Undead Don’t Make For Good Coltfriends

by daOtterGuy

Undead Don’t Make For Good Cabin Mates

Zephyr was having a bad day. A massive understatement in light of the blizzard that howled around him, barraging his barely covered body with snow and wind which caused him to shake from the cold. Even worse, he was in the woods, which, for some sun-forsaken reason, was uphill. To add insult to injury, the aforementioned weather made it impossible to just fly over and skip the whole upward climb altogether. He had tried that once and got blown face-first into a tree for his trouble. This, of course, reminded him of the pine sap that stuck to him in uncomfortable places.

Oh, then there were the monsters. Ponies who froze to death and then came back as flesh-hungry zombies. Really put the icing on the proverbial three-tier trash cake. All he’d wanted to do was get beautician certification from the most prestigious beauty school in Equestria, Vanhoover Beauty School. Instead, he’d wound up trapped in the literal snowpocalypse.

Said flesh-hungry zombies were also the reason he was in these dumb upward woods in the first place. Flying was out of the question in this kind of weather, the paths out of Vanhoover had become blocked, no boat was gonna sail through this mess, and staying in a town overrun by zombies was less than ideal.

Thus a'hiking Zephyr went until he hopefully stumbled upon some miracle shelter out in the pines. He had tried his luck at worse things in the past and came out fine, so he was sure he’d find something. Probably. Maybe.

To say Zephyr was having second thoughts was also an understatement. As he sneezed for what might have been the hundredth time, he looked up at the obscured sky trying to discern how long he’d been out in the woods. On failing to do so, his mind once more concernedly brought forth the idea that he would soon collapse and turn into one of those ugly, gross zombies.

But thankfully, as if fate itself was listening, he spied a strange brown blob in the distance through the blanket of snow. Squinting his eyes to focus, the blob resolved into something more box-like and, with rising excitement, an actual building.

Practically tripping over himself as he plowed through the snow, he pushed his way to the front door and shoved his way in.

The interior was, to put simply, drab as he slammed the door shut with a back hoof. There was a wooden table shoved against a nearby wall with an empty lantern on top surrounded by chairs, a brick fireplace filled with wood waiting to be burned, a large rug laid before it, and a single, worn dresser near the entrance.

Zephyr did the first logical thing he could think of and checked the nearby dresser for any personal hygiene products. The blizzard and his coat hood had done a number on his normally perfectly done-up mane and he planned to fix that as soon as possible.

To his utter dismay, there was nothing useful to be found. He couldn’t understand why any sane pony wouldn’t have at least a mane brush near the front door in case of a beauty emergency, but, alas, the prior residents clearly weren’t as cultured as he.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an attached kitchenette and made his way over.

It was a small space with a sink, cupboard, fridge, and icebox. Twisting the sink tap on, he noted the stream of water coming out of the faucet and, more excitedly, the telltale emittance of steam signifying that he had hot water. It would work well for washing himself if he was desperate and definitely before the tree sap stuck to his fur and became a permanent fixture.

Ignoring everything else, he left the kitchen and returned to the living room, trotting up to the fireplace and looking for some way to light a fire.

He found a firestarter on the mantle, a weird can opener-looking tool with a sack of oil attached to one of the handles, and grabbed it with his hooves. He glanced at the wood in the fireplace and figured it would probably light up if he could get the firestarter to work.

Grasping the can opener shakily with both hooves and, while keeping his head turned far away from the future blaze, he squeezed the handles together.

Nothing happened.

Turning back with a confused expression on his face, Zephyr squeezed the handles again. No fire happened. Zephyr tried again. For a third time, the wood did not become alight.

Growling in frustration, he began to squeeze the handles together over and over again in rapid succession with his head dangerously close to the ignition. With a spurt, oil shot from the firestarter and ignited on the sparks shot out by the tool.

The wood burst into flame nearly singing a startled Zephyr who fell back with a yelp, thumping onto the floor.

Gasping for breath, Zephyr chuckled nervously then with more confidence as the flames continued to burn brightly. He raised his hooves in triumph and gave out a loud victory cry at his accomplished task.

And just when things had started to look up, he heard a heavy creak.

Whipping his head toward the noise, Zephyr jumped away from it. It had emanated from the dimly lit adjoining corridor that led further into the cabin. His ears perked up as he shakily drew in breaths, alert for any recurrence.

As another creak echoed through the house, Zephyr gulped and backed up until his rump impacted into the wall behind him.

Several more creaks followed before a massive black shape appeared at the end of the hall, blocking out what little light came in from a faraway window. The something began to move toward Zephyr, each step producing a thump alongside a creak.

Whimpering as he cowered in place, Zephyr brought his wings up to shield his face, his eyes peeking through gaps in his primary feathers.

The mountainous being drew closer, the flames finally revealing their form in stark lighting. It was a large pegasus with dull yellow fur and a pale blue mane swept back in a crest. A myriad of scars crisscrossed their barrel. More alarming was their translucent fur. Their skull, spine, and chest bones peered through as well as a glowing blue heart encased in ice.

Two glazed-over blue eyes peered down at Zephyr, frozen tear tracts tracing down from the corners to their chin.

The zombie leaned down toward Zephyr.

Zephyr screamed.