The Reluctant Protector

The town of Hollow Shades was not a bustling metropolis like Manehattan, nor was it a sleepy hamlet like Ponyville. Thoroughly out-of-the-way, nestled in the eastern mountains on the border with the Frozen North, its borough was built into a natural sinkhole. For you see, the name ‘Hollow Shades’ was no accident. A town that spends its time in darkness, save a few hours a few days a year, when the sun manages to just peak through the hollow mountain’s only exit. From the outside, a gaping, ominous maw. From the inside, the residences only window to the blue skies beyond.

The residents didn’t mind. In fact, they preferred it this way. A hearty bunch that put one word above all others. Community. Everyone knew everyone and if you were just visiting, expect the warmest of welcomes from the town of darkness. Visitors always marvelled when they first peered down from the maw of the mountain and see the town for the first time. Comparable to looking up into the sky on a moonless night, the flames from the gas streetlamps flickered along with the hearths of the houses, twinkling away happily in the dark abyss.

Time was hard to tell down there. Citizens relied on the town hall's very strict clocktower, chiming away every hour, on the hour and its four glowing clock faces, which could be seen from any point in the town.

It was at the chime of six o’clock that Copper Whisk awoke. ‘Awoke’ being a relative term. Ever since that day when she got a knock on her door from the guard informing her of the events at Silver Shoals, she had spent her days on auto pilot. On that day, the light had left her life. Copper sighed as she looked out of her bedroom window and into the gloom beyond. The ever-burning gas lamps distorted by the water droplets that rained down from the stalactites above. Today would be the same. One hoof in front of the other, simply biding her time until she could see her child again.

No. No, she mustn't think like that, he wouldn’t want that. She had to try and live her life the best way she could. By being happy. That would be her ultimate revenge on this realm. Spite would keep her going now, and spite forced a smile to appear on her face as she turned towards the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Fifteen minutes later, she quickly buttered a slice of toast, moved towards her front door and grabbed her keys from a side table that also held a tall candle with a green flame. She smiled at the gift from the strange princess, grabbed an umbrella, left her house, locked the door and briskly walked onward to seize the day, her hooves clacking on the wet cobbles as she went.

Copper Whisk’s café was a small thing, squeezed between two other small businesses that looked positively imposing by comparison. The café had no name. It didn’t need one. Everyone knew it was a café and everyone knew Copper Whisk. The first few days after she got the news about her son, her business was busier than ever. Everyone in the town made time to come and give their condolences. Copper hated that. Usually, she would love to be swamped with work, but not when every customer would take the time to remind her – inadvertently – what she had lost.

Of course, this was not done maliciously. Hollow Shades was saddened to hear of her sons passing, saddened like one would be after losing a distant family member. But Copper didn’t need that. In fact, she couldn’t stand it. How dare they presume to know how she feels? How dare they offer flowers and cards as some meaningless gesture, or as a signalling of ‘look at me, aren’t I compassionate?’

Copper stopped in her tracks, the rain from the cave ceiling pouring off of her umbrella, and she lightly tapped herself on the cheek, kickstarting her smile like a rickety old generator. No. Today is going to be good. I’ll make it good. She thought.

She unlocked the front door to the café and stepped inside to start her morning chores. When the door closed behind her, she was hit with a wall of smells. Baked bread, sweet and savoury pastries, coffee and tea all served to make that plastered on smile turn genuine. The gas lamps flickered to life, ovens lit and water started to boil. She moved towards the counter, setting up tables as she went, then stopped.

Memories came flooding back to her. She looked to a corner table and saw her son sitting quite comfortably doing his homework. Copper smiled, he wasn’t doing his homework, in one hand he had a glass of freshly squeezed juice and in the other, a large slice of blackberry torte, his favourite. Her son’s legs dangled back and forth as he stared at his after-school treat, a wide grin on his face as he wondered which part he would devour next.

Her own smile widened as the memory looked over to her, quickly dropped the food and picked up a pencil. Desperately trying to look busy.

The townhall’s clocktower chimed for seven o’clock and her smile vanished along with the memory. Opening time. She moved behind the counter, flicked on the ‘open’ sign, which illuminated outside, and waited. It wouldn’t be long before the masses came shambling in.

