The Trotting Dead: Hellacious Happenings and Horrific Horrors

‘Might I ride you down the side of a volcano?’

‘No, no you may not. Besides, there are no volcanoes around here, only mountains and some rolling hills. Yeesh, your ideas sometimes...’

~~~~~~

The unicorn screamed as he lurched forward. He had woken up from a nightmare yet again. His fur had become lathered from the all the sweating he’d done during his fitful sleeping. Panting, he looked out of his window to be greeted by yet another dark, overcast, and rather dismal morning. Again? Well, I do suppose the crops need water... He shook his head in an attempt to remove some of his messy mane out of his face, but failed. He looked over the mountains, with the sun just peeking its obscured rays over the troughs of the jagged land masses; birds sang from the nearby trees in the early-morning air. Sitting down to gaze out the window, he idly ran his hooves over his flanks, and became rather disgusted at the slick fur. A shower it shall be then, I suppose.

~~~~~~

After stepping out of the shower he began to dry himself off. Rubbing the towel vigorously over his cutie mark, he thought he saw it change. It was absurd, he knew, but he couldn’t help but think something was... different. The mark was the same usual upturned top hat with some standard playing cards fanned in front of it. To add to the mark, there was the usual Ace of Spades peering over the hat’s upturned brim. It had been the reason why everyone called him ‘Cheap Trick’. He’d always delighted in entertaining people not with his own magic, but what he could make them believe was magic. A rabbit from the hat, a coin from behind the ear, and all the other usual, standard tricks were frequently deployed upon little foals and fillies for cheap, and easy, laughter and amazement. But now, he’d felt there was something... odd. Didn’t that Four of Spades used to be a Ten? Not like I usually look at it anyway... My memory must simply be faulty.

He walked over to his bathroom mirror and, with comb in hoof, proceeded in his usual process to attempt in taming his mane, but to no avail. He set the comb down and looked at the pictures he had inserted into his mirror’s metal frame. One, near the top at the left, was of the shy, yet adorable, yellow pegasus: Fluttershy. Another, at the bottom center, was of Pinkie Pie, the pink party pony. The last one, which was placed halfway up the right side, was of his favorite musician, Octavia. He’d always been especially fond of those three girls, but had always been afraid to ask. He sighed as he peered out of the window a second time. Nope, no change in the weather... He walked over to the calendar, which contained his work schedule, that hung by his bathroom door. No work today.

He pondered for a few long moments. This was his only day off this week - mind you, he rather enjoyed his work and would rather be performing right now, anyway - and the day was dreary. He would’ve walked to market today, but he just simply wasn’t feeling it. Well, if I’m feeling like this, then everypony else is probably, too. I suppose I’ll get myself prim and proper, and go to Sugarcube Corner... He walked over to his dresser that he had set up in his living room, and started looking through his wardrobe. A vest. A vest will look good. He grabbed one of his favorite vests; it was a darker shade of green, to complement his sage-green eyes, and had silver-plated buttons. He posed in front of the mirror, making sure everything was in order. What else? A Collar. He had to have a collar, as he felt naked without it. He grabbed his usual tan collar and put it on. Satisfied, he trotted out of his house.

A few minutes of walking towards Sugarcube Corner, Cheap Trick found his mane getting in his eyes, as always. This won’t do, he thought with irritation, I suppose it’s a bit early to arrive at Sugarcube Corner, anyway. Perhaps I should get my mane trimmed. As luck would have it, Snippets’ Barber Shop always opened bright and early. A minor detour it is, then.

~~~~~~

As one would expect from the time of day, there was only a few waiting in the barber shop, and, as such, the manecut was pleasantly timely and quick. Snippets’ barbers worked their magic on Cheap Trick’s mane; he payed for the manecut with some of the bits that the off-white unicorn kept stashed in all of his garments. Upon leaving the barber’s shop, the sun was still only in the fledgling stages of its ascent. Well, I don’t think Sugarcube Corner is even open this early, is it? On that, why is Snippits’? He decided that he would take a stroll in one of the nearby parks while he waited for a more reasonable hour, and so he walked slowly away from the barber’s shop.

Upon thinking for awhile, he’d remembered that Snippits’ was open precisely for ponies like him; those that were up bright n’ early for commitments made for before the sunrise. Of course, this isn’t a commitment... Rather, it is a plan. Well, not really a plan, more like a whim. Well, not really a whim, closer to being a plan, but it’s not... Cheap Trick shook his head with vigor in an attempt to clear his thoughts; it would not do well to cloud his head with some argument over whether something would be this or that. He sighed and continued walking, with no great haste, to the park.

~~~~~~

He had continued walking. He had done well in keeping his mind out of knots. He stopped; the park was right across the street, and all that he had to do was cross, but something felt... off. He glanced around. He could see others in the distance down either end of the street, but some of them further off down the left were leaving in a hurry. A hooded individual in a black cape was walking Cheap Trick’s way, and anyone who had been close to the strolling pony ended up running in terror. Cheap Trick looked on with a quizzical expression shown in plain detail upon his face. Was this stranger like Zecora? Did everyone run simply out of ignorance and misconceptions?

