The Haunting
Admiral Biscuit
There were times that I wished that ponies had invented trail cams. I could have set several of them up around every place of interest around the house, at least assuming that a ghost would set it off. Certainly, it would have been better than spending hours in a box-fort and seeing nothing for my troubles.
Ghosts ought to have a regular schedule. All the proper ghosts did. Well, I didn’t know that for a fact, but it felt like the kind of thing that ought to be a fact. A proper haunted mansion would have a ghost who showed up on schedule, did some spooky things, and then left.
Although it would have been suspicious if that were the case. Being a ghost wasn’t a sundown to sunrise job.
Besides, my ancestors must have spent time in the woods waiting for dinner to show up. That’s what my grandpa would have said. Sitting and waiting builds character.
I felt that my character was plenty built.
Bringing a book along wasn’t a bad idea, and that was a thought for the future. All the comforts of home in the box fort in my home. Surely that would be a selling point for the house; not only does it have a ghost, it’s got a fully-appointed ghost-watching box-fort.
It was too bad that there wasn’t a way to put a ghost sensor on my roof.
She arrived on her schedule, not mine. Her point of entry was generally approximately the same. I could have gone and marked it with paint if I’d felt like it, but close enough was good enough. She came through the roof where it faced the backyard between two of the dormer windows, each and every time she arrived. I had one spy-hole that faced in that direction.
I’d gotten a bit of practice in my box-fort, and was pretty good at knowing where I could catch her entrance out of the corner of my eye. The dim glow gave it away, especially since I always felt hyper-sensitive when I was in my box-fort. It was boring, but an alert kind of boring.
She came in the usual way, and I moved as stealthily as I could from one spyhole to the next, being careful to not make any noise that might disturb her.
One day I was going to have to make my presence known.
I thought about that when I was laying in bed. She had an awareness that things weren’t the same as they’d been before I moved in, and she seemed to want to avoid things I’d put in the attic. I wasn’t sure why--she was curious about it, so clearly she could see it and knew it was there, but she didn’t do anything with it.
She got out her toys and arranged them.
After the first time, that was something that I’d really paid attention to. It had occurred to me that she might be trying to send me a message, or that she had been somehow trapped in some kind of a loop. If that were the case, she would arrange them the same way every time.
But that was not what she did. Nor did she play with them the same way every time.
I was no expert at reading ponies, but I knew that the ears were the right place to direct my attention. Of course, who knew if that held true for ghosts; maybe I should have been paying attention to the wispy bits that made up her back half.
Still, even I could tell when she was focused and when she wasn’t. There were times when she’d get lost in her toys. Telling herself some kind of story, perhaps. And there were other times when she wasn’t as focused--those were usually short nights for me.
Sometimes she didn’t even get all her toys out. Sometimes it was only one or two and at first her ears would be alert but then they’d start to turn back and droop and before too long, she’d put them away and leave.
•••••
I don’t know what impulse made me think of it.
The trowel had been sitting in the kitchen, undisturbed. The only thing that could be said about it was that it was getting older.
It probably wasn’t getting dirtier, since it was already caked with dirt.
Given its location, my box-fort was movable. After all, I’d wanted to still have access to the attic. If there had been a pony Harbor Freight, I could have gotten little wheels for it and made it really nice, but even without that, the basic form was just a stack of boxes comfortably big enough for a human with strategic knotholes. The whole thing probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, and there were a couple of box-tops that were kind of just sitting on it rather than being properly attached with nails. I could lift them up as the world’s worst trap doors, and while there were a few times that the lack of box-fort security bothered me, she hadn’t made any serious attempts to get in. Besides, she was a ghost, and there was no chance a thin board would stymie her if she wanted to get through. That felt self-evident.
I don’t know what impulse made me think of it, but I took the trowel and set it out in the attic, in the middle of the floor. Blatantly obvious; so obvious as I sat and observed that I was certain she’d see it for the trap it was.
It wasn't, but that was beside the point.
Many many years ago when I was in Boy Scouts, I’d gone fishing in a rowboat. The lake was clear, and I’d baited the hook with a hot dog. Not the best thing, but it was what I’d had.