A few hours later, Copper decided she’d had enough. After days of condolences, meaningless gestures and platitudes from both her loyal regulars and even a few tourists who heard of her plight through the gape vine, now was only sad smiles and large tips. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand them ‘caring’ and she couldn’t stand when they got bored of ‘caring’. Still, she managed to keep the smile on her face and make her customers feel welcome. That was good enough for her. But now, she wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but here.

The machines shut off, the gas lamps dimmed and she locked up early for the day. Now came the hardest part, the walk home. Thanks to the ‘mares in the high tower’ in Canterlot, her son was laid to rest in a dingy hole in the ground, in this dingy hole in the ground. He never would have wanted this. All his life, he wanted to leave this place. Go and live somewhere the sun shined. Now, he was back.

Even his wake, which took place by the seaside in Silver Shoals, was a total bust. Rain, rain and more rain. The realm cried for her son that day, despite her fighting tooth and nail for it not to.

Behind the Hollow Shades town hall was a cemetery. It was only a small thing. Down here, space was tight. Residents who had shifted off their mortal coil were typically cremated, their ashes scattered in a far brighter place. She couldn’t do that to her son.

The thought of turning her sons’ body into nothing more than dust sent shivers down her spine. If she lost the battle of burying him somewhere the sun shined, she would win the war of putting him somewhere she could at least visit. It was a battle through which she had emerged the victor, and now, in a small plot in the corner of the gated cemetery, her son slept peacefully.

Coward. She thought as she stared at the gates. Just go in. He’d want to see you. Since her son was laid to rest, she could not bring herself to visit. She wondered if she had made a mistake, fighting for burial over cremation. Now that all was said and done, she didn’t know which was worse. Her son tuning to dust to be scattered who-knows-where on the wind, or the fact that he was sleeping, right over there, with only a bit of dirt and wood separating them, and naught she could do about it.

She peered through the rusty iron bars of the gate, trying to get a look at the stone that marked her only child, but saw nothing. She focused on the simple latch keeping the gate closed, and noticed that it was open. Someone must be in there… she thought. Copper reached for the gate, intent on opening the thing and stepping inside. Her hands trembled as she got closer, only to fall still as she gripped the bars and pulled the gate shut, the rusted hinges protesting with a loud screech.

“Tomorrow,” she promised, her voice determined yet trembling. She always promised, she always broke it.

Her hooves clacked and splashed down the empty, puddle filled street as she made her way home. Over the downpour from the cave roof, she never heard the screech of the gate’s hinges.

She unlocked the door to her rickety home and stepped inside. When a bird finally flies the nest, it feels empty. But this was different. Knowing that the bird will never return creates a miasma of loneliness that seeps into the very foundations. When the door closed behind her, her smiling façade broke and she collapsed to the floor. She didn’t cry, only sat leaning against the door. Her eyes stared down the dark hallway, lit only by the tall green candle.

Get up. Nothing. Get up, damn you! Movement. Her arm slowly rose and she placed her keys onto the table by the door, then fell limp once again by her side. She sat, staring for a few minutes. Then, finally, managed to pull herself off of the cold, creaky floorboards. She dragged her hooves down the hallway and to the kitchen, where she put a pot on to boil and filled a strainer with tea leaves. She got out two cups, one for her and one for her son- No. No, he’s not here. Silly me. She placed one back and put the other on the table, sat and waited.

Just as the pot began to boil, there was a knock on the door. Three slow thuds. She left her seat at the table and turned the heat down a tad on the stove. Three more thuds. She closed her eyes and sighed. Another well-wisher? “I’m coming!” She called.

When she opened the door, her face paled and her eyes widened.

“Hi mom.” Her son said.

He stood in front of her, tall and handsome, soaked from the rain and wearing the same thing he was buried in. His smartest suit, now incredibly filthy, caked with mud. The flower that was placed in his lapel was still there, or rather, the stem was, the delicate petals had long since vanished. Rotted away. Unlike his fur, which had retained its blue colour. His eyes were glassy, but still darted lively over her features.

She said nothing. She covered her mouth with one hand and collapsed to the floor, catching herself with the other. Her son quickly bent down and grabbed her shoulders to support her. She stared at his hooves. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face.

