Seeking A Quiet Afternoon

by Tired Old Man

Ch. 1-4: A New Headache

Three young fillies stood at the edge of Sweet Apple Acres. Their eyes all focused upon the old shack at the top of the hill.

"Are we ready to go ghost hunting, Cutie Mark Crusaders?" An orange pegasus filly with a purple mane spoke first.

"A-are you still sure about this, Scootaloo? I mean, ghost hunting? Doesn't that sound like an odd talent to have?" A white unicorn filly with a purple and pink mane responded.

"No, Sweetie Belle. I mean, come on, who're they gonna call when somethin strange is in their neighborhood?" Scootaloo shot back.

"But we don't even know if ghosts are real!" The last filly pitched in. She had a light yellow coat and deep red hair, coupled with a comically large ribbon.

"Ghosts ARE real, Apple Bloom. Listen to that shack over there. Don't you hear noises coming from it?" Scootaloo asked.

Apple Bloom swiveled her ears carefully. After some silence, she heard a yelp of pain from inside the shack.

"Aaaah, I heard something! It sounded like somepony cried out in pain!"

"I-I don't think we should check it out now, girls," Sweetie Belle squeaked, her body starting to shake in fear.

"That could mean...somepony's in trouble in there! C'mon girls, are we cowards, or are we Cutie Mark Crusader Ghost Hunters?!"

Scootaloo's voice was akin to a battle cry, and in turn, the three fillies stormed the shack on the hill.

------------------ 5 minutes earlier -------------------

Mender finally cleaned most of the shack. With the exception of the still-gray walls and flooring, the rest of the furniture began to show their bright, vibrant colors. Crunch was busy resting in the basement, the little creature did enjoy dark places a lot. He decided to skip the basement while it rested, which left one room to clean. The attic.

He ascended the stairs. Every step creaked under his weight, yet another sign of how old this shack was. These groaning steps needed new wood planks, badly. Mender wasn't sure if he could tolerate these steps for long if he didn't.

His eyes rested upon that broken round window as he finished climbing the stairs. Man, did this place need a miracle in repair work. Maybe help from Applejack didn't seem like a bad idea. Although...he had a feeling he'd owe her if he took that offer...and he hated owing favors. The entirety of Fillydelphia knew this very, very well...but this isn't Fillydelphia anymore.

He sighed, and turned his attention to a bed resting in a corner opposite the stairs. It was just the mattress, a single sheet, and a metal frame. Rustic, basic, and reeks of mold. After seeing the rest of house, his expectations were low enough to be thankful that a mattress was even in this shack to begin with.

He tried pulling on the frame with his teeth, but it was screwed into the floor. Undeterred, he grasped the mattress and tried lifting it, but the springs blew out from the bottom and got tangled in the metal frame underneath. One spring caught his face and left a cut along his nose.

He yelped in pain and reeled backward, blood now seeping out from the cut. "AAAAA, son of a-FINE! At least the sheet will be mine, you bastard of a bed!" He angrily grabbed the sheet and pulled it. It gave way easily, maybe too easily as it flew over Mender and covered him. He cursed under his breath as blood started to stain the sheet around his nose.

Suddenly, he heard a slamming noise below him. It sounded like someone broke in from the front door! Angry, he charged down the stairs and wrapped around to face the door. It was at that point he realized he could barely see two feet in front of him as the blood began to stain the area near his eyes, and he couldn't use his mouth to speak very well on account of holding some of the sheet in it.

Unable to speak or see, things went from bad to worse in...roughly five seconds.

----------------- 5 Seconds Ago -------------------

The Crusaders were treated to a frightening sight. A blood-soaked ghost was in the hallway, grunting menacingly at the fillies. The seconds passed by slowly, but Scootaloo put on a brave face in front of the others.

"Charge!"

The ghost backed up a little, but by then it was too late. The fillies jumped the ghost and brought it to the ground. A stampede of tiny hooves rattled the old shack as they beat down the hapless ghost in the name of ghost hunting.

