You are Anon.
And you do believe that you are screwed.
Standing on your doorstep is a mare. While not unusual for this time of morning (Yellow Quiet is probably on her way right now), the mare herself isn’t what you are expecting. She’s tall, far taller than you. For the first time since arriving in Equestria, you actually have to stare up at a pony, instead of down.
It’s a little intimidating.
No wonder ponies didn’t like it when you hold stuff over their heads.
You can’t get a good look at her though, as most of her body is hidden behind a dark cloak. Only her wings are visible, the large appendages appearing to grow out of the cloak itself. From within the folds of the cloak’s hood, her eyes glow with some other worldly power as she stares blankly down at you.
“Anon Mous?” she asks, her voice echoing eerily and you can swear you hear dozens of voices whispering beneath hers.
You swallow thickly before answer.
“Y-yes?” Oh shit. As you speak, your breath fogs up. Why is your breath visible? It’s the middle of fucking summer!
The look that the mare gives you doesn’t help the shivers that are running up your spine.
“It is time,” she says.
“Uh, time for what exactly?” you ask.
“It is your time, young one.” Slowly, a hoof emerges from the folds of her cloak and for a moment you catch sight of what’s within. Bones adorn the interior of the cloak, clinking together softly as the mare moves. You can’t see her body though, as a swirling darkness blocks her from view. Then, the cloak falls back into place, cutting off your view.
She holds up a small hourglass in her blackened hoof. It’s adorn with a miniature human skull. Your name is etched along the base, and it appears that all the sand has fallen into the bottom half.
“It is your time,” she repeats again, staring unblinkingly at you with her glowing eyes. “Please, come with me.”
You stare at her blankly for a few seconds before your eyes narrow. Wait a minute...
“Nice try, Fluttershy,” you scoff, crossing your arms, “but dying isn’t my fetish.”
This causes the mare to blink and she tilts her head to the side. “I’m sorry…?”
“Snuff isn’t my fetish, Fluttershy,” you repeat.
“I… I don’t…” the mare stutters, giving you a bewildered look. “What are you talking about? I am not Fluttershy.”
“You’re starting to lose your touch,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Slowly, you begin to close the door. “This was a pitiful attempt. Go home, and try harder tomorrow, okay?” Before the mare can answer, you slam the door in her face. You lock it just to be sure before turning and heading for the kitchen. At least, you attempt to.
You only manage to take a couple of steps before your entire house suddenly shakes violently. The skies outside turn dark, and thunder booms.
“You dare mock me?!”
Whirling around, you see a sight that causes you to let out a ~~shrill shriek~~ a manly shout. The mare is currently phasing through your front door as if it was nothing more than smoke. Her muzzle is scrunch up in a snarl, and dark energy wafts from her eyes.
A thick layer of frost begins to cover the walls of your home as she pulls herself the rest of the way through the door. She has to stoop to stop the top of her head from hitting the ceiling. Even so, she still looms over you, a look of fury on her face.
“Do you know who am I, mortal?” she hisses.
“Fluttershy…?” you venture tentatively. This causes her to growl, and the temperature in the room drops even further.
“I was there at the beginning of existence,” the mare says with a snarl. “I was there at the dawn of time. I was there when life first began, and I shall be there when it takes its last breath.” As she talks, she moves towards you, gliding effortlessly through the air. Frost spreads out across the floor from beneath her cloak.
Okay, this is starting to not look good. As the mare draws nearer, you begin to back up until your back suddenly bumps up against the wall. You look around for an escape, but the mare is blocking your path to both the front door and the staircase.
Slowly, she lowers her head until she face-to-face with you.
“Through me, the way to the Darkened City. Through me, the way to everlasting peace. Through me, the way to eternal sleep,” she breaths. She’s so close that you can smell her breath. It smells like… lilies? What the fuck?
You don’t have time to wonder about that before she pushes her muzzle up against your nose.
“I am the shadow that haunts every nightmare, I am the terror that freezes every heart. Nothing came before me, and nothing shall remain after. Ash shall return to ash; dust shall return to dust. None shall escape my decay, my execution, my calling.
“Now do you know who I am?” she asks.
You swallow thickly, having to lick your lips before replying. “N-not Fluttershy…?”
The mare straightens up and gives you an unamused look.
“I have had enough of your games,” Death says, her voice returning to normal. A hoof emerges from the cloak, and in a flash of white, she has a long scythe held in her grasp. “I have come for you, and I will not be leaving empty hooved. One way or another, you will be coming with me.”
You stare up at her, wide-eyed. “W-what?”
“You are Anon, the human, correct?” she asks. A large book appears in the air before her and, with a gust of frigid wind, it opens. The pages flap about before coming to a rest somewhere in the middle of the book.
The mare hums softly as she drags a hoof down the page.
