Act III, pt I
DING DING DING!
Three chimes to signal the third hour of the morning, and if what was foretold was true, the appearance of the third spirit.
Scrooge sat in his chair with a small fire before him. Laying in wait for the spector, knowing that there was nothing he could do to to stop it from whatever visions and emotional manipulations it had planned.
He took a sip of watered down tea and stroked his chin in thought. It wasn't that he was afraid of the spirit, it just seemed so much trouble than it was worth. Being whisked away to different parts of time and places, forced to relive memories that he'd rather not. It was annoying and very depressing for him.
Yea, his life sucked. Okay, fine. Now what? Was he supposed to just toss aside all the knowledge he'd accumulated over the years? Just forgo all wisdom and understanding he'd gained in favor of seeing the "happy" side of life? Why?
And who were these spirits working for? Why had they targeted him? What had he done to deserve their wrath and lecture? Surly there must have been more miserable and negative ponies in equstria, right? Like murderers or rapists. Why weren't those three tormenting them?
Wracking his brain for no answers, the stallion resigned himself to sit back and wait. The first two ghost did cause him some stress before their arrival, but they were relatively harmless. If the last one was as nonsensical as the first two, than he Scrooge had nothing to worry about.
It would show him his future, use emotional manipulation, he'd keep his logical composure, argue his case, the spirit would get frustrated and spit him back into his room just in time for his day off tomorrow to sleep in.
So it was, and so it shall be again. Wash, Rinse and Repeat.
Time drifted by, seconds turned int a minute, and the minute turned into a few more. Growing anxious and a bit confused, Scrooge looked up at the clock to see it read 3:30.
"At least the others were punctual." Sin complained. Maybe it would be a no show? Perhaps the other two had convinced it out of a visit due to their own failures? Would seem logical. "All well. Guess I can head to bed, now." The stallion mused before downing the rest of his tea.
Just as he was about to get out of his chair, he was slammed back down by an invisible restraint, his head dizzying from impact. "The hell?"
Suddenly, the chair began to levitate and turn, and that's when any sense of comfort or relief drained away like the color on his face.
A black, equine shaped cloak that stood right behind his chair, a full head and sholders tall than himself. The hood completely covering the figures face in black, and a black and silver scythe rested upon the spirits chest. Though, unlike the other spirits, this one was more solid than transparent. But still, it was defiantly ethereal.
Scrooge forced deep breaths and fought his bladder to stay in control. He'd experienced spirit induced guilt, spirit induced shame, and spirit induced happiness. But spirit induced fear? That was something he wasn't prepared for.
In a sickly slow motion that the stallion watched with pin point attention, the hooded figured lifted the scythe in a black aura of magic and sliced the air between the two. Nothing happened at first, but slowly, white shapes began to matirialize from where the blade had cut the air, in quick order, the shapes began to make out letters and words.
"Greetings, Sinbad Scrooge. I am the Ghost of Hearths Warming Yet to Be."
Before the stallion could even think about a reply, the spirit sliced the air yet again, new letters appearing where the old ones once stood.
"It seems as though guilt and shame have failed to force you to change your ways, let us see if fear will suffice."
The chair turned to the side and lurched Scrooge off. He quickly scampered to his feat and looked in awe of the ghost of Hearth's Warming Future. This was not what he was expecting, not at all.
"W-w-w-what do y-y-you people want f-f-from me?" He stuttered, trying to get himself under control.
Scrooge didn't know how he knew, but he knew that when the spirit's head slightly tilted forward, there was a devious smile growing under it's cowl. Slowly, the air became harder and harder to breath in. The stallion's attention was turned to the creeping darkness that slowly oozed towards him.
Shutting his eyes tightly and bracing himself, Sin repressed the urge to cry out for help. That was the last thing he wanted to do. These things were, for a lack of a better term, bullies. And if his time at boarding school taught him anything, it was that you never show fear to a bully.
He kept his eyes closed for what had to be five minutes to build his confidence, he forced them open and readied himself for whatever terror that was in store. Though, this time he wasn't wisked away to some remote school complex, or to some far of memory in a different city. Hell he wasn't even outside his own house. Now, he was in his bedroom, looking upon a still figure that was covered by a blanket in his bed.
Ghost of the future, aimed at terrifying him straight, showing him a still figure in his bed. It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on.
"Dear Spirit." Scrooge croaked pitifully. "What fate has befallen the pony in that bed? Who was he?"
The cloaked figure gently pointed its hoof to the bed, remaining completely silent.
