I awoke with a head feeling three sizes too big and a stomach loaded with acid. These things wouldn’t have bothered me so much—most mid-twenty year old males were more than accustomed to the stereotypical bad hangover—but the blurry images that came to me from the night before overtook my thoughts like a splash of ice water to the brain.
“Pony…” I muttered out through dry and cracked lips, before deciding it was worthy of a chuckle.
That’s right. It had been a pony. A dark one that yelled at me and tried to bite my face off with his teeth.
“No more shots for Steve, I think.”
I rubbed a hand along my forehead and noticed something odd. Thick black hairs were stuck to my fingers, far darker than the hair atop my head.
I exhaled a shaky breath and tried to chuckle again. The dresser jammed in front of my door killed them quick.
“Oh, now I remember.”
Thinking quickly, I went to the closet and got what I needed.
***
The pony was already awake before I removed the chair from the door and opened my storage room; in the exact same place I recalled he’d been the previous night. He sat on the floor, propped up on two legs. His eyes never left mine, nor ever seemed to blink.
For a pony, he had an odd amount of facial expression. This morning’s expression I’d label as stoic annoyance.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
I took a quick glance at myself. “My old hockey equipment. I played a year and a bit on defense before realizing how much I sucked.” The equipment in question was a few sizes too small in the years since I’d played and already stifling. Still, I felt safer behind a few inches of heavy rubber and foam. “This is also to keep your teeth away from me. You plan on trying to snack on me again?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“But not while you’re clad in that. That material might be poisonous.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe from a buildup of sweat, but honestly, I’m not trying to kill you. Not unless you force me to. Last night was… a mistake, I think on both our parts.”
He grinned thinly. “You trapped me in a bag and tried to throw me away.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I’m sure many think that right now. Twilight Sparkle included.”
“Twilight Sparkle? What is that? A type of candy bar?”
He kept silent, staring daggers at me. It was hard to take him seriously with a mane full of French fries and a tomato slice stuck to his side of his stomach.
“What’s your name? I thought it started with an ‘s.’”
“Starts with an ‘s’ and ends with an ‘ombra,’” he replied thickly. “King Sombra. You would do well to remember that.”
“Gotcha. I’m Steve.”
I held out a padded hand. I’m still not sure why, maybe reflex.
Sombra looked at the outstretched hand as if it were a rock.
I raised a brow. “No one taught you to shake?”
He pursed his lips. “What is your endgame, Steve? Why am I here? What have you done with my powers?”
I held up a finger. “I don’t have a good answer for any of those, but that doesn’t matter right now. You smell. Bad. Like hot garbage bad.”
“I care not about my current state. You reek of fear. A fear that can be manipulated and used against you. Tell me and speak truthfully: what is it you fear most?”
I sighed. “Conversations without end.”
“What else?”
“Smelly ponies.”
I yanked him off the floor and carried him out.
***
“I don’t like this! Cease at once!”
I held him close to my chest, pinning his legs against me so he couldn’t lash out. The trip to the washroom from the storage room was only a couple of steps, but he made it seem like a whole lot more.
He turned his head to glance into the washroom, spotting the tub full of water and bubbles. “So that’s it, then? You plan on drowning me?”
I held him over the water. “If I wanted to drown you, I wouldn’t have wasted all my good bubbles on you. You would’ve gone head first into the toilet, although I’m sure that would only end up clogging it.”
I lowered him into the tub, his tail grazing the surface of the water.
“Stop! It’s too hot!”
“It’s hardly lukewarm, you crybaby.”
His flailing legs connected with my arm pads, doing next to nothing. When his rump hit the water, his pupils dilated and he looked up at me with pity.
I had none. He stunk.
When he came to rest at the bottom of the tub, he stopped fighting and merely sat, a frown on his muzzle that was soon to be his trademark scowl. He absently flicked at the water with a hoof. “I guess it’s not too hot.”
I grabbed a large brush from underneath the sink and a cup. I used the cup to dump water over his head before brushing out the bits of leftover food. I kept on the tips of my toes in case he tried to bite at me again. Head to toe in pads and a helmet, I didn’t think he had a chance of doing much damage.
I awkwardly mashed a glove full of shampoo into his curvy mane. “You’re lucky I’m used to taking care of big dogs.”
