"OOOoooOOOoooOOOooo!!!"
by shortskirtsandexplosions
First published
As it turns out, our planet is the afterlife of a tiny horse world, and my house is super haunted. At least the ghosts are kinda cute, if not a teensy bit annoying.
As it turns out, our planet is the afterlife of a tiny horse world, and my house is super haunted. At least the ghosts are kinda cute, if not a teensy bit annoying.
"AAAaaaAAAaaaAAAaaaples!!"
Ba-DUNK!
Ga-DUNK!!
My fingers freeze atop the keyboard.
Ba-DUNK!
Ga-DUNK!!
I see the reflection of my lethargically clearing eyes across the gloss of my computer screen.
The rattling sound keeps issuing from the opposite end of the house:
Ba-DUNK!
Ga-DUNK!!
I try to ignore it. I try.
Like so many things in my life as of late.
Floaty. Translucent. Vaguely fuzzy things.
For a brief spell, all is silent. I feel as though it is safe enough to return back to my word processor—
Ba-DUNK!
Ga-DUNK!!
“Oh for the love of Hemingway's cats!” I curse.
With a disgruntled sigh, I save the document and climb up out of my desk chair. My left leg's asleep from the position I've placed myself in for the last half-hour, and I'm forced to limp out of my room, into the hallway, and across the house—tracing the source of the offensive knocking.
Ba-DUNK!
Ga-DUNK!!
I can see the shadows shifting from around the nearest corner. The air in the room drops ten... twenty degrees. My breath becomes visible in an angry vapor as I stumble into the kitchen and glare daggers into the corner.
“Will you knock it off?!”
Once again—without any consideration to the laws of thermodynamics—the refrigerator shakes and rattles on its own.
Ba-DUNK!
Ga-DUNK!!
“I mean it!!” I spit, waving vaguely towards the location of my office. “I'm trying to get some editing done in here!!”
Ba-DUNKKKKK!! The refrigerator knocks against the wall one last time—heavily—then settles into a quiet rattle.
Then silence.
“There...” I exhale sharply, beginning to turn towards the direction from which I came. “...was that really so hard—?”
“SILENCE, MONKEY!!!” the refrigerator speaks, except of course it flippin' doesn't. The freezer door is just swinging wildly on its hinges while a drawling southern accent bellows like an amateur ventriloquist from somewhere within. “YER LECTURIN' A CURSED FREEZER BOX! YER TIME OF RECKONIN' HAS COME YONDER!!”
“Applejack...” I place my hands on my hips. “Stop pretending to be a haunted refrigerator—”
“I REQUIRE A SACRIFICIAL OFFERIN' OF THREE WHOLE APPLES IN ORDER FOR THIS HERE POULTRY-GAS TO BE BANISHED!!”
“Don't you mean poltergeist—?”
“BITE YER TONGUE, MORTAL WHIPPERSNAPPER!!”
Stifling a groan, I rub my forehead as I shuffle forward towards the intensely-vibrating appliance.
“ONLY THE RED DELICIOUS SHELLS OF THREE WHOLE APPLES CAN SATIATE—“
With a firm hand, I yank the larger door panel open.
A translucent cat-sized pony with a long blonde ponytail and a translucent cat-sized hat lies curled-up in the back of the third shelf, squeezed between a canister of cream cheese and a plastic tub full of half-decade old duck sauce packets. She freezes in the middle of her frightful equinidolon speech and blinks up at me, full of ectoplasm and freckles.
“—...the demons??” she sputters.
“Applejack.” I am glaring. “What have I told you about raiding my fridge?”
“Erm...” Her tail flicks, phasing through spaghetti leftovers and a half-eaten cuban sandwich. “...always leave plenty of room in the belly of the boat for loot?”
“Out!” I point offensively across the kitchen, gnashing my teeth. “Now!”
“Uh uh! I ain't budgin'!” She frowns, curling her front fetlocks against her ghostly chest. “Not until you fetch me some apples!”
“Faulkner on pogo-stick...” I facepalm, sighing. “How many times have we been over this??” I cackle: “You can't eat!”
“Hrmmff!” She tilts her nose up. “Maybe not with that attitude!”
“I don't even keep apples in my fridge!”
