Equus Mortis: Pony Dreadful

Chapter One

Ghost in the Machine

My dead mother smiled at me. Actually, Marrow Mortis smiled for my father as he snapped the photograph that got blown up to life-size. I had taken the framed picture from Dad’s Manehattan apartment and hung it in my Ponyville house. She was an earth pony like me and had white fur like mine. Her long grey mane, blue eyes and tooth cutie mark once made her stand out in a crowd.

And I’m the one that killed her. At least that’s what my father, Ivory Mortis, dutifully told me several times over the years.

Marrow’s heart quit on her just as I was introduced to Equestria. She was only twenty-five at the time. My father was so driven by grief and the desire to see Marrow again that he murdered a fellow coroner when Nightmare Moon, the goddess that my family once worshiped, deemed that pony unsuitable for Ivory.

He later sacrificed himself to Nightmare Moon to help give her the strength to come back to Equestria. If I and the rest of the Mane Six hadn’t sent her back to the moon, she would have brought with her the faithful dead, my mom likely being among the ranks.

My dad was too cheap to buy a video camera, so I only had dozens of photos and letters from her to help me figure out what kind of mare she was.

Ivory Mortis was a lunatic who once plotted to sacrifice me to Nightmare Moon. Not for the first time, I had to wonder what my mom would have made of this news. What did she see in him in the first place? Was she as nuts as my dad was?

My father was never abusive to me while I lived with him, but he never treated me as anything other than an eighteen-year-long homework assignment. The day after I graduated school, I was sent to the same medical college my father graduated from. No pats on the back, no stirring words of encouragement. Nothing personal. Just business.

My family always kept themselves to themselves, so I kept my bitterness and resentment about my dad’s coldness towards me quiet.

Would my mother have treated me any better if my father had died at my birth? I might not have been so painfully shy during my school years and beyond. I was getting better at climbing out of my shell and making new friends, but the past is a ghost that haunts us all. There would always be the old me just under the surface, waiting to pull me away from the world before it would have a chance to hurt me.

Dodging pain is not the same thing as finding pleasure, however. We all have some ideal haven set in our minds. A paradise that we wish for, a realm where one would always be happy.
I always imagined a tropical island would be my happy haven. No bodies, no misery, no graves to fill or mourners to comfort in their bleakest days.

Such a place could never physically exist for me, of course. So where does one find paradise? My father was so desperate to find it, he committed murder and suicide. When Nightmare Moon brought him back from the dead, he tried to kill me. After he broke two of my legs, I and the Mane Six sent him and Nightmare Moon to the moon. He’s with his beloved goddess now, but I doubt he’s happy. Every day, the world rises over him, reminding him of what he’d lost. His wife. His son. His future.

Because he tried to find paradise. In the worst ways possible. Wherever my paradise was, it couldn’t be found in the path he took. In a way, my father was still guiding me. If I found myself doing something questionable, I would ask myself, “Is this something Dad would do?” If the answer was yes, I’d stop immediately.

My new life as a member of the Mane Six, a protective alliance that hunted down and fought hostile forces like Nightmare Moon and Trixie, didn’t allow for Dad’s kind of morality.

A few months ago, in the dead of winter, Applejack pushed me to get new friends. The people I dealt with at my coroner and mortician jobs didn’t qualify either. Nor did the Mane Six.

•
• * * *
•

Perhaps it wasn’t too surprising that I found two friends at a spring-time burial I arranged. A unicorn had died of old age, and the only ones that attended his funeral were two mares. One was a white unicorn mare with a neon-blue mane and tail. Her large purple sunglasses and bridged eighth notes cutie mark made her stand out in the graveyard’s characteristically bleak setting. The mare’s partner, a grey earth pony mare with a black mane and tail, looked less out of place here, even with her purple treble clef cutie mark.

The oak casket was bolted shut and was ready to be lowered into the grave. In the brisk spring morning air, the graveyard was quiet under the cloudless blue sky.

The grey mare looked around, trying to find anyone that might simply be late in joining them on one of the worst days of their lives.

“Are you sure you sent the invitations, Vinyl?” she inquired.

“For the tenth frickin’ time, yes!” Vinyl sniffed and pulled off her glasses, wiping away another stream of tears. “It’s just that . . . I dunno . . . maybe my dad’s not worth anything to anyone but me!”

“He means something to me, dear. He accepted you and I being together, after all.”

“I know, Octavia. Maybe that’s why no one else is here.” She squeezed her eyes shut in a pained grimace. “Beats Me. Maybe they’re afraid of getting lesbo cooties or somethin’.”

