Bats sour through the sky, screeching their ominous song. Under the pale moon, ponies of all ages disguise themselves in colorful costumes. Dressing in the guise of another, they hope to hide away from the terrible Nightmare Moon. Fillies prowl around Poneyville, collecting sweets to offer up to the Mistress of the Night so that she does not snack on them. Of course, they really keep most of their chocolatey horde.
While the kids have their fun with games and treats, the more adult ponies search for thrills. No place is scarier than Sweet Apple Acres on Nightmare Night. The Apple Family maze is the talk of the town as it is every year, luring in unsuspecting ponies for a frightening time. Going in with bright smiles on their faces, many run out screaming at the top of their lungs.
At the entrance of the haunted maze is a bonfire with logs for others to sit around it. The flames dance under the starry sky, bringing the only warmth on this cold and unforgiving night. Only one colt finds a seat around the bonfire. He is dressed as a knight armored in bones, his helmet set aside. Sighing to himself, he watches the embers leap from the burning logs, disappearing when a light breeze drives them away.
“Gear Spring,” he hears a familiar foal talk.
Looking up, he sees Twilight Sparkle. The Princess of Friendship is dressed in gilded armor of a gladiator. The sight of her makes him flush, “Oh Twilight, Happy Nightmare Night.”
“Happy Nightmare Night to you too,” she smiles. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”
“The Apples are letting me tell scary stories before the maze,” he smiles, but it soon turns to a frown. “But no one wants to listen to a story when there is a terrifying maze right behind me.”
“Well,” she looks over her shoulder. “I have time until the other girls show up. I can listen to your story.”
“You will?” he beams with excitement.
Twilight Sparkle nods, taking a seat on a log nearby, “So what story are you going to tell? Is it the one about Nightmare Moon?”
“Nope,” he answers. Beside him is his saddlebag, which he fumbles through.
“The tale of the headless horse…”
“No,” he shakes his head, pulling out a bottle with a luminescent green liquid sloshing around inside. “I doubt even you have heard of this story, Twilight.”
“Then what is it?”
“Ahem,” he clears his throat. Grinning, he tosses the concoction into the fire. From the bonfire, the flames leap toward the heavens in an eerie shade of blue. It casts its sapphire glow onto all the ponies in Sweet Apple Acres. The trick seems to attract them, as they come to the fire in groves. Even the rest of the main six arrive, gasping in awe of its marvel. When the fire returns to normal, Gear Spring has an audience captivated by his pyrotechnics.
“Welcome, welcome, I welcome you to listen to this story. Yet I shall warn you, the tale can be quite gory. It is a legend of old, one that shall give you a fright. It happened years ago, on this very night. Now heed my tale, listen well, and be in for a scare. For the legend I am about to tell you, is of the haunting Phantom Gentlemare…”
In the dead of night, a lone pony walks down the stone pathway toward her home. The sounds of crickets are her only solace that breaks the ominous silence. Walking through the middle of Poneyville, she finds herself stopped in front of the fountain near the center of town. Shadows creep all around her as dark clouds block out the nightmarish moon. A sudden gust of wind sends a shiver through her. Brushing her mane out of her face, she looks around nervously. The town seems dead, eerily dead. Frightened, she trots away toward her home just on the outskirts.
After she passes the Cake’s bakery she hears the rustling of a bush. Rather than ignore the queer sound, she finds herself curiously approaching. Her hoof reaches out and pushes aside the leaves to reveal the jagged point of a unicorn horn. Terror tremors through her body, making her leap back as a colt emerges from his hiding place.
The pony has a dirty decorum to him. His mane is an oily mess with patches of his coat missing. Underneath the flesh is a sickly grey due to some illness. A crazed look in his bloodshot eyes makes her sweat. A mixture of various odors spew from his body, pungent that makes her eyes water. While she backs away, the pony notices remnants of pink powder lingering under his nostrils. Seeing the fear, the colt grins.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers as his left eye gives a twitch. “Now, give me all your bits.”
Her eyes widen when she hears the demand, “But…I don’t have any bits. All I have is this.”
From her saddlebag the frightened pony offers the colt a shiny apple. Grimacing at the sight of the delicious fruit, he swats it away and shoves his horn against her cheek. “I don’t want any apples! I need bits! Give them to me now!”
“I t-told you I don’t have any…”
“You’re lying!” he snorts. “Give me your bits or I’ll blow your head off.”
Tears start to well up in her eyes, “P-P-Please, I’m telling you the truth.”
“I’m serious,” the crazed colt barks back. “Don’t be holding anything back from me. I got nothing to lose.”
