Kaidan

by Lupine Infernis

8th Candle

There was no warning; no omens, no aching knees, no mysterious strangers shambling into town to cackle mysteriously – nothing of the like.

One night in Appleloosa, the dead rose from their graves.

Braeburn had been fortunate enough – or unfortunate – to be visiting a relative’s headstone late at night when the cemetery seemed to give a collective sigh. He dismissed it initially, certain it was his ears playing tricks, until the dirt near a neighbouring tombstone shifted and parted for a greyish forelimb to stick out.

And then another on the other side.

And then the one in front of him.

Braeburn was a simple stallion with simple wants and thoughts; folks from the big cities found that stereotype striking and funny, but he didn’t see what the problem was – his life was fulfilling and happy. And being simple came with its benefits:

For one thing, it meant he didn’t stay there and gawk and argue semantics with himself about the dead rising. No, sir, he hightailed it from the cemetery as soon as it happened, and because he was a simple stallion, he had a simple goal in mind.

Luna’s good grace lighted the dirt path to Appleloosa as he ran faster than he ever had, lungs burning as ragged breaths left them. He was already chilled by the sweat he was working up. The wind blew his mane behind him when his hat finally came off a dozen or so yards back there; it was his favourite but that could be replaced.

He ran and ran and ran until he was surrounded by familiar shops and houses, and he went to each one with a bang and a holler on their doors.

“Get up! Get yer weapons! Hurry, they’re comin’ this way!”

Slowly, much too slowly, windows glared out at him as lights were turned on. A few doors were thrown open as wide-eyed ponies staggered out in a half-awake fright.

Shoe Shine wandered over with his nightcap. “What in tarnation is all th’ yellin’ about?”

Braeburn stopped to grab him. “Shoe Shine, get yer wife an’ young uns somewhere safe, then grab somethin’ sharp.”

“What? Braeburn, yer not makin’ a lick of sense.”

“Th’ undead! They’re comin’!”

“Undead?!”

Braeburn let him go and ran off, only turning briefly to shout, “Look to th’ graves if ya’ll think I’m lie-talkin’!”

He kept on running, kept on banging and hollering. Braeburn made it to the sheriff’s place and found Silver Star already coming out through the door, apparently just putting his hat on. He looked at Braeburn in confusion.

“Boy, I can hear tha’ racket from here. What’s-”

“Sheriff, we got zombies!”

Silver Star’s moustache twitched. “Boy, ya been hittin’ th’ moonshine?”

“It’s true! I-I was at th’ graves payin’ respect to mah cousin when th’ ground started to shift an’ these zombies came crawlin’ out!” Braeburn shuddered. “Dang, I can still see their rottin’ faces…”

“Maybe ya should come inside an’ sit a spell.”

“Sheriff, when have ya’ll ever known me to lie?” He got a silent stare in response. “Please, just come an’ see for yerself!”

Silver Star grunted and scratched his head. “Yer right – ya don’t lie, but tha’ don’t mean ya can’t be mistaken. Alright, lemme see what’s gotten ya shakin’.”

“Yes, thank ya! It’s back this way!”

By the time Braeburn returned to the part of town facing the cemetery, plenty of the townsfolk were running around. There was panic in the air; Braeburn could feel the tension in his skin.

He looked in the direction of the cemetery. His heart sank into his stomach when he saw several figures approaching in the distance, illuminated by the moon’s silver shine. He couldn’t make out any small details from where he was, but his hindbrain told him there was something wrong and unnatural about them.

“What th’ hell?” Silver Star shook his head. “Naw, this… Tha’ can’t be true.”

“Sheriff, we ain’t got time to question it!” Braeburn cried. “They’re comin’ this way! We need to act!”

Silver Star blinked hard. “They’re… Right, right. Ya’ll…” He cleared his throat and blew a piercing whistle that caused all in earshot to stop and turn. “Alright, everyone grab what ya can an’ set up a barricade along this here road! You and you – grab tha’ there wagon. Everypony else needs to grab themselves a weapon an’ line up here! Get all th’ young an’ elderly to town hall! Move it, ya varmints!”

There was a flurry of movement as coordination and a goal was established. Braeburn felt his nerves steady somewhat – he had something to do, he wasn’t running blind. He dared to hope that they could all get out of this alive if they worked fast.

Zombies. It was the head, right? Removing the head?

Braeburn saw Ol’ Boy Hanky come out of his home dragging a small wheelbarrow full of farming tools. He and several others ran over and grabbed one – he ended up with a hoof-held scythe.

No idea how well it would work, but he’d find out soon enough.

What else?

He had to find something to wrap his limbs.

Securing rags was easy – he borrowed some from Miss Thread’s store and dipped them in water, so they wouldn’t tear easily. He tied them tightly around his hooves, then went over to where they were stacking hay bales and furniture to form the barricade.

The undead were closer now. They’d probably be on the town in five or six minutes, tops.

Silver Star came up on his side and put down another hay bale with a grunt. “Dagnabbit, this ain’t how I thought my night would go!”

Braeburn smiled shakily. “Change of pace from keepin’ Tipsy from th’ salt rocks, huh?”

“Tch…” Silver Star’s moustache twitched again. “Those varmints’ll prolly dry themselves to dust bitin’ his salty ass.”

That moment of levity was gone as soon as quickly as it came. Silver Star looked ahead, cursed, and ran to grab a weapon. Braeburn swallowed and took a spot between a bale and an overturned wagon. He looked through the wheels’ spokes as his fellow neighbours joined him.

The shouted orders and adrenaline-spiked chatter gradually dwindled until ceasing altogether as everypony prepared themselves for the upcoming fight.

The zombies were encroaching on the edges of the town.