Octavia shot a glance at me as I waited to begin my eulogy. She blushed and whispered in her lover’s ear. “I know you’re upset, but would you please dial it down a little?”

Vinyl opened her eyes and stared at me. They almost looked like twin pools of blood. Albino ponies often have red eyes. Mine were grey because my father’s were as well.

“Heck, you hear worse than this, right, Marty? Mickey? What was your name again?”

“Mortis,” I answered. “Equus Mortis. It’s perfectly all right to grieve. What is said here, stays here. I’ll give the eulogy when you’re ready.”

Vinyl waved a hoof at me as she slipped her glasses back on. “Yeah. Go ahead. Do your thing.”

I cleared my throat. “Record Scratch was a kind and loving father. He raised his only daughter, Vinyl Scratch, in a music-oriented childhood. Her musical talents, some say, rival or even surpass his own. Every father in Equestria would be proud to make such a claim. He shall live on in not only his music, but also in the music, heart and mind of his daughter. Would anyone here like to say anything on Record’s behalf?”

“I would,” replied Octavia. “Vinyl’s father was everything my parents were not. Sweet-natured, patient, caring and understanding. Not a day will go by without him being on my mind. As long as he is remembered, he will never truly be far from those that loved him.”

Vinyl kissed Octavia on the cheek. “That was awesome, babe. I got somethin’ to say, okay?”

She walked over and put a hoof onto her father’s headstone, which read, “Record Scratch - The Music Lives On.”

“I kinda stink at makin’ speeches. Personally, I’d let our music do the talkin’, but I never had to write music for funerals, so I’m stuck, I guess. About all I can say is that death sucks, life is too friggin’ short, and I hope I never have to set foot in this graveyard again. Not even as a new resident. Just dump me in the ocean, I don’t care.”

“Vinyl…” Octavia was blushing a little again.

“Yeah, I know! I-I’m just a little wound up right now.” She wiped her nose as she sniffed. “Dad? Our next album is gonna get dedicated to you. I’m even takin’ a few of your songs and workin’ them into some of our tracks. I’ll make sure no one forgets you. I never will.”

They hugged as Vinyl sobbed into Octavia’s mane.

“That was beautiful, Vinyl. Your father would be proud.”

“Thanks, Tavi. Equus? When you’re done here, I wanna talk to you.”

* * *

After the burial, I met the two mares at the graveyard gates.

Vinyl smiled, her lower lip still trembling with grief. “That was a great speech you gave, Equus.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve seen you at a few of our concerts. I never thought I’d see a mortician bang his head to our tunes, but life’s full of surprises, huh?”

I said, “Well, I couldn’t say anything during the funeral, but I’ve been a Boards of Equestria fan for years. You two are great together.”

Vinyl rubbed her cheek against Octavia’s. “Yeah, I’m just not the same without my mare. Not music-wise. Not life-wise, either. You have a marefriend, Equus?”

Octavia frowned and coughed. “Dear . . .”

“No, my lifestyle doesn’t allow for that. I’m not exactly hot-date material.”

“Maybe you can find somepony special at our next concert. I’m lettin’ you in free for every one of our shows from now on. The next one’s next friday, 8 P.M. at ‘Fleet-foot Faust’s’.”

That was a Canterlot dance-hall where the drinks never sell for less than twelve bits per shot-glass. I prayed that no one died on friday.

“That’s great!” I declared. “Thanks very much!”

Vinyl shrugged. “Hey, I’m always cool with those that respect my dad the way you did. See you then.”

As I watched my favorite group walk down the road, I found myself humming a few of their songs as I trotted back home a little faster than usual. My legs no longer hurt from when my dad smashed them seven months ago. My guts had finally healed after I lost my right kidney from Gilda’s arrow-shot. Just call me the iron pony, I guess.

Folks in town didn’t fear me anymore, even after seeing my pony-skull cutie mark. Once word got around that I helped defeat Trixie, who masterminded the murders of over five hundred homeless Manehattenites, they really warmed up to me.

My father never had a taste for the spotlight, so he would never have been comfortable with the kind of lifestyle I had now. People talked to me on the street. Applejack always gave me apples for free. (No big surprise there, as I stopped her from murdering Trixie. One tends to not forget that sort of thing.) I wasn’t “that spooky little death-pony” anymore, which suited me just fine.

Mom would have been proud of me. The dead always find out the secrets the living keep, Nightmare Moon once told my father (according to one of his journals). If that is true, then Marrow might already be aware of what I’d been up to. Maybe she was already proud of the son she never got to know in life. It’s a nice sentiment, at least.

