Chapter III – Dead Issue
Ditch didn’t much like apologizing. Like, at all. He was a good stallion, a decent stallion, an honest stallion. He was not malicious, not really causing any trouble. And even if he was causing trouble, well, it was just a part of exercising his religious beliefs, right? He did not have to apologize for those! Well-understood tolerance demanded that even if he were to decide to wobble across the Promenade and sing loudly, others should have accepted it with silent politeness.
Equestria was, after all, a land of wonder and Friendship! Which also meant using one’s wonderful singing voice, boasted by a healthy amount of booze, whenever one felt like it! With no regrets.
The Royal Guard thought differently, but they were the agents of oppression and poor taste!
Tonight, however, Ditch’s unwillingness to apologize was indulged yet again!
Driven by the force of habit, he closed the doors of his shack behind him with a firm buck, resulting in a rather loud slam and a surprised shout from them.
... huh, wait, no, his doors were not a sissy!
He turned around, witnessing the quite unnatural and unnerving sight of a pony cloven in two by the sturdy wood. Only vertically. And without lasting damage, other than an expression of shock.
No apologies yet again, hurrah!
Free Verse, for he was the unfortunate fatality in more ways than one, was looking back at half of his spectral body cut off from his eyeless view, most likely still enjoying the chilly night outside. “This... is singular...”
Ditch shrugged. He would not know, he never sliced anypony like that or in any other way. “You tell me... Or, better yet, don’t, cause it means you’re goin’ to try and make a poem out of it.” He took a moment, seeing the ghost still contemplating this sudden split. “... actually, could you even...? About... something like this?”
“Uhm...” Free Verse unglued his eye sockets from the door and bit his ectoplasmic lip, taking a moment. “My body, like my heart, by splinters torn in twain...”
Ditch slapped himself on the forehead healthily. “Urgh, of course you could... Alright...” He produced the hip flask, taking a hearty swig, which emptied it sadly.
However, if they were to find a solution for this problem which was haunting both of them, he needed his full strength. His final form.
By the power of cheap booze!
“Is... this all there is...?”
Ditch gave Free Verse a confused glance at the sudden question. “What do you mean?”
“Well...”
The ghost was examining the house and, from the looks of it, he seemed perplexed. For no reason! Oh, sure, this was not a “Villa del Ditch” or whatever, but it served its purpose! A hardy shack by the Cemetery’s side! True, the walls had seen better days, and the floor used to have more wood than dirt, but the rain kept outside and wind was not trespassing in here, even through the old, cracked window...
Yeah, there was just one of those, cause Ditch was no mogul and could not afford to look after two.
But he had a nice bed here, instead! A bit askew and missing a leg, but brave and proud, like the noble invalid he was. Mr Bed liked company, that old rascal, but Mrs Mattress was more than happy to keep close to him, even if she was d'un certain age as they did say in Fancy.
Ditch always believed that it was that one oil lamp burning inside which was making those two feel ever-amorous. He could not remember those two not together and cuddling.
... he dared to join them almost every night, even...
Now, now, it wasn’t yet time to think about obscenities like sleeping with these two, a guest was inspecting his house.
“Well, who needs more?” Ditch asked the phantom back finally, taking off his worn coat and folding it on the table, right next to some, blessed-for-still-not-entirely-empty bottles that were going to be most helpful tonight. “A place to rest your rump. Dry. Close to work... The perfect house!”
Free Verse examined the place some more, and Ditch felt grateful that his ghost-like hooves were not bringing in soil from the outside. Only he was allowed to do that.
“Any... appliances?” asked the apparition.
Ditch tilted his head, blinking. “... what are those?”
“I... guess you don’t know the word, rather than the concept, though... Actually, forget that, simpler question – do you even have a bath here?”
Ditch rolled his eyes, almost offended. “Who do you think I am, a vagrant?” Really, only because he was a boozeist would the ghost think that he did not know basic hygiene?! “The Canterlot Public Garden is two streets away.”