“Pffft! Reckon I dun know that?” She kicks against the back wall of the refrigerator and sorta... airglides out like a levitating ghost roomba. This paranormal action sends her careening through my physical form, which sends a briefly menacing chillll up my spine. “Figured you monkey mortals liked to freeze yer vittles—seein' as how yer incineratin' just about everythang else in the world!”
“Don't l-lecture m-me on our civilization's apocalypse...” I rub my arms, melting the goosepimples away as I turn to follow her floating form. “I'm still struggling to figure out yours.”
“Eh...” Applejack floats past hanging pots and pans, fogging them up with chilly condensation while her disembodied voice echoes against the kitchen window's frame. “All good thangs come to an end. And me and my partners' lives was one doozy of a shindig, you get what I'm sayin'?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But for the millionth time...” I clutch both fists and hunch over with a pleading expression. “What does your existential nightmare have to do with me?!?”
“Nothin'. Nothin' at all.” Applejack removes her hat, fans herself, then pivots towards me with a steely expression. “Unless... of course...” She plops the ghost hat back on her ghost head and undulates towards me on ghost hooves. “...you refuse me a fruity snack and I will have to cuuuuuuurse youuuuuu!” She waves her forelimbs like inflatable tube noodles in an autumn breeze. “OOooOOooOOooOOoo!!”
My nostrils flare. Defeated, I march sideways two steps, reach up, and grab a trio of apples from a hanging fruit basket above the kitchen cutting board.
“Here.” I reach forward, offering the bounty in limp hands. “You happy?”
Her entire demeanor switches from demon to angel in an emerald-eyed blink. “Well, shucks! There they were the whole time! Haah haaaah! Ain't that just whistlin' dixie?”
“Dogs can't look up.”
“Beg yer pardon?”
“Mrmffff...” I toss the apples at her. “Here ya go.”
“Mwaaaaaaaaaaah—!” She opens her tiny horse chompers wide. The three bits of fruit fall into her mouth... through her throat... and land with pulpy splashes against the hard tile floor below. “Mmmmm!” She makes a show of licking her lips and rubbing her belly. “Yum! Yum!” A wide, bright grin: full of freckles and teeth—both translucent. “Them's good eats!”
“Good eats?!?” I gesture inconsolably towards the fresh mushy mess on the floor. “They just went through your body, you dumb phantom furry!”
“Whew-wee! I feel me a dinner coma comin' on!” Applejack gallops out the north wall of the house, vanishing with a flick of her tail. I hear her ghostly voice rattling through the house's foundation. “Better get straight to apple buckin' or else I'll nap the whole afternoon away!”
“Applejaaaaaack, please...” I cup two hands over my muzzle. “Give the squirrels a rest, will ya?! At least kick the cacti along the driveway! They don't have anything living in them!”
My cries fall upon deaf ears. Dead ears? Whatever.
Sighing, I grab a paper towel and proceed to wipe the tasty muck off the floor.
“I should grow an orchard out back,” I mutter to nobody and everybody. I shift my weight from knee to knee as I work on the tile. “What point is there in paying ghostly ranchhooves? I'll make a killing.”
Just as I say this, I hear the toaster rattling and “hopping” atop the kitchen counter behind me.
Cla-KLACK!
Cla-KLACK!
“OooOooOoo! Quickly, mortal!” A cracking voice rasps from the electronic appliance. “You must feed me Pop-Tarts or I will make all your grandparents' underwear turn to liquid! Only the awesomest flavor will do! Something like strawberry cinnamon—”
“It's not going to work, Rainbow Dash!” I snarl without looking. “Give it a rest!”
The toaster rattles to a stop.
Dead silence.
Until...
“WhooOOooOOooOOooOOoo is Rainbow DaaAAaaAAaaAAaash?! Nopony here but us haunted kitchenwaaAAaaAAaaAAaare!”
“Friggin' James Joyce on a zamboni...”
"MeeEEeeEEeeEEowwww!"
“Hooman.”
I'm reclining on the sofa. I have my phone in one hand. A can of soda rests half-empty in the other.
“Hooman...?”
My thumb flicks across the smart device's screen. My banking account rest at an uncomfortably low number. I bite my bottom lip, feeling a slight pang of guilt over the latest splurge.
At least I'm keeping my savings account at a steady sum. So long as that remains untouched...
“HooOOooOOooOOoomannnn...!”
I lower my phone and look at the floor.
A black and white tuxedo cat looks up at me. Its eyes are glowing an unnaturally bright turquoise.