Since Record Scratch’s funeral was the only job I had this week, I decided to go home and read more of the letters mom sent to dad. The more I read, the more I missed Marrow more than Ivory.

I almost felt like a spy as I read the letters my father never mentioned to me. I found most of them when I was rummaging through the stuff I wanted to keep before the apartment became someone else’s home.

One particularly interesting letter from my mother was dated a few years before she had me. Her elegant cursive writing was a sharp contrast to my father’s precise typewritten responses.

My darling Ivory.

I wish I could be with you during these cold winter months, but my school studies are in Fillydelphia until the spring. You seem to be at your loneliest in winter. The chill also darkens your mood. I think you know that, but it worries me just the same.

For example, you seem to have certain triggers that lead to violence. You recall the time we both went to the Polsky theater to see ‘Avenue P’?

When we left the theater, you were your usual cheerful self, joking and laughing.

It just seems a little strange to me that your temperament changed so suddenly when that mugger demanded our money.

Before I could even blink, you leaped at him. With one swing of your hooves, you snapped one of his knees. He was yowling in pain, but you kept tearing into him. A few more well-aimed blows and he was flat on his face. (Having a coroner’s knowledge of pony anatomy comes in handy in a fight, I suppose.)

Only after he slumped into a blood-stained snowbank, semi-conscious did you back away.

It wasn’t that act of violence that disturbs me, darling. It’s just that you attacked him with only a minimum of effort. It’s almost as if you were already prepared for violence. Not only that, you escorted me away without a trace of fear or remorse on your face.

I’m not worried that you would ever treat me like that, but it is odd that inflicting pain comes so easily to you. Perhaps I am over-reacting.

After all, you were simply protecting me. And you always seem to have the will to do anything you set your mind to. Maybe that’s why I love you.

Try to stay out of trouble, all right?

Take care, Sugar bear.

When I read that, I had to stop reading. Sugar bear. That was the same nickname Rainbow Dash gave Pinkie Pie when they were lovers.

* * *

After my arrow wound healed, I had a private talk with Princess Celestia about Pinkie’s unfair imprisonment in Manehattan’s Kirkbridle institute. Pinkie was mind-controlled by Nightmare Moon when she tortured Rainbow Dash to death. The insane asylum was her only safe haven from those that vowed to kill Pinkie in order to avenge Rainbow. I told Celestia that my skills as a mortician could change Pinkie’s appearance almost completely.

A month ago, Celestia sent me to the asylum. This time, I met Pinkie in a private room that had two of Celestia’s Honor Guards behind the door. I let Pinkie choose her new fur and hair colors. Altering her cutie mark took some doing as her real mark’s magic resisted the stenciled fur dyes.

Pinkie’s bright blue eyes were the same, but her once-pink fur was as white as Rarity’s now. Her blond hair was frizzy and combed back like a Wonderbolt’s. Her three-balloon cutie mark was replaced with a pink birthday present. It still looked a little fuzzy, but it was the best I could do.

We both agreed on her new name, but Pinkie’s destination was kept a secret even from me. As long as she got her freedom back, I didn’t mind the secrecy.

Something troubled me about her during her make-over. Even though she was going to leave that wretched asylum behind forever, she never smiled. She knew her old friends were lost to her. Her old home was gone, as well. In some small way, she was as bad off as my father was now. Their old lives were history. Where would Pinkie find her paradise?

* * *

Friday came, and true to Vinyl Scratch’s word, I was let into the dance-hall for free, much to the annoyance of the other fifty ponies who were still waiting to get in.

The show started off with a large cloud of fog that boiled past the rising stage curtain. Blue and green lights drifted around the miasma as it cleared, revealing Vinyl behind her turn-tables, keyboards and speakers. Octavia was standing nearby on her hind legs as she propped up her cello, which was outlined with white neon.

I thought that her neon-lit bow was strung with pony hair, but as soon as it glided over the cello-strings, I heard warped voices echoing from the speakers.

Llllllistennn to me daaarrling. You-you-you listen to me good.

Octavia lifted her bow and ran what I now realized was really tight-strung audio tape over just one section.

Listennnnn Liisten Listen

Vinyl spun a record at one tenth the normal speed. The resulting old-man voices and semi-comatose horns sounded like they were drifting up from the ocean floor.

Ooohhh, ssweeet Celllesstiiaaaa helllp meeee

Listen tooo meeee

Helllp meeee

Those two sound-bites bounced off each other as a distant techno beat grew louder and more teeth-rattling. Then the ghost-voices stopped, and the music segued to a modern groove. The stage lit up, the crowd went wild and began to stomp their hooves to the music.

Vinyl spotted me and nodded. I waved at her and kept dancing. Just like a normal pony.

