Chapter 22
The Haunting
Admiral Biscuit
I still had to tell the old stallion that I’d found where Windflower’s ghost stayed, but I wasn’t ready to do that yet. I should have, but I didn’t want to rush things too much, not while Milfoil and I were still pondering over what the right thing to do was. He might be too emotionally attached to make the right choice. Of course, I might be, as well, which was another good reason to move slowly and deliberately.
Milfoil had started to help me move around the plants, coming over when she saw me begin to carry them in. She devised a much more complicated rotation system than I had, including assessing the health of each individual flower before it was moved outside.
She also decided that since she was coming over anyway, she was going to teach me a thing or two about cooking, and I wasn’t going to refuse. Trial-and-error had served me well enough, but unsurprisingly, there was plenty of room for improvement.
I did a lot of the busy work that involved hands, and I think she was jealous of how effective they were at cutting vegetables, compared to her methods. To her favor, though, she wasn’t likely to accidentally cut a hoof.
We both agreed that Windflower was more likely to approach her than she was to approach me. She probably thought I was some kind of monster who had driven her parents off—that’s what I would have thought in her place. Milfoil was not only a pony, but a pony that she had known. Thus, it was only logical that Milfoil stay, until Windflower had come and gone.
The kitchen wasn’t the most comfortable place to relax after dinner, so I spent part of an afternoon reorganizing the living room, enough to at least make it somewhat usable. Distributing some of the sicker plants that couldn’t go outside any more to other rooms of the house freed up some space.
Milfoil went to her house briefly after each dinner, and brought back a dessert. I asked her why she didn’t bring it over right away, and she said that I would enjoy my dinner more if I wasn’t thinking about a pie or a cake or cookies throughout the entire meal.
She was probably right—if I was better at baking, I might have eaten nothing but sugary treats instead of the vegetable-based diet that ponies had.
Once we finished our dessert, I’d put a kettle on the stove for tea, and we’d go to the living room and sit and talk.
There was a lot Milfoil wanted to know about life on Earth, and a lot I wanted to know about Haywards Heath, so we were never lacking for conversation. She’d seen pictures and even a couple of movies about Earth, and she’d talked to some ponies who had visited, but didn’t know any who had actually lived on Earth for any amount of time.
•••••
Milfoil had a better sense of hearing than I did, although of course Windflower was practically silent except when she was playing with her toys or exploring the house.
“Will she come downstairs, do you think?”
That was something I’d been wondering myself. How long would it take her to get her courage up again? If the attic trap was open, would she see it as a potential trap, or as an opportunity?
“She has every reason to be wary,” I said. “I think it’s too soon. She needs to build up some more confidence before I risk changing anything in the attic. I haven’t been back up there since I took her duck out to the woods.”
“I wonder if she can hear us talking? Or moving around?”
“Two floors up, and with the trap closed? I doubt it.”
“What if you opened it, just a little bit? Enough that she could hear our voices downstairs, but not wide enough for you to fit through? Would she be curious enough to come investigate?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to screw this up, not again. She deserves better.”
Milfoil tutted. “You didn’t mean to frighten her off, and now you’re trying to make amends. Some ponies wouldn’t. Some ponies would want to scare her away and keep her away.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Sometimes ponies aren’t very trusting of strangers. In fact, I—well, it doesn’t matter.”
I got out of my chair and moved over to the couch. I thought about sitting down next to her, but she was stretched out on her belly, and I didn’t know whether it was customary to sit at her head or her tail, so I just squatted down in front of her. “You were nervous about your new neighbor, weren’t you? And all the weird things I was doing didn’t help, did they?”
Her cheeks turned an interesting shade of red and she lowered her head, momentarily hiding her face behind her bangs before she nodded. “But it turns out that you were doing it for a good reason, and that’s what matters.”
“I should have made a casserole and brought it to your house as a welcoming present.”
She looked back up at me. “People do that?”
“Well, I think it’s the neighbor who’s supposed to bring it to the new homeowner, but yeah. That’s one way we bond with our new neighbors. Or have a cookout and invite everyone. I should have introduced myself to you right when I bought the house.”
“You had a lot on your mind, I’m sure.” She frowned as I shifted around. “Crouching like that doesn’t look comfortable at all. Why don’t you have a seat on the couch?”
“I wouldn’t want to crowd you.”
“It’s fine, there’s plenty of room.” She got her hooves under her and pushed herself up to a sort-of sitting position. There was probably some name for it; it was a favored posture of dogs and cats alike. And, of course, ponies.
I took a seat on her right, since her tail was stretched out to her left. I’d underestimated the space available between her and the armrest, and bumped hips with her as I sat down.