Sombra remained focused on the silver tub handle, ignoring my existence. “Where is this mutt? Perhaps I can convince him to side with me and devour your corpse.”
“He’s not here,” was all I said to that.
I spotted the plastic toy next to the conditioner bottle—a joke housewarming gift from my mom.
I grabbed it and gave it a squeeze in front of his face. “You want to play with the rubber ducky?”
Somehow he managed to frown harder. “What makes you think I’d want something so juvenile?”
I squeezed it again. “So no ducky?”
He grabbed it from me and gave it a squeeze himself. “I never said I didn’t want it.” He set it in the water and shoved it from side to side and around small mounds of bubbles. “I think in some ways, this rubber duck represents me. It’s all alone and stuck in very hot water, yet it continues to float on and rise to the occasion.”
I dumped more of my good shampoo on his head. If this pony stayed here more than a week, it was going to be hell on my hair care bill.
I nodded. “I completely agree. Knowing you for the last handful of hours has already shown me how much you’re like a rubber duck. Completely empty inside, and every time you open your mouth, all I hear are a bunch of squeaky noises.”
Sombra seemed unperturbed, floating the duck around in circles. “You think you’re humorous, don’t you?”
“That’s what my mother told me.”
He slowly crushed the duck between his hooves. “The only reason I’m not actively trying to hurt you or escape is because I’m still not sure where I am. There’s still the strong possibility this is purgatory after all, and I’m merely being subjected to an eternity with you.” He turned to me and smirked. “All I did was enslave a race and murder thousands. I honestly had no idea I deserved such a punishment—trapped with you.”
I snatched the duck from his grip and set it on the counter. “You know, you’d come off a lot scarier if you weren’t in the middle of a bubble bath right now.”
He grumbled. “So what if the water feels good? You only remind me of my old slaves. Except in my old castle I used to be bathed by dozens of mares, not weird Steves.”
I dried my gloves with a towel. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Get out. Time to dry.”
***
“I don’t like this.”
Sombra looked at the device in my hands, the trigger resting underneath my finger and the nozzle pointed right at his head.
“You keep saying that and yet it hasn’t changed anything I do.”
He honestly looked petrified. “What is that? Some type of torture instrument?”
“A hair dryer. Or in your case, a mane dryer. Hold still.”
I held him by the scruff of the neck with one hand and started the dryer with the other. The moment it started, he screamed and tried to step back. I tightened my grip and angled the dryer around his mane and sides; the hot air from the nozzle pushing back his lips to give me a horrible view of his many sharp teeth. Oddly white and polished, I might add. A minute later, I put the dryer away and held Sombra up in front of the mirror. He angled his head from side to side and nodded a single time.
“It’ll do, I guess.”
I sighed and dropped him to the floor.
What a dick.
***
I ignored the mess still left in the kitchen and made myself a big plate of toast and bacon. I would’ve made an egg to go along with it, but my hangover told me the two would do. I still had a mentally disturbed pony on the brain and I doubted those type of thoughts would go away anytime soon.
After Sombra was clean, I took the time to reason with him. I had no intention of wearing hockey pads around the place for however long he was here, but I also didn’t want to constantly watch my ass for homicidal ponies, either. I told him if he tried anything—anything at all—I’d bop him on the nose as hard as I could, PETA be damned.
Even though the joke flew well over his head, he begrudgingly agreed, whatever that amounted to.
While I made myself breakfast, Sombra busied himself strolling around the condo. It shouldn’t have taken him very long considering the place had six rooms altogether (and even that’s debatable considering the living room and kitchen connect), but every time he entered a room, he’d yell to me.
“Where’s the upstairs?”
I munched on my greasy bacon. “There is none.”
“Downstairs?”
“It’s one level.”
“Servant’s quarters?”
“In your imagination.”
“Spiral staircase?”
“Look in the closet.”
I heard him open another set of doors.
“I can’t find it, Steve!”
I ate some of my toast and ignored him. Something rubbed against my leg and I looked down. It was my cat, Mittens, walking underneath the table and into the kitchen. How’d he’d so far remained completely oblivious to the moody pony up the hall, I had no idea.
I got a tin of cat food out of the drawer and dropped it into his bowl. That job accomplished, he left me alone to eat.