“Feed me more treats, HooOOooOOooman!” the cat vocalizes.
I barely hum in response. I hold my phone up again.
The feline can be sensed stirring with awkward discomfort. “I mean it. I will... uhm... snuggle you less.”
“Fluttershy, get out of my cat,” I pronounce in one exhale.
“Awwwwww! But he feels so cute and whiskery!”
“Out.”
There is a melodic sigh of defeat. Yellow steam rises from my pet, topped off with a flowing pink mane. Within seconds, my cat shakes its head, licks itself, then pads off as if nothing has transpired.
“Thank you,” I say as I sign out of my bank account.
“Hrmfff...” Fluttershy levitates a few feet from my sofa, frowning in the middle of the living room. “You big meanie!”
“Mmmhmmm.” I switch to Twitter. Someone is getting canceled for farting inconsiderately on SNL ten years ago. Syria's being bombed again. Grand Theft Auto Six still hasn't come out. “And why am I a meanie this time?”
“Because you won't give him treats!” Fluttershy whines. “I thought you were supposed to be a loving owner!”
“If I gave him treats all the time, they would stop being special occasions and would no longer qualify as treats.” I switch to Reddit. There's a Megathread about the Syria bombing; everyone is making Call of Duty Modern Warfare jokes for upvotes. “I want him to feel appreciated for the things he does right—or else he'll think I approve of any and all shenanigans.”
“I believe the best way to take care of animals is constant positive reinforcement.”
“Isn't that what I just described?”
“No.” She floats over and nestles against the couch cushion beside me. “You're robbing him of the joys of living! Cat-living!”
I exhale through the sudden chill that the horse-spirit has brought on. The vapors of my breath fog up Reddit, and I feel strangely relieved. “Tell me why I should take advice on cat-life from a bodiless paragon of pony-death?”
“Hrmmmf!” She tilts her nose up and plops her flank down onto the couch with angry punctuation. “See what I mean? A big meanie—EEEP!” Her ghostly eyes bug as she sinks down through the couch. Ten seconds is spent dog-paddling through the depth of the furniture, and eventually her golden visage rises up once again. “Ahem... honestly—if I had my precious Angel and Elizabeak and the rest of my animal friends here, I would treat them with love and attention every single second of the day!”
“Hey. I love my cat.” I place my phone away and lean casually to the side, gazing at the ghostly house-squatter. “I'm just not aiming to spoil him. He's not got long on this earth—after all—and I want it spent healthily.”
“Well, I haven't... uhm... been long on your 'earth.' But from what I've seen, your animals could use all the treats they can get.”
I nod, not responding right away. I think about what Fred Rogers would do. Or maybe Doomslayer.
“Just what happened to all of your animal friends, anyways?”
Fluttershy sighs. She hangs her head. “I don't know.”
“Cuz it sure doesn't look like they followed you and your friends here.”
“Mmmmm...” She whimpers. Her face hides behind a curtain of pink hair—which is rather redundant, seeing that the hair is translucent. Then again, all of Fluttershy is translucent. For a moment, I imagine seeing her heart, and I can only imagine it breaking.
The air is chillier somehow. But not because of the haunting. Not this time.
“Look...” I gesture as I speak. “If you wanna hang out with my cat, speak to my cat, love on my cat. That's fine. But please... don't possess it again. I know you're trying to level with me, but leave the feline out of it. You may not believe that I respect animals like you do, but at least you can show some nicer manners, no matter the intention. Hmmm?”
She nods. “You're right...”
“It's not that I'm 'right.' I'm just... more familiar with this plane of existence than you are.” I squint slightly. “Do I have to remind you about your irrational fear of my vacuum?”
Fluttershy shudders, her immortal teeth chattering. “No.” She gulps. “You don't.”
“You recovered from that complex, didn't you?”
“Mmmm... more or less.”
“What's it that you always say? 'Baby steps?'”
“These hooves haven't touched anything solid since I left Equestria...”
“You know what I mean. Just ease off on the cat thing. I promise you I'm treating him with utmost care. In the meantime, you can keep him company.”
She lights up at this. The tiny spectre looks up at me with twinkling eyes. “You really mean it?”
“Sure! Why not. You can even toss some tiny objects around for him to chase. He'll love the heck out of that.”