“... I beg your pardon?”
“We have a lake there, don’t we?”
For some strange, inexplicable reason, Free Verse’s expression looked very similar to Padre Last Rite’s usual look. It was hard to confuse that face of eternal disappointment with any other. “And... kitchen?”
Ditch just pointed at the bottles on the table. “Yeah, sorry, forgot to do the dishes,” he admitted with snark, trotting to the table. A surprise waited for him there too! “Hallelu! Still have some lunch!” he cheered, grabbing a piece of hayburger that tried to hide itself in the midst of alcohol. “Been searching for you for three days!”
“I... fear to continue asking,” Free Verse admitted, looking strangely at Ditch about to enjoy the meal.
Urgh, he must have preferred all of this snazzy food, like candy floss wrapped in fresh lettuce and sprinkled with orange juice. Ditch’s friend, Shaggy, told him that those posh ponies sometimes ate stuff like that. And one should always trust the words of a stallion with a talking dog.
“Hello? What’s this?”
Free Verse’s question brought Ditch back to the present, in mid-bite. The ghost’s void eyes looked widely surprised, staring towards the far corner.
“It’s a display rack,” Ditch replied calmly, finally biting into the sandwich. Mmmm... Delicious and spongy.
“I have to say, it’s quite solid and elegant... especially in comparison...”
Well, it was true that Ditch paid some additional attention to that piece of furniture. After all, it was destined to be the place of rest and relaxation for his most valuable tool.
The rest of them had their places in the smaller shed nearby, but the shovel, oh, the shovel was his favorite. His baton. His wand. His symbol and banner and violin and guitar and all the other instruments combined.
And so the rack, actually destined for an instrument like a cello or something, was made out of firm, laminated wood. Dark, refined and absolutely amazeballs.
Ditch had been saving for it for an entire year!
He put down the burger and grabbed the shovel which he had rested against the table for a moment. “A caretaker relies on his shovel and his shovel relies on him,” he declared solemnly. “I make my strength hers and she makes her strength mine. It is, as the wise ponies say,” he paused for dramatic effect, “syphilis.”
“I... think you mean ‘symbiosis’?” Free Verse suggested when Ditch, ritualistically, put his new, wondrous shovel in its rightful place. She remained there, powerful and stoic.
“Yeah, that too,” Ditch agreed with the ghost’s words, gently stroking the dark oak handle and leather wrappings. They felt warm.
He smiled amorously. He loved her very much too.
Free Verse appeared in the edge of Ditch’s vision as his stare lingered on the tool. “You... seem to truly care about it.”
A shrug and a bashful smile answered the phantom first. The bond between a caretaker and a shovel was a delicate one... almost intimate.
“Well, ya know, we all have our little affections and crushes and all that... I like my job, she is helping me with it, so we kinda... click.”
“Not... really what I had in mind...” Free Verse responded, flummoxed. His expression strangely fell for a second, only to return to genuine interest right after. “... but, I suppose it is deeply connected to you special talent, so I think I can comprehend that.”
“Damn right it is!” Ditch replied with a big, happy smile which invaded his muzzle. “Might be weird for a specter of a proper pony like you, but working here, at the Cemetery, is like a dream come true! Reasonable hours, docile clients...”
“I... could see the appeal,” the phantom poet agreed, giving the shovel another look, then approaching the table and giving the selection of bottles a glance too. “Leaves you with a lot of time to explore your... other passions as well, I guess.”
Ditch plopped down on the small stool by the table, which creaked invitingly. “Mhm! And I would ask you to indulge too,” he responded, grabbing one of the drinks lovingly, “but I have just mopped the floor and all.”
“Funny...” The ghost moved to pass through the table to take place on the opposite side.
Sudden and ingenious idea!
“Wait, wait!” Ditch stopped him with a frantic wave. He put the chose bottle back down on the wood. Right in Free Verse’s path. “Okay, continue like you wanted now!”
The wraith looked perplexed, but went on, his spectral form easily traversing through the wood and the glass.