Three bluegill had swum up to the hook and regarded it warily. One of them had finally deigned to come up close, and then he’d reported back to his friend that it was a trap, and the three of them swam off together, and I’d learned that I was not as smart as a fish.
I was apparently smarter than a ghost.
She found it straight away, and what happened next was a comedy of errors.
She picked it up in her mouth and went right over to the roof. She passed through the thatches without difficulty, but for the trowel it was a different matter. It was made of solider stuff, and it would not go as effortlessly as she did.
Several attempts later, she realized the problem and attempted to open the dormer window.
I’d looked at them already and come to the conclusion that they were not opening easily. I hadn’t tried one, which was perhaps an oversight on my part, but I had her to do that for me.
They would not open.
It was easy to imagine that a ghost couldn’t bring her strength to bear like a non-ghost might be able to. What I witnessed was an episode in frustration. She was able to get the latch open; that didn’t seem terribly difficult for her. But after that, she had no luck whatsoever. Paint and rust and time had taken their toll on the windows and they were now effectively ghost-proof.
When that route was lost to her, she circled my box fort several times, the trowel held in her mouth. I don’t know what she was expecting to happen, but whatever it was didn’t, and finally her ears fell and she relegated herself to hiding it as well, picking a spot that was different from where her toys lived but also close to the backyard.
•••••
I should have felt like I’d accomplished something when I finally departed my box-fort, but I didn’t. I felt hollow, like I’d taken candy from a baby or managed some other task that was not only meaningless, but perhaps unnecessarily cruel. My mind kept replaying her pushing uselessly on the dormer window and I finally got back up out of bed and went to the attic.
The window was stiff but not a match for a human, and I got it open.
Just to make sure I wasn’t crazy, I took one look at the hollow where she’d hid the trowel and it was still there.
I left the window cracked open, wide enough that a trowel would fit through it, and retired to bed.
I love how he's become not a ghost hunter but a ghost anthropologist.
9293975
Not anthropologist, that specifically means "study of humans." (Hence the fandom song Anthropology, sung by Lyra.)
Maybe a hippopneumatologist? (Hippology = study of horses, pneumatology = study of spiritual beings and phenomena.)
She handled that about as well as I would if I were half-asleep. Makes me wonder if that says anything about her mental state as a ghost.
9294053
Half-asleep... hum, that's an interesting idea. It does sound like she's on the tired side. Maybe she's not a ghost but an astral projection? Maybe an adult who's 'inner child' found a way to get out and go back home?
9294035
It's the thought that counts.
Are you *sure* she's not a cat?
I am loving every minute of this.
Next step: buy a new toy and leave it out for her. Observe reaction.
Next, next step: leave out a piece of candy...
D'aww...
Poor Boo.
Good thing it wasnt a shovel, she would never manage to get that thing out through the window.
Wonder if she was like one of those flowers where if you dip the stem in coloured water, they become that colour?
9294053
Ghosts generally aren't all that aware of their surroundings. You might almost compare it to a sort of sleepwalking mixed with one of those almost-lucid dreams. Often times they aren't even really aware of their death. They are very much creatures of habit, ghosts, repeating the same routines that they held in life.
He should be very cautious, "waking up" a ghost can have unpredictable results, he might get a hysterical poltergeist instead of a shy filly.
This is sad, cute and funny at the same time. Well done.
Now get her that new toy as apology, you candy-thief.
Yup, that would definitely make you feel like you had just teased a small child by giving them a chocolate but inside a childproof lidded jar.
Our protagonist has observed the obvious but has failed to grasp the intent and meaning... this is leaving them both frustrated for different reasons.
9294427 "Ghostbusters" library ghost, incoming!
OK, dumb question - I don't know why, it has no bearing on the story, but I can't help but wonder, does our narrator actually have a day job or does he just lie around attempting to sleep through the day so he can (creepily) spy on poor, innocent ghost-ponies at night?
9294149
You say that like ponies aren't part cat anyways.derpicdn.net/img/view/2016/11/29/1306003__safe_artist-colon-captainpudgemuffin_amethyst+star_sparkler_behaving+like+a+cat_captainpudgemuffin+is+trying+to+murder+us_cat_cat+pony_chest+f.png
Huh, she appears to be aware of her “no-clip” ability.