“Oh... that s-sounds absolutely fun~”
“Just don't hop inside him again, okay?” I point towards the far corners of the room. “I had him fixed ages ago, but I don't need you forcing him to spray out of fear.”
“Oh! I would never!”
“You have my whole-hearted trust.”
“Hmmmm...” Fluttershy smiles warmly and sits back down on the couch once again. “...I think I just might get used to this place after all, human.”
And she sinks straight through the furniture.
“Eeep!”
"DaaAAaaAAaarliiIIiiIIiiIIiing!"
"Dear lord, help me..." I cradle my head in my hands as I sit, hunched-over, before the computer. "Help me, lord, please."
There's a cooing sound behind me, accompanied by what sounds remotely like twinkling bells. Or a xylophone. Or something else high-pitched and prissy.
"Donations..." I pull at my facial muzzles, gazing up with bloodshot eyes at the screen full of numbers, brackets, and information fields before me. "Does Patreon count as 'donations to a hobby?'"
"Ah! Darling! This one is absolutely glorious!"
Something billows behind me. Something ethereal, flowy, and white as a sheet. No, it's not a ghost. It's a dress. A very old dress.
Someone talks, but it's not the dress. "So simple! Yet so elegantly stitched~!" A marshmallowy unicorn levitates through the gown, then settles into a delicate hover beside it. Her horn glows with a light blue haze, making it seem slightly less translucent than the rest of her. "I can easily tell that it's home-sewn! A product of love and expert craftponyship, no doubt! Ooops!" She daintily covers her ghostly muzzle. "A thousand pardons, dear. Craftmanship."
"Maybe I could lump Patreon and Ko-Fi into non-relevant sideline gratuity," I mumble aloud, not really understanding what I'm even saying. Nor caring to. "So what if it backfires?" I rub my face again. "I'm not planning on running for office anytime soon. At least not in this friggin' state."
"Oh! But that bust!" Rarity floats a stationary orbit around the levitating gown. "It looks so awfully tight! I must know how it looks in proper wear!" She looks towards me, batting her eyelashes. Ghostly mascara. Wat. "Would you be a dear?"
"Hmmm?" I throw a tired look over my shoulder.
Her eyelashes are still batting. Why do ghost horses even need to blink? When they want to get something via charm, of course: "Kindly try this on for me, darliiiing! I must know how it looks on a biped!"
"Put that back where you found it."
"Pffft! Puffft!" She swings her head left and right, purple mane flailing. "Don't be such a cheap sneeze! You'd look fabulous in this!"
"Put that back where you found it, please."
"A resplendent dress like this?!? Perish the thought!" She attempts to snuggle the fabric, but her fuzzy cheeks only phase through the cuffs and seams. "It is such a shimmering spectacle of artistry! It absolutely must bask in the light of day! Every day!"
"It's my late grandmother's and that's wrong and I want it back where you found it, please."
"Why... I am shock and appalled, dear!" Rarity holds a shocked hoof over her non-beating heart. She and the dress sway backwards in a numb stupor. "Surely your beloved matriarch left behind a marvelous legacy! Quite detestable of you to hide it all in some stuffy old closet!"
"Please, Rarity..."
"I saw lovely gingham in there! Not to mention pure silk! Even a poodle skirt! Do you know how difficult it is to come by such felicitous fabrics back where I used to work?!"
"Please... I need to do my taxes..." I grasp my head and collapse against the desk once again. "I just need to do my taxes..."
"I hate to burst your bubble, dear, but only one thing in life comes to fruition." She slides closer in mid-air, whispering past my ear lobe. "The coffers can waaaaaaaaaaaait," she hisses like something out of Ju-on.
I shudder, exhaling vapers. "There's a Hell somewhere on this planet, and it's run by the IRS."
"Well, it must be far... far from here!" Rarity beams, floating back into the adjacent room. "Thanks to your beloved grandmother, I have stumbled upon a heavenly paradise!"
"Uh huh. Sure." I slump back in the chair, breathing with relief that she's left the sepulcher of my room. "Just don't trip over The Great Divorce."
"OOooOOooOooh!" she banshee-squee's from the guest room's closet. "What luck! Pantaloons! Pantaloons for miles!"
"Guh!" I kick out of my chair and scamper into the guest room. An exorcist on a mission. "By C.S. Lewis' buttcheeks!" I curse. "Get out of there!!!"