And the liquor inside. And if Ditch’s calculations were correct...!
He quickly reacquainted himself with the bottle and took a big, eager swig. “Oh, praise the jewel in the bottle!”
“What? What happened?”
Ditch let out a long, uproarious laugh. Eureka! Huzzah! More fancy-shmancy expressions of joy!
The gloriously cold drink went past his throat and right into his waiting belly! And he could not be happier about this ghastly ice and alcoholic fire marriage.
“Oh, I like you, you can stay! You chilled my drink!”
Free Verse blinked, then groaned and slammed his muzzle down on the table... which would have worked better if he had not gone straight through the surface. “Great, fantastic and stupendous, but we were supposed to focus on actually discussing getting me out of here, not finding a use for my... predicament!”
Ditch just chuckled, taking another gulp. “Sure, Ice Chest, I know. That’ll still be thing, cause you are ruining the decor of the place even if you are useful! Though, when life gives you spectral lemons, you make a haunted lemonade!”
The ghost actually cracked a smile. “Alright, alright, I get it... so...”
“So...”
So... the silence decided to steal the spotlight for a moment. Ditch had to admit, he had no idea how to make ghosts go away. Usually his own, strange apparitions were leaving as soon as he sobered up. But this was another matter entirely.
“So...” With the word of the moment he took another swig, the heat nicely spreading all over him already. “You are here for a reason. And we don’t know what it is...”
Free Verse nodded, his eyeless gaze empty. Like usual. “Indeed. Which is most troubling.”
“What do we know? What do you remember?”
“About myself...? M... most things, I’d say. My name, my works, my flat... Though... the last year seems to be rather blurry...” Free Verse mused out loud.
“Yes, yes... I’d guess whatever caused you to stay here, might have happened then...” Ditch tried to make the miraculous, warm feeling gather in his brain through the power of slow intoxication. “I would go and bet that... if you have not just gone... you have something not finished, or a matter not resolved. Unless you just wanted to stay to be a jerk. A ghost-jerk.”
Free Verse huffed. “Never in my life tried to be an... inconvenience, especially to such a friendly pony like you, so that’s not it. And I actually wanted to cease, remember?”
“Ah, yeah, all the a... acrobatic diving into water without water...” Ditch agreed with another, wonderful gulp that truly went straight into his head. Extensive discipline and training on his part. “Mmmm... Did you at least do a fancy flip?”
“... excuse you?!”
“Well you know, you were goin’ down already, you’re a pegasus, I thought you would at least give a show. Or shtrike a funny pose on the pavement.”
Free Verse looked like he was ready to fancy flip the table, but that was beyond his reach for the moment, so he just let out a moan that made even the bottles nearby clink in fear.
“Contrary to your belief, when you are planning on killing yourself you don’t really pay attention to going out with a laugh!”
“Egoist,” Ditch replied, chuckling. The buzzing in his brain was nice and getting nicer. “You sh... should have gone for something like, I don’t know... this?”
He raised his hoof up, fully extending his foreleg. Eyes closed, face tensed up dramatically. Pose confident, like celebrating an extraordinary feat.
... for some reason, Ditch felt a sudden need of sprouting a mighty moustache too!
“You see?” he asked, letting out a small hic. “Show... show that you were under pressure but you were a champion, my friend. That you wanted to break free, but the show must go on, regardless!” he instructed with a wide, honest smile. “I know, I know, who wants to live forever, but your way, it was just... another one bites the dust and all...”
Free Verse grimaced, still not looking convinced. “Are you sure you getting drunk stupid will help us here?”
“It’s a... a crazy little thing called liquor! And, trusht me, it will help! Honeshtly, ponies would have paid more attention to your death with a h-hic-sterical chalk outline!”
The ghost was about to protest again, but suddenly shuddered and his outlines seemed to... crystallize. Clarify. “Paid... attention? Ponies...? Some... pony?” he muttered, his lips parting, his spectral brows knitted.