“Here it is,” she says suddenly, tapping the entry. “Anon A. Mous. Died today at eight-thirty in the morning.” She pauses, any eyebrow raising. “Slipped on your own semen after masturbating and hit your head on the tub?” Her eyes dart up to stare at you, and you rub the back of your head. Your hand comes away red.
“Huh… how’d that happen?” you chuckle weakly, wiping your hand on your shirt.
Death closes the book with a snap, and it disappears from existence in a flurry of frost.
“If you’d be so kind?” she asks, holding out a hoof for you to take. “I have other creatures waiting.”
You stay where you are, eyeing her scythe fearfully.
“T-there has to be some mistake,” you say, trying to reason with her. “How could I have died by simply hitting my head? I’ve done that dozens of times. Hell, Rainbow’s crashed into the ground face first at Mach One and she’s still up and kicking? Why don’t you go after her instead?”
“I’m well aware of whom you speak of,” Death says, her expression impassive. “I have an appointment with her next week. I’m not here for her right now. I’m here for you.” She takes a step forward, and you scamper quickly along the wall.
“I can’t be dead! You have the wrong guy!”
“You are Anon A. Mous, are you not?” she asks, gliding effortlessly after you.
“No,” you say as you move to put the couch between you and her.
She gives you a deadpan look. “Really? You aren’t Anon Mous? The only human in this land?”
“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “You have the wrong house. Sorry.”
This causes her to sigh.
“Do you take me for a foal?” she asks. “I’ve done this job for an eternity. You aren’t the first to try and pull the wool over my eyes. I know who I’m after. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“But I’m so young!” you say. “There’s so much I haven’t done yet! So much I haven’t seen! So many ponies I haven’t messed with yet! Can’t you come back in say… a month? Maybe a year, tops?”
“You cannot postpone your passing,” she says, a hint of anger beginning to work its way into her voice.
“Look, I’ll cut you a deal,” you say. “You see, there are these three fillies that—”
“Enough!” Death booms out suddenly. Her wings flare wide until they seem to take up the entire room. Shadows seem to lengthen, and an oppressive pressure descends upon you. In a quick, fluid motion, she raises her scythe and brings it rushing towards you.
With a scream, you dive to the side, narrowly avoiding the sharp blade.
Your couch, however, is not so lucky. The scythe cloves it in two with no effort, like a knife through butter.
As you scramble frantically to your feet, Death advances towards you, her scythe held aloft once more.
“I gave you the chance to come with me willingly,” she growls, “but you have elected the way of pain!” She swings the scythe again, but you duck. A long gouge appears on your wall, right where your head had been seconds before.
Letting out another shrill scream, you scamper quickly along the floor on all fours, Death hot on your heels. Another swing of the scythe and one of your potted plants suddenly explodes, bits of broken pot and dirt flying everywhere.
“Get back here!” Death growls, taking another swipe at you.
Your coat racks falls to the floor.
“This… this is ridiculous,” she huffs, turning to try and keep you in her sights. You dive beneath the coffee table, but quickly roll out again as she brings the scythe down upon it, smashing the furniture into pieces.
“I’ve dealt with changelings less tenacious than you,” she shouts. “Accept your fate, mortal!”
“Never!” you shout. Grabbing one of the couch cushions that had been sent tumbling when the couch met its fate, you toss it at her. “Leave me alone!” There’s a flash of steel, and the pillow falls to the floor in a shower of stuffing and fabric.
“Enough,” Death snarls, advancing towards you again. You turn to run, but find yourself trapped in a corner.
Death smirks.
“I have you now,” she sneers as she moves forward, raising her scythe. “Hold still. This will be quick… but not painless.” As she brings the scythe falling down upon your head, you make on final attempt to escape. Trapped and with no place left to run, you take refuge in the only place available to you.
With a Tarzan-like cry, you dive into the folds of Death’s cloak.
All noise ceases, and a calming darkness surrounds you. It takes your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, but when they do, you peer around your hiding spot. Bones cover the interior of the cloak; mostly leg bones though several wing bones and spines are mixed in. They clink together softly as the fabric of the cloak shifts and sways.
You yourself are currently crouched beneath Death’s barrel, and it takes you a moment to realize that she’s standing on just her hind legs. You take a moment to study her body, only to find to your surprise that she’s not as skeletal as you assumed she’d be. She has a healthy layer of fat on her to the point where you might even call her a little pudgy.
You poke her stomach experimentally.
“What the…?” comes a muffled voice from above, and she takes a couple of steps back. You quickly shuffle along, keeping yourself within the folds of the cloak. “What are you… stop that.” A hoof slips within the cloak, reaching about, searching for you.
You quickly maneuver yourself around until you are positioned about her flanks.