Interesting.
Heh, he’s becoming quite the detective.
Correction(s)!
There might be more that I’ve missed.
9294539
they most certainly are.
images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/intermediary/f/706e16bd-3794-4855-b8be-4b586f15494c/dcjs9oi-efedfa74-97d3-4ba3-b1f2-917e55bf18d5.jpg/v1/fill/w_952,h_840,q_70,strp/_commission__caught_unawares_by_madina55rus_dcjs9oi-pre.jpg
9294427
Which is why he should be ready with candy and blankets and hot chocolate and tissues and such. Maybe some lullabies.
Really, his problems here seem to come from treating her like a phenomenon to investigate instead of a person.
9294724
I think deep down on some level he's afraid that if he tries to interact with her directly she'll disappear forever.
Sadly, the ghost can't produce sound, otherwise he would've clearly heard, "Hey, Box Guy, could you get the window for me?"
In any case, very interesting to see that she's not caught in a loop. Now the question becomes what she plans on doing with the trowel.
9294469
hhhhmmmm 🤔
9293975
That’s an important role in society. Or at least it should be. It’s certainly the friendlier way to approach things.
9294035
Seems to me that pneumatology ought to also apply to inflatable things. :derpytonge2:
I do like the term, though.
9294053
It does raise questions, doesn’t it? If she’d thought about it, would she have expected the trowel to go through the thatches or not?
9294108
That’s an interesting guess, but no. She’s certainly not an inner child of an adult.
9294149
Yes, she is not a cat.
9294184
Thanks!
9294261
You and the protagonist are thinking along the similar lines, that’s for sure.
9294280
9294339
Although it would be funny to watch, like those videos of dogs with long branches trying to get through a doorway.
Ooh, that’s a good question. Maybe not water, but there might be something that would change a ghost’s color.
9294427
Yes.
This is something that our protagonist hasn’t really considered, and perhaps he should.
9294428
He really should get her a new toy, just to see what she does with it.
9294439
I know, right? You do the right thing with the best of intentions, and it doesn’t work.
He really has--in some way, he’s missing the forest for the trees.
9294452
That would not be idea for our protagonist.
9294469
He actually has a day job (although thus far he hasn’t said what it is) and after work, he naps so that he can be awake for spying on ghost-ponies.
9294539
They totally are part cat. I wouldn't say 94%, but it’s certainly a high percentage.
9294646
Somewhat aware, anyway.
Observe and report is probably the most important lesson to becoming a detective, and that’s something that he’s got going for him.
Correction made, thank you!
9294698
Oh, that’s just adorable.
9294724
That’s an important point, one that our protagonist hasn’t quite grasped yet. He would do well to consider that as he continues his investigation.
9294840
Which is not an unreasonable thing to think. Or, alternately, if he makes her fully aware of his presence, she might become malevolent towards him, and that would be an even worse outcome.
9296566
Can she produce sound? He’s never heard her, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t. She might not even know that he’s in the box.
Gardening, of course. What else would she use it for?
9297298
He does have a day job, although he’s never said what it was.
9302053
It would be slow, but she could dig a hole. Maybe eight feet tall, 36 inches wide, and about six feet down? She does have eternity, after all...
9307100
Well, she has eternity to get it done, but if she wants to inter the human, she’s got to get it done before he dies.
Or else keep the body someplace else, I’d think.
Also, probably seven feet or so would be better, to get some good topsoil above for growing flowers or whatever.
Hmmm, not the brightest. She probably won't be capable of speech then?
So the murder of this story is......
"Dan-dan-daaaam"
RAINBOW DASH! =)
""
King Sombra was Cruel but you man.....but you are in a Whole new level, Think ABOUT THE CHILDREN MAN! DAMN! ='/
9331184
I know, right? Poor guy teasing a ghost (even if it wasn’t on purpose).
9329988
You’ll have to wait and find out.
Still a filly. When she died she must have been veey young. I expect some pretty basic stuff from her.