•••••
Running into Milfoil at market wasn’t all that surprising; it was a small town, after all.
I wouldn’t have asked her to help me barter with ponies or help me decide what to buy, but she took it upon herself to do so just the same. I didn’t mind; it turned out that the food was a little bit cheaper when she was with me.
I’d suspected that salesponies gave little discounts to ponies they liked, and perhaps a bit of a surcharge for a stranger, but the daily prices were always a bit volatile, so it was impossible to be completely sure. That was one thing that always bothered me about Equestria—things never cost quite the same day to day.
Milfoil, I noticed, wasn’t buying all that much. But why should she? She’d eat dinner over at my house again, and there was no sense in her purchasing food that would just spoil.
She was buying pie ingredients, which I figured out when she bought some fruit.
“I’ve never had pear pie before,” I said, looking at the golden fruit.
“You’re not supposed to know what kind of pie it is before you eat it,” she told me. “And these aren’t pears, anyway. They’re quinces.”
“I don’t know what a quince is.”
“They’re good,” the salespony said. “Well, not raw. They taste really bad raw, unless they sit on the tree until the frost softens them. But when they’re cooked they’re delicious.”
Milfoil nodded. “You’ll like it, I promise.” She glanced around the market, and then looked back at me uncertainty. “In fact . . . I think you’ve learned enough about cooking, you can help me make it.”
“Really?”
“Sure, if you want to. But—” She held up a hoof. “I need to get a secret ingredient.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you, then it wouldn’t be a secret. Go on, head back home and get your stove warming up, and I’ll come over and we’ll cook dinner and bake a pie.”
•••••
It took longer for her to arrive at my house than I’d expected. I had assumed that she knew exactly what secret ingredient she was getting—that she knew who sold it and if they had it—but maybe it had been harder to find. Or maybe she’d gotten to gossiping, or had decided to stop at home first and freshen up.
She’d been wearing saddlebags at market, which she’d taken off before coming over. That turned out to have been a bad decision on her part, since she had to make three trips to get all the supplies she needed over to my house. Not only did she need the pie ingredients, but also a pie crust guide and a rolling pin and a pie tray.
I expected to get right to baking, but she had a different idea. “I think that tonight’s the night that you should open the trap.”
“It’s still too soon, don’t you think?”
Milfoil shook her head. “I’ve got a good feeling. The yard is less interesting now that we’re getting closer to winter, and maybe it will help Windflower hear our voices. She might be able to smell the pie, too.”
“Did her mother bake quince pies?”
Milfoil nodded. “We all did—right at the end of the fall, they were the most popular then, right when the quinces are still fresh.”
“Well . . . if you think so. I’ll go upstairs and open the trap.”
“Wait just a minute. Let me show you how to make a pie crust first, and then you can do that while I’m rolling it out.”
She worked by eye, scooping out the appropriate ingredients and mixing them into the dough for the crust, and I did my best to follow along, even though I knew that there was no chance I’d be able to duplicate the recipe, not without written instructions.
When it was time to mix, I went upstairs and opened the trap door. I wanted to take a quick look upstairs, just to see if there were any new toys that she’d brought to the attic, or if any of the old ones were missing. If she’d found the one I’d left for her in the box.
But I didn’t. I might wind up getting carried away with exploring, and I didn’t want to wind up leaving Milfoil preparing dinner on her own.
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Milfoil you're so helpful and sweet.
Cadance in the distance chanting "Ship! Ship! Ship!"
Minfoil was not only a pony - Milfoil was not only a pony
I still have misgivings about the old stallion. Perhaps our protagonist does as well, hence his reluctance, even though he might not consciously know why.
She's got a good head on her shoulders, this is the proper way to go about it.
Oh shit, I remember talking at the bar the other week.
Are you doing what I think you're doing?
I approve.
Hips don't lie.
9362440
They probably got yoinked from different languages.
Also I got my reference wrong, it should've been "sends you mad" not "drives you mad"
I don't know either.
Unless... *check google translate* Uh. I do know it, I had it once, it had a nice taste.
Funnily enough, my mother who is a good cook never quite learnt how to do a good crust, my father's the one doing it whenever there is pie.
9362363
We need a romance tag
Aww, I'm already caught up.
9362435
Oh dear.
I'd hate to ask how they managed that, though I suppose he would make for a more terrifying ghost.
9362508
He has an alabie. Just tell them that's how all flowers worked back on earth.
Though he can leave out the fact that they were... plastic.
9362466
It really is!
Milfoil x anon
where is Cupid when you need him lol
9362460
Dirty leprechauns though. I'm going to get my gold one day I swear!
9362525
Germane engineering is the pinnacle of all gardening
I'm waiting for the massive slap of sharp cheddar cheese to go along with that pie.