“Get out of there this instant!” she grunts. You suddenly feel the telltale build-up of magic. Without thinking, you quickly grab a hold of her rump, and not a moment too soon. In a burst of frost, she teleports across the room. Luck for you though, since you’re touching her, you are teleported as well.
“This is absurd!” she cries. “Come out at once!”
“No,” you shout back and, with clumsy movement, you pull yourself up so that your straddling her back. She’s surprisingly warm, considering who she is. You cling to her barrel and refuse to let go.
She stomps about, trying to dislodge you but your grip is too tight. She flaps her wings, but still you do not budge. A few more attempts at teleporting, and she’s starting to become flustered.
“Begone from our cloak, mortal!” she shouts as she tries to reach you with her forehooves. Unfortunately for her, while ponies here might be more flexible than their Earthly counterparts, she still can’t reach her back.
“No!” you shout.
“Get out of there this instant!”
“No! You can’t make me!”
“Mortal, get out of my cloak this instant or so help me Lux!”
“Fuck off!”
“That does it!” The sound of magic being used is the only warning you get before the scythe’s blade suddenly rips through the cloak, stopping inches in front of your face. You eye the blade nervously, sweat beading up on your brow. There’s a pause before the scythe is pulled free, leaving behind no indication that it had ever been there.
“Oh shit,” you gulp.
The scythe blade appears again, this time nearly taking off your leg in the process. Before you have a chance to recover, it’s gone again, only to reappear this time by your hand. Oh hell no! This bitch is trying to shank you!
With that in mind, you begin your frantic attempts to keep your head: namely, wiggle like you’ve never wiggled before. Like a squirrel in a tree, you shimmy around her body as she continues to stab blindly with the scythe.
“Will… you… hold… still?”
“No!”
“Stop, unf… moving. This is for your own good!”
“Like hell it is!”
“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
“What? You thought I was going to come quietly?”
“Yes! Most ponies do!”
“I’m not a pony!”
“Stop this immediately, mortal! You are only delaying the inevitab—GAH!” A loud crashing noise comes from outside, followed by the thumping of several large objects landing on the floor. It appears Death has just knocked over your bookshelf.
That doesn’t matter much though, given what’s just happened within the cloak.
“...oh, wow.”
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF—WHAT ARE YOU—GET YOUR ARM OUT OF THERE!”
“I’ve got to give you props, lady. That’s impressive.”
“GET YOUR ARM OUT OF THERE THIS INSTANT!”
“I wonder what happens if I…”
“NO, WAIT! DON’T DO—GAH!”
“Oops… my bad. Maybe if I just.”
“Gnnn, n-no, wait! Not there—NAAAAAH!”
“Hmmm, that didn’t help either. Maybe if I…”
“NAAAA-AH-AH-AH!”
“Huh… that, kinda did it?”
“M-mortal, heh… your… your suffering will be, unf... long and painful.”
“Says the mare that can’t catch me.”
“That’s not—”
“And I appear to have a good hold of you… right here!”
“GAH! THAT DOES IT!”
With a smile on her face, Fluttershy trots up the front path to Anon’s house, a pep in her step. So far this morning has been a good one. The sun is shining, she has a belly full of delicious breakfast, and she has a fetish guess today that is sure to win Anon over.
Climbing the steps of the porch, she approaches the front door. Pausing in front of it, she takes a breath, runs over the idea one more time in her head, and then lifts her hoof. She knocks once, twice, thr—
CRUNCH
Suddenly, a large, sharpened blade emerges from the door right beside her head. It’s so close to her that bits of her mane get sheared off, the hair fluttering down to the ground. She stares at the quivering blade with eyes the size of dinner plates. A shriek comes from the other side of the door, and the blade is pulled back inside in a shower of splinters.
Fluttershy continues to stare at the place where the blade had been, her pupils the size of pinpricks. Something warm trickles down her leg. Looks like she’s going to have to change her guess this morning.
Opening and closing her mouth wordlessly, she eventually stutters out, “Is…. is w-watersports y-y-your feti—”
Another shriek came from within, followed shortly by something large being thrown through the front window of the house. With a crunching noise, half of Anon’s favorite armchair landed in the yard. The other half followed a moment later.
Fluttershy stared at the two halves of the armchair.
plop
“O-oh, um… i-is… is s-s-scat—”
A portrait of Anon (one that she had drawn months ago) suddenly joined the armchairs in the yard, a large gash across the figure’s throat. Fluttershy took one look at the massive knife mark across the face of the painting and hightailed it out of there.
“I’lljustcomebacktomorrowokayThanksbye!”
An unearthly shriek echoes from the house, the wail chasing Fluttershy up the road and sending nearby birds flying in terror.
Death slumps against the hallway wall, breathing heavily. From within her cloak, you do the same, still clinging to her sweaty body as if your life depends upon it… which, actually, it does. Though you cannot see it from within your safe haven, your house is now completely trashed.