"Pft, I'm just messing with ya." Scrooge laughed. "It's my bedroom and my bed, how would I not recognize it? I'm guessing that's me?"
The spirit took a step back in obvious shock at the calm and even comedic stance the stallion had displayed.
"Ok, let's see here." He stated, before walking to the bedside, throwing every emotion he had into fearless confidence. He pulled back the blanket to expose himself, eyes asleep with a pained grimace etched into his lifeless face. "Yep. That would be me."
He dropped the blanket and walked back to the spirit, his body shaking from the shear cognitive dissonance of what he'd just seen. Yea, he would die eventually, but to actually see your dead lying in bed with a look so pained and pathetic? It was a disturbing experience, no matter how good you were at accepting things for what they were.
As the stallion attempted to collect himself, the door burst open with a male pegasus and female unicorn trotting into his room like they owned the place.
"Quickly check n' see if is true!" The mare cried, her voice giddy and gravly. The stallion of the two, standing where Scrooge had just stood, placed his hoof on the pony's neck. A ear splitting grin slowly took over the pony's face and he looked at the mare malevolent.
"Dead as a door nail."
The two erupted into a cheer and began to savagely tear apart his room. Collecting anything of value and conversing about what was valuable and what price it could be sold for.
Scrooge watched will mild disinterest as his belongings were ransacked and tossed about, every so often an insult was thrown his way by the intruders. He found the act tasteless and completely contemptuous, but what else did he expect? It was simply ponies showing their true colors. He didn't hate them for it, no more so than he'd hate a mantacore for wanting to maul and eat him.
This was simply the nature of all sapient creatures.
It took a few minutes, but the novelty of the situation wore off and stallion began to grow bored with the situation. "Okay? So, there are ponies raiding my room and I'm dead." He stated flatly. "Death happens to all living beings, not sure what you're getting at with it, though."
He looked back to find the ghost looking at him with a tilted head. It's scythe gently swipping the air between them with another set of words forming.
"Does this not trouble you? That you've died and nopony cares for your loss?"
An honestly confused grimace overtook the stallion, a look reserved only for the stupidest of questions asked. "Well, I wasn't really well liked, was I? Kept to myself, kept to my money, rejected countless loans, held to throwing ponies out of their homes for failed agreements and didn't have a relationship with what little family I had. Of course I wasn't well liked."
"Does it bother me? No. If it did, I would have changed how I operated. What?" The stallion chuckled before gesturing to the room. "You think this surprises me? You think I didn't know this would happen? Come on! Seriously? I know you think I'm ignorant, but all it takes to figure out this would happen is like... two minutes of foresight."
The fear completely replaced by indignation, Scrooge legitimately felt insulted at the shock the ghost was displaying. It... it really thought he was that dumb? How? How could anypony think him so foolish?
Suddenly, the shadows of the room again began creeping towards him. The feelings of utter terror they brought coming at him in full force. Though, he knew this fear now, and was already working to maintain his composure. He didn't know what came next, but he was willing to face it.
Taking a breath and opening his eyes once more, Scrooge found himself outside, in a field with small grey protrusions jetting out of the white snow upon the ground. There was no sounds to be heard except faint hick uping sobs in the distance. He looked around and found Macintosh and his sister standing over one of the protrusions. Not seeing the spirit around, Sin slowly made way towards the ponies.
The utter quietness of the environment unsettled him. It was as if the entire world had stopped, save for himself and the other two. No wind, no bugs chirping, no animals moving. Just an ear shattering silence. The banker slowed to a stop just close enough to hear, but far enough not to feel himself intruding. What he heard struck a panging guilt into his heart. Not spiritual induced guilt, but something he knew was genuinely his.
Macintosh was crying, as was his sister. They were apologizing to the grave, wishing that they could have done more for the small filly who lay within. Their hurting cries and begging were too much to bear.
Scrooge closed his eyes. Little Bloom was dead. It appeared that the future was as unkind to her as it was to him. Or maybe it was the greatest kindness, all things considered.
Still, the heart broken weeps of his employee's family was as depressing as it was tragic. He didn't want Macintosh crying, it didn't suit the stallion. He'd never hurt anypony else as far as Sin knew, yet here he was, bawling like a baby at a loss of life. So helpless and incapable, it almost brought a tear to the banker's eye.
"Little Bloom. Ah'm so sorry." Macintosh managed through heeves. "Ah'm so sorry that Ah couldn't afford to get ya better in time. Ah hope-" He swallowed, wiping away his tears. "Ah hope that, at least, you n' Ma n' Pa can spend this Hearths Warming togethah."