This continued for a minute until the ghost stopped moving. They all cheered at their success, then looked at their flanks for confirmation, but to their surprise (or was it really a surprise at this point?) no cutie marks appeared on any of them. They all sighed, sad that none of their futures involved any ghost hunting, though it was fun while it lasted.

Then the ghost underneath them moaned again, and they all jumped off it in fear. The sheet slid off as the "ghost" rose to reveal a badly beaten stallion, showing bruises all over his body. The cut on his nose continued to bleed as Mender shook his head, still dizzy from the filly beatdown he received.

"Oh Celestia, why did I have to be run over by a herd of buffalo? WHY?" He angrily shouted and waved his hoof in the air, caught up in the melodrama.

It was then he directed his gaze downward and saw the three fillies in front of him. Every one of them had a look that was a mixture of shock and guilt. It dawned on Mender that these fillies were the ones that turned him into a pony punching bag. He was none too pleased at this notion.

"What...the...HELL is wrong with you fillies?!"

Mender's voice shook the house and the fillies' legs quivered in fear. He briefly considered going on a tirade before his rational half reminded him that HE was the one under a bloody sheet coming down the stairs. He stopped himself, and took a large breath to calm himself. He addressed the scared fillies once again, in a stern but calm tone.

"You three. Names. Now."

A second of silence followed before each responded individually.

"Apple B-B-Bloom."

"S-Sweetie Belle."

"Scootal-loo, sir."

There was still fear in their eyes. He didn't feel like leaving a bad impression on these fillies. The last thing he wanted was trouble just one day into living in Ponyville. He relaxed his shoulders and forced a small smile as he spoke.

"What brings you three into my home?"

Scootaloo stepped forward, much more relaxed at seeing the smile on Mender's face. "Sir, we're the Cutie Mark Crusaders. We've made it our goal to figure out what our cutie marks are, and we all do the same activity to figure out if they get us our marks."

Her eyes fell downward as she continued. "We were trying to be ghost hunters, sir. We were close to the house when Apple Bloom heard a scream of pain. We rushed in thinkin somepony was in trouble...eheehee, sorry about your door, mister."

His eyes momentarily left the filly to inspect the doorway...minus the door, which was now lying near the kitchen floor. Anger returned to Mender's eyes for an instant, but left as quick as it came. He figured the door needed replacing anyway. His gaze returned to Scootaloo, and he motioned for her to continue.

"We all saw you...well, we didn't know it was you. You were wearin a bloody sheet. We thought you were a real ghost, mister, and as ghost hunters, we...well...you know the rest."

As she finished, clarity shined in the silver stallion's eyes. He closed his eyes to collect his thoughts for a moment, then spoke.

"I understand, little filly. I was as much at fault as you three were. I cut my nose trying to get a bed moved out of the attic and screamed in pain, as you heard. I took the sheet and covered my nose with it, but then I heard the front door slam hard. I thought someone was breaking in, so I rushed down the stairs to confront the intruder...rather, intruders. I clearly failed on that front, ugh..." He coughed, and a bit of blood left his mouth.

This startled the three fillies, but he wiped his mouth with a forehoof and continued. "Jeez, I must be getting old if I can't handle a shakedown from three fillies. This body isn't what it used to be...hurk."

Another cough, and more blood flowed from his mouth. There was no doubt in his mind, he had some internal bleeding from the scuffle. He collapsed onto the floor as shock ran through his body, then down to his legs.

"F-fillies, do me a favor. Get...get me some help, hm?"

This was the last question he asked before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Author's Note:

Hiya folks! Old Man here.

So...yep, five chapters in and I already have Mender seriously injured. Filly stampedes are serious business, after all.

Also, hooray for time shifts! Man, did that do wonders for me here.

...okay, maybe I overused it just a tiny bit backing up five seconds. That still seems silly to me.

But I like silly.