Your various bits of furniture lay in ruins, scorch mark cover the carpets—most of them still smoking—and large gouges mark up the walls and ceilings. Death’s scythe is currently embedded in the mantle of your fireplace, in which purplish-blue fire is now burning.
After a few minutes of silence, Death sighs.
“You aren’t coming out of there, are you?” she asks.
“Are you still trying to off me?” you counter.
“...”
“Well?”
“I must do my jobs, regardless of your wants and desires.”
“Then fuck you, I’m staying put,” you say, squeezing her barrel even tighter.
Death scrunches up her face. “Be reasonable, Anon. You can’t stay in there forever.”
“Challenge accepted!”
“You do not have the willpower to pull this off. Eventually, you will get tired or bored. Why not just surrender now and save us both the hassle?”
“Ha! You’re talking to the guy that’s been systematically going through Twilight’s entire library collection and whiting-out the words of her books, one page a day. I’ve completely erased nearly forty books and she hasn’t noticed yet.”
She groans before pushing herself off the wall.
“I don’t have time for this,” she mutters under her breath. “I’m late for my next appointment.” Giving herself one last experimental shake, she sighs in defeat when you remain firmly within her cloak.
“Fine, have it your way,” she growls, “but you can’t stay in there forever. You’ll have to come out of there eventually, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.”
A loud farting noise comes from within the folds of the cloak as you blow a raspberry at her.
Grumbling under her breath, she lights up her horn and, with the screech of metal, pulls her scythe free of the bricks that make up the fireplace. She checks the blade for damage before disappearing it in a burst of frost. Within the cloak, you shiver as a gust of cold air flows between the folds. Then with a soft pop, the scythe appears within the cloak as well, though it’s a lot smaller than it had been. It hangs on a small clasp sewn onto the cloak’s interior, where it jostles and bumps against the decorative bones.
“Word of advice,” she says as she begins to walk, “don’t cut yourself on the blade. Or do, if you’d like. It’d make my job a whole lot easier and take care of you in an instant.”
You eye the miniature scythe warily. “Why? What happens if I cut myself?”
“You die.”
Yeah… gonna put that right up there at the top of your ‘Things-To-Not Do’ list, right above eat Celestia’s cake and give Luna espresso.
Death heads for your front door, but as she pushes it open, the hinges give out. With an echoing thud, the door falls upon the patio.
“What was that?” you ask from beneath the cloak.
“Nothing,” Death answers quickly.
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me,” you huff. “What was that noise?”
“Nothing,” she repeats.
Grumbling darkly under your breath, you maneuver yourself around until you're clamped onto her chest. Twisting about, you poke your head out from the folds. Upon seeing your destroyed door, your eyes narrow. “You’re paying for that.”
“I most certainly am not!” she cries, staring down at your emerged head.
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Then I want to speak to your manager!”
“M-manager?!” she yelps, gaping at you. “I’m Death! I have no manager!”
“In that case, I’ll just leave a negative review,” you say snobbishly. “Zero out of ten, worst experience ever, never gonna use this service again.” She growls before taking a swipe at you, but you quickly duck back inside her cloak.
“Still your tongue, knave,” she grunts. “I have more souls to harvest, and your shenanigans have already put me behind schedule.” With a hum, her horn begins to glow and the large book from before appears in front of her. She skims quickly through the pages, muttering to herself.
“Got him, got him, got her, got him, got them, didn’t need to get him, someone else got her, got him, got him, got herself, got him… couldn’t get him,” she growls, and you can almost feel her glaring at you from behind the fabric of the cloak.
“Now, let’s see,” she mutters. “Granny Smith, swallowing and choking on her dentures, was supposed to be picked up three hours ago.”
“Does that mean she’s still choking on them?”
“Quiet you.”
“I could give her something else to choke on if you’d like.”
“I said quiet!” she pauses, and you feel her chest vibrate as she hums to herself. “Now, which way is it to Sweet Apple Acres?” She’s silent for several long minutes, and you notice that her tail is flicking back and forth in agitation.
After a few more moments of silence, you speak up. “You… you don’t know where it is, do you?”
“...maybe.”
“How can you not know? You’re Death!”
“I am not from this area, thank you very much!” she shouts. “I kindly ask that you keep your judgement to yourself!”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“Go down the path and take a left at the fork in the road.”
“...thank you.” She does as you say, gliding silently down the path, heading for Sweet Apple Acres.
Suddenly, an idea pops into your head and you grin. “Hey, when we get there, can I be the one to reap her?”
“We shall see.”
“Really?!”
“No.”
You grumble under your breath, but don’t press the issue. Death continues on her way, with you perched on her back beneath the cloak. All in all, not the strangest day you’ve had in Equestria, and hey! At least you can cross another item off your bucket list.
After all, you’ve never ridden bareback on a hearse before.