Sombra exited the hall and glanced around the living room. His small tour didn’t appear to have put him in a better mood.
“This is it?”
I held up a hand. “What did you expect? This is a one-income home. It’s a good size.”
He lifted his chin. “Maybe for you, but not for Kings. This place is barely the size of a single room in my old castle.”
“I’ll make sure to add a second level tomorrow after I pick up some marble from the castle store.”
“Good.” He crossed into the kitchen and eyed my plate. “What are you eating? That smells good.”
“Breakfast.”
“I will eat it, then.”
Before I had a chance to react, he stuck his tongue to a piece of bacon and brought it back to his mouth, chewing noisily. Bits of burnt meat fell to the floor.
“That was supposed to be mine,” I started, before I noticed what was happening to him.
In mid-chew, Sombra stopped, a thick line of drool cascading down his chin. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his entire body twitched. He took one last deep inhale before collapsing to the floor, eyes closed and body limp. His chest remained still.
I took my time finishing my toast and dabbed my mouth with a napkin. When that was done, I stood and poked him with a fork.
“Well, I guess that ends that odd adventure.” I put my hands on my hips. “Now to see if Walmart’s having a sale on garbage bags.”
Sombra inhaled again and his eyes darted open. He leaped to his hooves and hurried towards me, causing me to stumble back into my chair.
“More,” he said bluntly.
“More what?”
“Of whatever that was. More.”
He wasn’t even blinking. One of his lower eyelids twitched irregularly.
“It’s called bacon. And that was microwave bacon because I’m lazy. But I think you’ve had enough.”
He shook his head. “Then you’d be wrong. I have not had enough. Not nearly. So give. Now.”
I crossed my arms. “What do I get out of it?”
“Nothing. This doesn’t concern you, actually. I get more bacon and that’s it.”
I pretended to ponder. “Hmm. As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather not give you bacon because you’re kind of a jerk.”
He bared his teeth. “That’s not very nice of you, Steve.”
“I’ll make sure to see a priest as soon as possible to absolve me of my pony-bacon related sins.”
Sombra thought for awhile, another drop of drool giving way from his lips. “What do you want?”
“An apology.”
“For what?”
“Attempted murder, for a start.”
He cocked a brow. “I really don’t consider that a negative thing.”
I grabbed my plate and placed it out of reach from him on the counter, then I grabbed a piece of bacon from it and held it between us.
“Every time you say something that isn’t an apology, half of your possible bacon strip goes in my mouth.”
His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare!”
I tore the bacon in half and ate a piece.
Sombra’s jaw quivered. “Why would you be so cruel? Why would you—”
I tore it and ate again.
I thought I saw his eyes water. He began dancing on the spot, his mouth opening and closing, figuring out what to say.
He pleaded, “But you’ve had your fill.”
I ate another part, watching the little pony ripping apart from the inside. I know I shouldn’t have taken such malicious glee from watching the hungry pony nearly dance on the spot in pure anguish, but attempted murder can sometimes have that effect on people.
Sombra glanced from side to side, almost as if for someone to witness this horror. Eventually, he lowered his head and muttered, “I apologize.” It was little more than a whisper.
“For what?”
He grumbled. “For trying to end your very sad and desperate existence. You must understand, I was only trying to help.”
As terrible an apology as it was, I figured it would have to do.
I stood up and held the remaining piece of bacon above my head. “Fine. I’m sure at this rate we’ll become the best of friends in a hundred years or so.” I shook the bit of meat above me. “You want the bacon, hmm? You want it?”
He stared at me quizzically. “Of course that’s what I want! We had a whole conversation pertaining to it. What is wrong with you? Why are you holding it up so high? I can’t reach it like that.”
I didn’t lower the bacon. “Jump for it. You can do it.”
He got on his hindlegs and reached up with his hooves. He was nowhere close. When that didn’t work, he balanced a hoof on my chest and reached up with the other. Still nowhere close.
A moment later, I put the poor pony out of his misery and tossed the morsel to him. He caught it a second later and gobbled it down, sitting on the floor when it was gone with a small smile of satisfaction.
Watching him, I made myself a mental note: keep bacon stocks full at all times.
***
“What is that pile of fluff on your lap?”