“Mom,” he said as he closed his arms around her in a cold embrace. “It’s okay.”

Copper Whisk screamed. She wailed in grief and thankfulness. Her son rocked her back and forth comfortingly. “Shh,” he said, “it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m home now. I’m home.” He pulled her gently inside and closed the door.

“H-how?” She managed to say.

He smiled, sadly. “I’m not sure myself. I remember… falling. And then I suddenly woke up in the cemetery.”

“B-but… You… Son, you’re… you’re…”

“Dead. I know.”

She finally looked him in the eyes. She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. It was freezing. “I just… I don’t understand.”

He pulled her to her hooves and moved to the kitchen. “I don’t myself. Small miracles, eh?”

They sat down at the table, Copper staring at him with a genuine smile. But, the more they sat, she couldn't stop her traitorous thoughts. This is wrong, they said. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

How could it be wrong? My son is back and we can finally be happy again!

The town hall's clock chimed. Wait… that’s not right. Copper stood and peered out of the kitchen window. "It’s… four thirty? The bells only ring on the hour…" Her son grunted and she turned to see he was clutching his head. “Are… are you okay?” Copper asked.

“Yeah…” He spoke. “Just a headache is all.”

The bells kept ringing. This is wrong… “I’ll be right back,” she said. Her son nodded and she moved quickly to the hallway. She opened a small draw in the table and pulled out a piece of parchment. Copper looked at the green candle. She’ll know what to do.

Dear Princess Artemis,

I’m sorry to bother you, but something has happened and I don’t know what to do. It’s my son, Easel. He’s back. Literally. He’s sitting in my kitchen right now. I know I sound crazy, but please believe me. I’m scared. Please help me.

Copper Whisk.

She lifted the page, hesitated, then with determination, held it to the candle. Without much warning the green flame engulfed the parchment and it disappeared in a shower of sparks. The bells were still ringing.

Now I need to buy time… Copper took a deep breath and re-entered the kitchen, only to pause and stare in shock at Easel. He was bent over double, his back to her, clutching his head. It was only now that she could see the injury from his fall. The back of his skull was missing. His head was open, gaping like the maw to Hollow Shades and inside, empty. She covered her mouth and fought down a scream as her son groaned in pain.

“The bells…” He spoke in a low grumble. “The bells… So loud… Please… Please, make them stop…”

Copper could certainly hear them, but they were nowhere near loud enough to cause her physical pain. She swallowed her fear. She had to be there for her son now until the princess could arrive and help him. She moved closer, hesitantly. “It’s... It's going to be okay, son. H-Help, is on the way.” Like a flash he turned on her, grabbing her by the throat. They crashed to the floor, chairs tipping over.

“H-Help?!” He shouted in a voice not entirely his own. "Help is already here for you, my sweet.” His freezing hands tightened around her; tears streamed from her eyes. She reached up towards the boiling water on the stove and grabbed the edge of the pot. She couldn’t scream as the hot metal seared into her hand, his grip on her windpipe was too tight. With her adrenaline pumping she swung the pot with all her might into the side of her son’s head. He let go of her as he was knocked to the side, boiling water flying. It burned her as it landed on her chest and she could finally scream in pain.

As the boiling water landed on her son, it instantly evaporated and quickly condensed into a cold mist which settled on the floor like snow. Copper turned onto her stomach, the ice now on the floor soothed her burned flesh. The bells were ringing louder now, and she started to understand why they caused her son so much pain. Through coughs and with her strength returning to her, she crawled towards the front door. She reached for the handle and felt a weight settle on her back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her son asked. Once again, she screamed in pain as she felt flat, equine teeth tear into her shoulder. She sobbed as she shook from side to side, trying in vain to get out of his grip. Easel tore her over onto her side and rolled her over onto her back. She stared up into her son’s glassy eyes. Blood, his mothers blood, her blood, dripped from his lips and his mouth was stretched into a wide smile as he wondered which part he would devour next.

“Please…” She managed to eek out, her throat aching with every breath. Her son ignored her as he finally leaned down and bit into her neck.

As the blood drained from her, and as her son took bite after bite, she heard a small ‘pop’ over the bells. A letter floated down from the green candle landing next to her head with two simple words on it.

I’m Coming.