The pony begins to cry, falling down before the colt. She begins to plead for mercy, trying to convince him that she has no money to offer. Yet at every turn, he does not listen to reason, only becoming more agitated with her. In his frustration, he presses his horn against her forehead. The pony must watch horrifically as it begins to glow a sickening yellow as he readies his deadly spell. Fearing the end, she shuts her eyes.
But then, the grim scene is interrupted by the sound of hoofs clicking softly off in the distance. It is a steady, rhythmic stepping, growing in volume with each passing second. The colt lifts his head and peers down the road as a shadow peeks over the horizon. Clouds part for a moment to allow the moon to bathe the figure in its haunting light.
Trotting up to them is another colt finely dressed in a tuxedo. Twin coattails reach all the way to his silvery tail and manage to conceal his cutie mark. Tide tightly around his throat is a black bowtie that nearly blends with the blue of his fur.
Sitting atop his head is a towering top hat. Its brim is slightly tilted downward to cast a shadow over his face. A blanket of mystery enshrouds the pony’s identity.
The colt steps closer, a cane floating at his side strikes the stone pathway. He ends up stopping several feet from the scene, tucking the cane under his right arm. With the other hoof, he pushes up on the brim of his hat. Through the veil of shadows, a ghastly red glow emits from his right eye. In the silence that has surrounded them, an icy chuckle slithers from his throat.
“Good evening, monsieur and mademoiselle,” the colt says with a graceful bow.
Unimpressed, the crazed colt barks, “Who the hell are you?”
Chuckling, he answers, “I am known only as the Phantom Gentlemare, here to grace you with a wonderful performance.”
The crazed colt redirects his horn from the girl to the pony that calls himself Phantom Gentlemare. Yet the enigmatic pony does not flinch as the same sickening magic is aimed at him.
“How about you back off man,” the crazed colt shrieks. “Move an inch and I’ll blow your freaking head off.”
“Oh?” Phantom Gentlemare snickers, “Shall we see if those are more than just words?”
The cane tucked under his arm floats in the air. A silver glow encompasses it as it is pulled apart. Attached to the handle is a thin blade, which had been hidden inside the cane. The steel glistens under the pale moon. Tossing the scabbard aside, he aims the point at the crazed colt.
The crazed colt steps closer, trying to appear more intimidating, yet that proves fruitless. Sweat begins to roll down the side of his face and his knees start to shake under him.
“Both of us have means to kill the other,” Phantom Gentlemare says in an icy voice. “I wonder, though; who will die tonight?”
As if to answer the question, the crazed colt fires off a beam of magical energy. However, it only passes through a wisp of mist as the Phantom Gentlemare seemingly disappears. Realizing he missed, the colt looks around for the mysterious pony. Just as he turns, he catches the sight of a shadowy figure with eyes of red.
It ends in an instant. The blade is thrust through his throat. Blood sprays from the open wound, feeding the soil at his hooves. His crazed eyes fall upon the steel, a part of him unable to understand that he is dying.
“It seems that it is you,” Phantom Gentlemare says, as he pulls the sword out.
Removing the blade unleashes a torrent of the crimson. The body soon falls with the blood, splashing in the thick nectar. The foe vanquished, Phantom Gentlemare swiftly flicks the blade. What blood that remained on the steel splatters on the body of the colt. Once it is clean, he sheathes the sword back in its cane scabbard.
Once the danger has passed, the pony trots up to her mysterious savior with a big smile upon her face.
“Thank you so much,” she says with the deepest of gratitude. “How can I ever repay you for saving my life?”
“No thanks are needed, my dear,” he answers, pushing the brim of his hat back down to conceal his features.
Continuing her smile, the young pony trots off after giving Phantom Gentlemare a fond farewell. Just a few steps into her walk home, she feels a sudden pain. It subsides, but she begins to fall. Strangely, she watches her body remain standing as her head hits the ground. Blood gushes out of the open wound like a fountain. It is too late for her to comprehend what is happening, as the last bit of life left in her slips away. Soon after, her headless body falls beside her severed head.
Hovering over her corpse is the thin blade, its steel colored red. Beside it is its master, the mysterious Phantom Gentlemare. In his hoof he holds the brim of his hat, pulling it down against his face as a wicked laughter escapes him. It ruptures the silence of the night. The roar of his cackling madness echoes into the night.
“The performance has come to an end, my dear,” he hisses. “Were you not entertained? If not, fear not. I shall return, again and again upon the night of nightmares. It shall be grand; life is such a grand stage, and death the finale. I cannot wait for the next show!”
Cackling to himself, the haunting Phantom Gentlemare vanished in a wisp of mist.
Author's Note
I am aware that mare is a female horse, but it just sounds better.
