday, I hope to learn what I saw in that fateful dream."
Those present sat silent for a moment. Then, Scootaloo perked up, ruffled her wings, and said, "That was really cool, Mr. Fearcraft!"
"Ah, yeah. 'Cool'." Apple Bloom only partly resisted rolling her eyes again.
Sweetie said nothing, but something in the distance caught her eye, and she tapped on her friends' shoulders, then pointed to where she was looking.
Scootaloo frowned and said, "Uh, thanks, Mr. Fearcraft, but we've got lots more to do today, so..."
The three made hurried goodbyes and trotted away, side by side. Fearcraft turned his attention back to his plate.
A moment later, a new voice piped up from almost the same place as the Crusaders' had. "Hello, Mr. New Guy." The tone was flippant.
Fearcraft grunted with annoyance, and turned to see two fillies wearing expensive jewelry and impish expressions.
The one with the tiara spoke again. "We saw you talking to those three blank-flanks. Obviously, you haven't heard."
"Heard what, exactly?" Fearcraft's tone suggested he had had about enough of curious fillies.
"Well, a grown-up like you should know: It's bad to be seen hanging around with losers." She emphasized the last word. "Ponies might say things about you."
"I'll take it under advisement," Fearcraft said. "Say, do you want to know how I got these skulls?" He indicated his flank.
Diamond Tiara opened her mouth to respond, but Fearcraft went on. "Two snobbish fillies were making fun of my blank flank. I dropped a rather large rock on them." A fiendish grin again covered his features. "If you ever find that rock, don't look under it."