Braeburn was close enough to make out which ones were fresh and which ones had been underground for some time. He could see his cousin among them, still wearing the jacket they buried him in, and swallowed a horrified sob.

Some of the undead were moaning and grunting, the noises carrying on the wind. Their shuffling was slow but persistent and their eyes projected an unnatural white glow like fireflies had nested in their sockets.

Braeburn could smell the fear in the air.

“Alright!” Silver Star shouted, holding his scythe in the air. “Find yer horseshoes an’ give ‘em what for! Ain’t nothin’ gonna wreck my town while I’m still kickin’!”

A few ponies shouted, and Braeburn joined, if only to bolster his resolve.

The first zombie approached the barricade.

And fell as somepony slashed at their face.

Braeburn was surprised to find that it had been him when he saw blood glistening on his blade.

But he had no time to celebrate as the rest of the horde fell on them.

Shouts and cries filled the air as each swing of a weapon was punctuated by a meaty impact and a visceral splash of fluid. The undead groaned and ignored their attacks as they pushed at the barricade with their rotten bodies.

Braeburn swung like a madpony, fear and anger fuelling his body as he hacked and slashed and desperately tried to keep the barricade from collapsing. He had no idea how many of his neighbours remained or if any had already been bitten, but he couldn’t afford to stop and check – he had to hold the line.

But despite his efforts, one zombie made it through and the rest flowed into the gap like a tsunami.

Silver Star screamed at everypony to get back.

Braeburn watched in terror as two zombies lurched towards him.

And as he swung and nailed one in the head, the other-

-stumbled past him.

Braeburn blinked and turned in astonishment. He failed to see another of the horde approach and jumped back in alarm when they, too, ignored him.

“Sh-sheriff!”

He looked around in awe as he saw the same thing around him; the undead were moving past the barricade and the ponies defending it as if they weren’t even there. His fellow townsfolk started realizing this as well and the angry cries and attacks began to stop.

Soon, they were all watching as the creatures shuffled by, grunting and moaning.

“Th’ hell’s goin’ on here?” Somepony cried.

“They headin’ for our families?” Another asked.

“Naw, don’t look like it.” Ol’ Boy Hanky answered.

Braeburn shook his head in disbelief and turned to Silver Star. “Uh, what do we do now?”

Silver Star looked at him blankly. “I… I don’t rightly know.”

Braeburn licked his lips as he had a crazy idea. He looked to the spearpoint of the horde and shouted, “Cousin Whetstone!”

It was a long-shot.

But to Braeburn’s surprise, one of the zombies in front stopped and sluggishly turned around, looking at him, and it was almost as if Whetstone was still there and alive.

“C-cousin…” Braeburn swallowed nervously. “What… what’re ya’ll doin’ back with us?”

Whetstone stared at him, swaying as some undead jostled him as they moved past. “Runnin’…”

“What?”

“Runnin’…” Whetstone’s tongue lolled in his maw. “Runnin’ away…”

With that, he turned back around and re-joined the horde.

Braeburn watched, gobsmacked. “Runnin’ from what?”

And again, the ground seemed to give a collective sigh.

Braeburn froze and looked back to the cemetery. “Sheriff…”

Silver Star grit his teeth together. “I know, son.”

It was too far to make out any details, but Braeburn could see something coming out from the cemetery. It was big. And there were more than one.

Braeburn’s heart sank, but his body automatically made its way back to the barricade. “Same plan?”

Silver Star nodded. “Don’t matter what it is. We protect our own.”

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

And he steadied his resolve.

---

---

Twilight was met with silent stares. “What?”

“That was…” Rainbow Dash folded her forelegs. “Good.”

“And… that’s bad?”

Pinkie Pie shook her head. “No way! It’s great that it’s good. I think we were just expecting something like the scary stories you usually tell.”

Applejack nodded. “Like th’ time ya fergot yer shopping list.”

“Hey, I have three mouths to feed in this castle, each one with their own varying appetites. You’d panic, too, when the least fussy one is the pony.”

Starlight blinked. “Me?!”

“Sorry. I really love having you as my student, but it’s not easy buying food for you,” Twilight gave an apologetic smile as she went to blow out a candle. “Case in point: I had to make a separate list to handle this sleepover’s provisions just for you.”

Starlight blushed beet-red.

“Is Trixie not important enough to have her own list?” Trixie cried. “I have a very discerning palate, you know.”

Twilight rolled her eyes as she snuffed out a candle and returned to her spot. “Hm, so that’s eight tales that have been told. Everypony’s had their turn? Okay, so now we go back around to Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy nodded. “I’m ready. Um, by the way, when we finish telling sixteen stories, what happens then?”

“Well, nothing, really. From what I’ve read about the Kaidan game, all the spirits that were attracted to the mirror by the tales are supposedly released on the snuffing of the sixteenth candle,” Twilight chuckled. “But that’s just an urban legend.”

“Don’t count out urban legends, egghead,” Rainbow Dash moaned in a low voice. “Because when they’ll GET YOU!”

“Well, we’ve got you to beat them up if they do come, don’t we?”

“Yeah, that’s true. I am pretty awesome at everything.”

Author's Note:

Zombies are a staple of the horror genre, which is why they tend to be viewed as overused and cliche. Doesn't mean they can't still be done right, though.

Comments

[Thought Prism]

Yeah, this was a great subversion of tropes.

[HiddenEntity]

Now I'm curious... What were the zombs runnin' from?

[AisheyruFox]

Not gonna lie, when the one turned and said they were running I got a chill down my spine.

[lochbessie]

10502024
They were running from a huge wave of necrophiliacs. They only barely got away saving few body parts they had left.

[Emperorxeno]

10898972
Worse, somebody was trying to talk to them about their car insurance warranty! And when they tried to explain that they didn’t have or know what cars even were, they just got more aggressive with their pitch.