9362739
This is not Anon. Anon is a jerk, and occasional deserving hapless victim.
This human is a sweet eccentric idiot. He fits right in.
9362363
Not just Cadance. Though we'll see if the shipping ever reaches Starlight/Mark Whatney levels.
Mmmm she's doing a right good job wooing him. Wonder how long until he notices?
9362493
Now you have an April Fools chapter to post. I don't care if the story is long dead by then, just insert it in the chapter list around this point.
9362363
i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/687/970/993.jpg
Is it sad I have multiple shipping images saved?
9362843
Fair enough.Milfoil × human then lol
9362463
Yess
*than
*there
You poor, poor, poor, deprived soul. Quice jelly is absolutely divine~~
I-I mean, that's what Rarity would tell me.
Lé shipping engine, she is at full mast now!
More than full mast! Ooh~la~ This ship is throbbing!
9362512 A house with a big sliding door would help. Trying to fit a grapefruit tree through a regular-sized front door is a most perplexing affair. Fortunately, the garage is getting cleaned out at long last, so for the time being it's in there.
9363264 I frequently make crabapple-quince jam in the fall.
Only enough quinces for two jars this year. They're fickle bushes since they bloom so early. If there's a warm spell too early, either there are no bees yet or a frost hits them and they all fall off.
9363899 It's cool that way.
Then they build a giant wicker timberwolf and burn the guy in it.
Because Nicholas Cage will never be allowed to live that movie down.
EVER!!
9362363
*Hyaline the changeling is right next to her, joining the chanting*
SHIP! SHIP! SHIP!
9363821
Crabapple?
Yeah, they're quite rare. I only ever see the jam, and only the actual fruit once. They're kind of oddly-shaped and hard when raw, more like a paw paw than a pear.
Aww. I don't know if I see this developing romantically, but it's still adorable. Hopefully the plan works out.
(Also, my parents have a quince bush growing amid the shrubbery. That thing confused me as a kid. Thorn as long as nails and fruit? What do you want from animals?)
9364568 Not the paw paws I'm familiar with...
growappalachia.berea.edu/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/image.png
Those are soft and sweet inside.
Raw quinces are more like really... hard... sour things... I guess more like unripe apples, but harder.
9364735
I meant more in shape and physical appearance. Personally I never much liked paw paw. My mom ate them all the time.
What makes you think that?
So on a lighter note, imagine if Windflower gets into the shipping. And she's a little ghostie so she starts cheering on Milfoil.
"Woo! Woooo!"
9365130
Fair enough. I was just thinking I could use that as a title to explore this throbbing ship you've got set up for us. (Not to say that I have any plans to)
I'm... not sure what that was supposed to prove.
9365068
I see two possibilities:
1. Carefully extract/exhume her bones and then rebury them at the house (it's like, they're now "watched over, protected" by the village, the Human, Milfoil, ponies Windflower knows). Wind Flower stays.
2. Rebury bones at the Cemetary but not with a funeral, get pinkie involved, celebrate Windflower, allow her to finally move on.
3. Optional: Get the Guard(s) to hunt down and destroy the Wolf that killed Wind Flower - and who knows how many other ponies - so that "unfinished business" is finally "finished."
9365086
So the wolf would be about crotch height. That is...a really unsettling thought.
9365177
Mackinaw and Mackinac are both pronounced exactly the same: "MACK-in-awe."
I love this so much.
9362354
She really is.
9362363
I might have to ninja a romance tag on this thing. . .
9362373
Correction made, thank you!
Well, if nothing else, the protagonist knows that he’s got a mean right hook, so that’s a good reason to be wary.
9362377
Yes, she does. And honestly, he should have approached her much sooner, and a lot of his problems could have been avoided.
9362388
Maaaaaaaaaybe.....
9362456
Ain’t that the truth?
9362502
Both from Latin through Old French, but different words originally: vitium -> vice, vs. vitus (vine) -> vise.
?
Drives you mad is the phrase I know.
9362533
I didn’t, either, until I started using the google-machine.
I don’t think I’ve ever had it.
That’s one thing my mom is good at. Interestingly, she rarely does cookies, though. And she’s not great at cakes, either.
9362559
If it’s any consolation, I’m trying to do pretty quick updates on this one. My goal was to be done by Christmas, but I kinda missed that goal.
9362730
That’s just a thing that ghosts can do. Best to not question it.
That probably won’t work, since it’s a physics process.
9362739
Technically not anon; instead, an unnamed first-person protagonist.
And yeah, Cupid’s right outside, bow strung and ready to go.
9362823
Just remember you’ve got to bait your trap with Lucky Charms, not Trix.
Yes, it is.
You must be from New England.