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...”