Holes n Homes
By The1Ryu
The tumblers of the lock rose and fell like the thunderous hoofsteps of an impossibly huge stallion, crashing against the walls of the large house and continued to stomp into it. The tumblers had several long moments of silence before one of the two double doors began its cry of protest at being forced open by the pale violet magic the clutched the blackened door knob.
A blond mane appeared in the door first, followed by a pair of violet eyes shielded by a pair of white framed glass, and finally a low dipping brown muzzle. The eyes scanned the entry hall beyond the door, taking in the moldy red carpet along the floor that led to a set of stair rising up into the house. On either side of the hall large arches yawned open to dark rooms beyond, and the walls were dotted with cracked and skewed picture frames.
Swallowing Trenderhoof stepped into the house, his hoof coming down upon some uneven part of the floor and let out a loud crunch of protest to his presents. Trenderhoof gasped in shock and jumped back out of the house, nearly running down the porch steps and back down the lone path that lead away from the isolated estate. However, seeing the rest of the remains of a shattered vase cast down from perch on a small hall table he did his best to force a smile and a laugh from his muzzle.
He took a few breaths to steady himself and remember that this wasn’t some haunted house it was… his home. It had been abandoned all these years and after what happened to his parents he hadn’t wanted anything to do this place when as a young stallion. He had wanted nothing more than to go as far away from this place as he could.
So then why did he return?
It was because of that white mare’s words, “If somepony doesn't like you for who you are, it's their loss.”
She meant them to be uplifting and empowering, but he could not find any solace in the words as three of them haunted without pause. “Who are you?”
That farm and that town had not been the first which he had been so enamoured by that he wished to stay forever. Most ponies had simply become tired of his mimicry and shooed him quietly and quickly away. No other had shown his such understanding, nor tried to give him such reassuring parting words.
Trenderhoof horn glowed with magic, the pieces of the broken vase swept away from the entrance and Trenderhoof stepped into his old home once again, keeping his horn aglow illuminated the dark interior.
As Trenderhoof slowly made his way down the entryway looking at each framed picture as he passed them. Layers of grim formed from years of hot dusty summers and frosty winters cover the glass of each picture allowing only the shadowy silhouettes of the ponies in the pictures to be seen. There were two exceptions to this, a large painting next to the right archway, and a picture whose shattered glass littered the floor beneath it, next to the left archway.
He approached the picture on the left first, it showed a group of smiling ponies in royal guard armor. An inverted U-shaped indentation in the picture cut through the ponies on either side of a unicorn stallion with a brown coat. Below the picture was a golden rectangular plate inscribed with solid letters: No Matter How Tragic, Their Sacrifice Will Never Be Forgotten
The sound of sobbing and sniffling erupted from the room next to the picture causing Trenderhoof to jump with fright. Instead of running, he stepped into the archway and shined the light from his horn into the room, his eyes frantically darting around in search. The large molding sofa, long cold hearth and various other fixtures lay quiet, dust thickly covering their top halves. Trenderhoof slowly stepped around the room searching for the source of the noise, but there was nopony there.
He sighed and stared long at the dusty, moldy couch, the images of a young crying colt being reassured by his mother came to his mind. He shook away the thought and quickly made his way out of the room. His eyes immediately shot to the front door and widened with fear. Reaching out with his magic he seized the door and swung it shut, cutting off the outside light, but had his magic and he felt assured he had closed it before getting caught leaving it open again.
He stepped across the entryway to the other archway, his horn’s light illuminating the panting that hung next to it. It showed a family of three standing together, the stallion was the same brown coated unicorn in the other picture. In this picture, however, a scar ran down his face over his left eye which was pale and sightless and his right forehoof was a heavy metal prosthetic. The mare was a cream colored earth pony with a blond mane and violet eyes. The colt that stood in front of them had his father’s coat, lightened a bit perhaps by his mother’s, his mother’s blond mane and violet eyes. None of the ponies smiled, the father’s face held a stern, cold look, the mother’s was a little sad and the colt’s simply muted.
Looking away from the panting he looked into the next room, it was a dining room. Plates of food, long decayed to nothing, still sat on the table. Their white porcelain long turned black from soiled food and the filth of whatever long ago came to eat the spoiling carrion. The plates at the head of the table were smashed, their fractured remains littering the floor, and the chair in the middle was knocked over.