I turned from the TV to see Sombra standing by the kitchen. He seemed unsure whether he wanted to enter the living room where I sat or stay where he was.
I looked at Mittens, asleep and content on my leg. “This is my cat, Mittens.”
“Seems like a poor excuse for a cat.”
I scratched my cat on the top of the head. “He keeps the couch from flying away while I’m at work, so he does enough.”
Sombra took a step closer. “Why are you touching it like that?”
I removed my hand from Mittens. “What? Scratching his head? It’s my pet cat. So I pet the cat. Most animals like being petted.”
Sombra glared at Mittens. “I think it looks stupid.”
“Ponies don’t like being petted?”
“You try to touch me again and I’ll eat your hands.”
“Noted.”
I went back to the TV. Sombra didn’t budge from his spot, but I could feel his eyes burning the side of my head. I looked back.
“What do you want?”
“Food.”
“You just had food. And I don’t think I have anything suitable for ponies. Unless you want cat food.”
Sombra took a moment to sniff at the contents of Mitten’s food bowl in the kitchen. He gagged and held a hoof to his nose.
“You’re a cruel monster, Steve. Forcing that animal to eat such repulsive mush.”
“It’s Fancy Feast. Cats love that crap.”
Sombra stepped into the living room again. “I’ve tended many feasts in my time, but have yet to see one as disgusting as that.”
I ran a hand down my cat’s back, quietly grumbling. “Fine. I’ll buy you some dog food or something later.”
“I’m not a dog. I’m a pony.”
“Well, sorry, but I don’t think my local grocery store carries pony chow, so you might have to make due. What do ponies eat, anyways? Hay? I think my neighbors would get worried seeing me hauling up bales of hay into the condo.”
Sombra came to stand next to the couch. “I don’t want hay. I want bacon.”
“A diet of nothing but bacon would kill you.”
He grinned. “At least I’d die happy.”
I couldn’t argue with him about that. “True.”
He waited half a minute before loudly clearing his throat. “Why won’t you look at me?”
I pointed at the screen. “Because I’m watching TV and it’s my day off. And on my days off, I watch TV, whether or not sentient ponies miraculously spring forth from my toaster.”
Sombra loudly stomped to the area in front of the TV, obscuring my view. “Why don’t you stop petting that ball of fluff and pay attention to me?”
I leaned to the side to look around him. He moved to counter it.
I pointed the remote at him. “You’re the type that needs constant attention, aren’t you?”
He frowned. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you haven’t taken your eyes off my cat since you entered the room and now you’re blocking the TV.”
“I’m only doing what’s right. I’m important and you should be paying attention to me. Also, I still have no idea why I’m here or how I got here. And I still have little idea of what you are exactly.”
“We can worry about all that on Monday. I have a hangover right now, so any important conversation between alien races should probably wait until then.” I patted the spot on the couch next to me. “Sit down and stop fidgeting around. You’re making me nervous.”
He looked at the couch wearily. “And then what do we do?”
“Watch TV.”
“You mean this weird image machine you keep looking at?”
“Yes.”
“And after that?”
“Watch more TV, depending on what’s on.”
The pony weighed his options for a moment, taking first a step towards the kitchen before climbing atop the couch. It took him a couple leaps to finally get on.
He gripped the armrest nervously with two hooves. “It feels like I’m sinking into this thing.”
I turned to him. “That’s how you know it’s a good couch; when it feels like it’s trying to eat you.”
“I’m not sure if I like this.”
“It’ll grow on you.”
***
SURVIVOR’S JOURNAL: SECOND ENTRY
I have gained the trust of the simpleton that rules over this small plot of land. I have come to the conclusion that an outright attack might lead to my end, but a slow and steady strategy might prove the surer course.
I do not like this Steve. He treats me like someone lower than him—like some animal. That cannot be allowed. I am a King and should be respected as such.
When I find the source of his bacon supply, I will devour as much as is needed to regain my strength. Until then, I will be patient. I will think and plan… although there is a part of me that oddly wants to return to Steve’s couch. It is made from a much softer material than I am accustomed to. Perhaps once Steve is dead and gone, I will pull it apart and form it into my new throne.
Yes. That sounds nice.
Also, something must be done about Steve’s cat. Soon.