Hah, see, oh ye of little faith? Ditch did not even need the alcohol to spot that they were onto something now!
... he still drank more though! His enlightenment for tonight was for the good of another!
“Are we g... gettin’ there, bub?” he asked, blinking one eye, then the other. Because, come to think of it, blinking both at the same time was dangerous. Why would you blind yourself for a moment...? This way was way safer.
Pity those incredible thoughts and concepts were locked deep in Ditch’s brain until he reached for the Key of Spirits!
Speaking of spirits, Free Verse seemed to be awakening from the sudden stupor. “There... there is something there, I think, but... I...” he muttered, trying to focus.
“Sho... You wanted attention, huh...?” Another swig. Quick one, cause the bottle was starting to malfunction and grow empty. “From a shpeshific shomepony, may-per-be-probably-hapsh?”
“I... think?” The ghost tilted his head. “That... that makes sense, somehow, but...”
Ditch tilted his head more, resting it on the table. No phantom would out-tilt him in his own house! “Shee...? We will... get to the bottom of thish in no time! Just like one... one... getsh to the bottom... of the bottle!”
“I... still do not recall who, or why...” Free Verse admitted, blinking and paying full attention to matters around him again. “Are... you alright?”
Ditch nodded, which resembled rubbing his muzzle on the table, but worked just as fine. “Y... yeah... meditatin’.”
“That looks like... deep contemplation.”
“B... besht of the besht one! Worksh e... every night!” came a sloshed, but happy reply.
“Wait, you...” The wraith looked concerned, as much as an eyeless apparition could. “You drink like this every night...?”
“Yesh... Very yesh...” Ditch revealed, lifting his muzzle up, though it weighed a ton for no reason. He was not going to keep holding it up. “You... Look, shometimesh you wish to remember... shometimesh you want to forget... The circle of life!” he shouted, he sang with the full force of his lungs, causing even the phantom to wince.
Bleh, at least... at least the Royal Guard did not wince at him singing, all nice and professional! Him?! Pfah... ghost-jerk, indeed...
“Anything... specific you are trying to forget?” Free Verse seemed keen on pressing the topic out of a sudden.
Ditch waved his hoof. Bugger, it made the bottle malfunction a bit more, the liquor consecrating the table. “What... what is thish, an intervention?!”
“No, just... you are trying to help me... somewhat, so I thought that maybe I can help you out in return?”
“Oh... Sho kind! How about... you help by... by getting your transhparent rump out of my Shemetery!” Ditch moaned, resting his forehead on the table. It was soft and warm and all... However... “A shplattered poet triesh to help me out! Joy and... and...!”
With that fervent, though unfinished sentence, Ditch decided that the best thing to do was to rethink his life for a couple of hours, based on the solid foundation.
So, right there and then, on the floor.
Mr Bed and Mrs Mattress could have their very own tryst tonight... hah, and with a ghost watching!
“Pfft... ghost-jerk...” Ditch muttered, finding this funny for some reason, just before his vision went dark.
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If the main OCs in this story were voiced, what would they sound like?
8439367
Hmmm... For Ditch, I imagine a very gruff, almost tired voice. Free Verse, on the other hand, would be clear and somewhat elegant... even if hauntingly echoing.
Only a gravekeeper would think of using a ghost to chill his drinks... I applaud this.
8439861
It's about using the opportunities life and death give!
8439871
Very true. Now if only the ghosts of my home would be so kind. all they do is just make noises.
8440093
Make noises back at them. Or offer a sit-down and a nice chat.
I have to agree with him.
*shudder*
I mean, he is the undead ghost and yet he is creeped out by Ditch.
Good chapter!
I can't wait to see what happens next!
8442634
Thank you kindly. I hope something spooky and interesting.
Please continue this, it's most intriguing.
8716958
I shall, worry not. As soon as it hits my writing schedule.
Once Free Verse figures out how to use a pen, he can become his own ghost writer.
I see what you did there 😏
11787543
Good. It's very nostalgic to me.