Trenderhoof shook as he watched a scene develop before him; the grizzly stallion from the panting smash the plate with his prosthetic hoof as he bellowed at the mare on the other end of the table. He could see the colt jump with fright and dive under his chair. This only served to draw the stallion’s anger to him and he seized the chair with his magic and tossed it off and started towards him, the stallion’s heavy forehoof thumping distinctly with each step.
Once the Stallion had reached the colt he seized the child with his good hoof and bellowed at him that he was a Hoof, and that he shouldn’t cower like a sissy. The colt cried out in terror, thick streams of tears pouring forth from his eyes. The mare came to her colt’s aid causing the stallion to drop the colt and bring his now free hoof upon the mare’s muzzle repeatedly.
Trenderhoof eyes stung at the images and he blinked away tears, turning and hurrying up the stairs nearly tripping over his own hooves. At the top he paused at the hallway which branched both left and right. He considered his room which lay down the right hallway, but the sound of a thumping metal hoof behind him pushed him to the left.
He rushed down the hallway until his magic illuminated a heavy oak ball handing on a thick cord from the ceiling. He pictured seizing it in his teeth and pulling it down, but now that he had magic it was far easier to pull. A section of the ceiling swung down, a latter-like staircase sliding forward until its ends touched the floor. Trenderhoof rushed up the makeshift stairs, the sound of thumping growing closer. Once to the top he did something he couldn’t have as a colt and pulled the stairs back up hiding his escape.
The attic was stacked with crates filled with all manner of heirlooms, clothing and other assorted items of long dead members of the Hoof family. There had been no need to sell them so they were instead left to be forgotten in this place.
Trenderhoof didn’t pause to consider the value of his lost family treasures, the thumping of the heavy metal hoof was still growing closer. Frantic eyes searched the dark room as his hooves carried him deeper into its dusty confines. A slight relieved smile graced his lips as he saw the small door that was flush with the wall. He made his way to it fumbling with the handle a little before pulling it open.
He wasn’t sure he could fit in the confined space anymore, but even as a stallion he had a thin frame and he hunched and squeezed, folding in on himself until he at last fit within the tight confines of the cubbyhole and could shut the door with a reassuring click.
The feeling of security that washed over him in that small secure place was short lived however, as the sound of the thumping metal hoof continued to advance towards him.
“You think I don’t know about your little sissy hiding place Trender!” The stallion’s voiced shouted across the attic.
Trenderhoof shook at the sound and covered his ears and rocking, trying to convince himself that it couldn’t be the voice of a pony.
“Your mother’s not going to coddle you anymore, I’ll show you what it takes to be a real stallion no matter what it takes.” His father hissed just outside of the door.
Trenderhoof shook his head, tears stinging his eyes, his magic flaring to life and slashing out wildly at the thing beyond the door. Crates smashed under the force of his telekinetic blow, but he was no longer a colt and the now larger stallion’s horn slammed into the top of the hiding space as he threw his head up in fear. The light of his horn instantly died with a crack.
Crates continued to fall and bang against the floor, walls, and door for several long seconds before suddenly the attic fell silent once more. Trenderhoof waited and listened, but when neither the sound of his father’s angry voice nor the thumping of his hoof could be heard anymore, he carefully pushed a hoof against the door. It wouldn’t budge.
Panic gripped at Trenderhoof’s mind for a moment but he quickly calmed himself down. He knew it would be all right, just like before. Ponies would come and find him soon when they got curious about the sudden absents of his parents and their unusually quiet empty house.
They would pull him from the cubbyhole and take him away. He wouldn’t get to see his mom ever again but he wouldn’t have to be afraid of his dad anymore either. He wouldn’t ever have to come back to this place, and he wouldn’t have to grow up into the pony his dad wanted him to be. He could go anywhere and be whoever he wanted to be.
Author's Note
Randomly generated prompt: Cubbyhole, randomly selected character: Trenderhoof of course.
I remember I used to feel very convertible in small spaces. Remembering this and being handed Trenderhoof as a character I wondered how such a successful character might be so prone to seek out an idealized lifestyle he knew nothing about.