Boards Of Equestria was well-known for not only their music but also for dazzling theatrics as well. In the middle of the concert, Vinyl used her magic to pull a rope out of a box, which had several dozen glow-sticks and sliding whistles tied to it. When Vinyl spun the rope around her like a cow-pony, she swatted a few of the sticks with her hoof. A ribbon of green light orbited around her.

When Vinyl’s horn glowed a little brighter, the whistles began to trill out music. She slowly walked towards Octavia, who played an accompanying song on her cello.

Vinyl smiled as she walked behind her partner. White hooves slowly slipped over Octavia’s shoulders while she played. The spinning halo of light and whistles drifted above them before surrounding the mares.

Octavia grinned as Vinyl rested her chin on Octavia’s left shoulder. When they kissed, Vinyl swatted the rope again, making the light turn from green to red.

After the crowd began to cheer, the circle of light began to curve down from the top. Then it rested between the band and the audience. When the mares kissed in that heart-shaped light, every pony around me banged their hooves in wild-eyed approval, whooping and hollering.

An hour later, the show ended with a frantically-paced version of their first song. Vinyl and Octavia played their sound-bites off of each other with expert precision.

Help me to listen to Celestiaaaaa

Celestia listen to meeeeee

Help me be more than I could be on my own

Help me hear my heart beat.

Heart beat

Beat beat beat

Then the stage went black. The crown screamed and cheered for several minutes before it began to thin. It took a half hour for the dance floor to clear.

Vinyl walked over to me after signing a few autographs. “Hey, I’m glad you made it!”

“I’m glad I came. How are you and Octavia holding up?”

“I’m not cryin’ every hour anymore. My babe helps me stay on my hooves more than she knows. Just workin’ on our music helps me stay sane.”

“Even if it sounds a little creepy?” I said, grinning.

“A little creepiness never hurt anypony. Heck, whenever Nightmare Night comes around, I take off my shades and let my red eyes be part of my vampire costume.”

Octavia joined us as she remarked, “I do wish you would dress as something else. You’ve been ‘Vinyltavia, mistress of the dark’ three years in a row.”

Vinyl gave her mare a mock pout and whimpered, “Waahh, you said I look keyoot in black leather. Besides, your name’s in my persona title. I thought you’d be flattered. Hmph!”

“Equus, if you are still looking for a mare, take her off my hooves, would you?”

“Hey, I’m not dressing up in tight leather pants for anypony but you, sugar-puff,” said Vinyl, waggling her eyebrows at Octavia suggestively.

Octavia tried in vain to hide her smirk as she turned and leapt onto the stage. “If you are quite finished making me blush in front of your new friend, perhaps we ought to show him some of our new equipment. You’ve been boasting about it all week.”

“Only bragged about it once. A day. I bet the cello-string trick got your attention, huh, Equus?”

“I must admit, I’ve never seen it before.”

Octavia slowly drew the tape across the cello strings.

Lllisten tooo ussss, Equusss

Octavia jerked away from the cello, staring at her bow.

“Hey, Tavi? How did you do that?” asked Vinyl.

She slowly shook her head. “I didn’t.”

We are coming for you, Equus Mortis. You are going to pay dearly for your betrayal.

The voice was deep and low, but also distant, as if heard from another room.

Octavia dropped the bow, carefully stepping back from her instrument as if it were a rabid dog. Vinyl ran over to her control panels.

“I swear, Equus, I’m not doing this!” Vinyl implored as she looked over the settings.

You are going to die slower than anyone ever has before. We will teach you every kind of pain.

Octavia stamped a hoof impatiently. “Just shut the speakers off!”

“They are off!”

You will wish your father killed you in the castle, Equus Mortis. Prepare yourself.

I was so preoccupied with staring at the speakers, that I didn’t notice that Vinyl had yanked out every speaker plug on stage.

“Equus?” asked Octavia, in a quiet, cautious voice. “Do you know who that was?”

I could only shake my head, my tongue glued to my mouth. My back shivered as I mentally replayed everything the disembodied voice said. What was he talking about?

Vinyl put a hoof on my shoulder. “Why would this dude mention your dad? Maybe he’s family?”

“I’m the last member of my family, Vinyl. I don’t know who that was.”

Octavia said, “I think you had better tell Princess Celestia about this. The sooner the Mane Six gets involved, the better.”

She was right, of course. But how could anyone fight something like this?

My betrayal?

What did he mean?

Author's Note

The theme songs for this chapter are "Late Show" by Laurie Anderson and "Tavi and Scratch-My Roommate Is A Bassist" by Yourenigma