This continued. The hooded pony would come near somepony in their walk, and they would run away in a panick with all the speed they could muster. Cheap Trick stood for those several moments as the individual came near him, too.

Nausea set in.

Next came fear.

Then absolute horror etched itself into his subconscious.

The only thought that came from the back of his mind was one word, over and over, in its Royal Canterlot voice: [RUN! RUN! RUN!] But Cheap Trick could not. Surely there was nothing to fear of this pony? He stood where he had, albeit with less strength in his legs than he liked. He turned his head to the approaching pony and tried to put on his best welcoming smile, grimacing despite his best efforts.

Then it hit him - the stench of a thousand deaths.

And then a thousand more.

And a thousand more.

An insurmountable, innumerable mass of rotting, putrefying deaths.

Panick and nausea rushed to the forefront again.

[RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!!!]

I... can’t... He was driven to his knees as he attempted to wash away the nausea, but the nausea did not go away. In fact, the nausea seemed to be building.

[HE WILL KILL YOU! RUN NOW! YOU WILL DIE! DO. YOU. NOT. UNDERSTAND?!] He struggled to bring his head up against all logic in order to look into the eyes of the approaching pony, and caught a glimpse of its face. Black eyes. All the coloration was instead black. White was black. Everything was nothing but black. The skin was pulled tight against the skull, clearly outlining the shape of the bone. Mange revealed black skin underneath black fur. A trio of jagged, twisted, spiralling, obsidian horns jutted out of the pony’s forehead haphazardly. It turned to regard Cheap Trick as it exhaled thick, roiling tendrils of black smoke from its nostrils. This creature, whatever unholy parents it came from, seemed to exude death. If this demon had a mark it would definitely be the sum of all fears that reside in a pony’s heart. No. It would be the embodiment of death, horror, and all things unholy.

The pony nickered at Cheap Trick with the voice of a thousand plagued winds.

What monstrosity is this...? Cheap Trick’s heart skipped a beat as he struggled with what he saw in front of him. Certainly there was no possible way that this could be real... This must certainly be a trick of the eyes... right?

[MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE!!!] All logic left Cheap Trick.

He ran. He ran with all the strength he could muster. Faster and faster he fled until he felt as though his legs would give out; until he felt that he would collapse; until he felt like the strain would kill him anyway. Then he ran more. His legs burned in rebellious fury; his lungs bellowed with the heated winds of the hottest deserts; his nostrils flared in a failed attempt to find an odor other than that of wretched, rotting death. No matter how far he fled he could still smell that rot. Oh how that horrid, wretched fetor had pervaded his nose! Sweat lathered his flesh and fur as it foamed and formed a froth.

Twists and turns through the streets; Cheap Trick had no concept of how long he had been running or where he was going. He’d ran into stands and other ponies. He’d toppled over time and again, but every time he bolted straight back into a dead run. Everything was a blur as his mind struggled to reign in control. His grip began to slip as he began to fall into the dark recesses of his mind. His vision went dark; sound dulled; he could barely even feel the aches of his muscles anymore as he continued to run.

And then, clarity. His eyes opened wide. He saw his house. The front of his house, and he was running at it full-bore. He tried to turn away, but he couldn’t. It was like his body was automated and he couldn’t flip the switch. Closer and closer the door came. He closed his eyes, trying to wish it away. Again, the darkness beckoned to him with that illustrious siren song. He obeyed.

Thump.

~~~~~~

Cheap Trick opened his eyes to be greeted by his bedroom door as it bumped into his face, or, rather, as he had bumped into it. It seemed as though the pony’s body had been partaking in somnambulism again. A glance out of his window showed it to be a bright and beautiful day with the sun peaking in its arc. He shook his head with fury as he attempted to push aside the nightmare. The horror of that monster still lingered. A groggy pass of his hooves over his flanks brought sweat and grime with it, much like before. Well! I suppose that shower wasn’t real, after all... He thought with disappointment and a forced chuckle. Looking at his calendar showed the same as in the dream: no work today. Good, I’m not late for anywhere. Shower, get ready for me!

He stood in the water as he watched the liquid drain out of the shower, only to be replaced with more. He thought back to that nightmare of his. Something about that hooded pony was disturbingly solid. Those black eyes... For whatever reason, they had felt all too real. He shuddered as he remembered back to the gaunt, mange-afflicted face, and the stench lingered in spite of the froofy scents from the bath soaps. He shook his head and flared his nostrils in an attempt to take in softer scents, but the fetor seemed to linger with a steadfast conviction. Nausea started to creep in as before, but this time it felt strangely sedated. Cheap Trick sighed as he focused on finishing his shower, and what he would do after.

A vest, yes. A vest and my tan collar, that’ll look good. Today, I’ve made my mind, He thought as he grimaced through the nausea, and peered at his mirror through the shower curtains; the pictures in the mirror frame gave him comfort from the nausea. I’ll head to Sugarcube Corner.