J.M.J.

2

After explaining what votive confidence meant, we each went to separate stations suited for washing ourselves more thoroughly after supper. The ponies took turns in their respective areas in the house. Both on the ground and upper floor.

I was graciously provided with a tub and basic cleansing tools behind the barn. I'm told away from prying eyes on hovering clouds. The rest of the evening was spent telling the apple farmers some things about my life at Pico Mundo, as we were drying and resting by the lighted fireplace.

Though bodachs continued to stalk the pony family’s middle child, who happened to wield a crucial, world-saving artifact among six that are co-dependent of each other, the fact that there’s two meant the threat was neither immanent nor immediate.

When a room filled with these dark omens of chaos, death and anguish overflows and gushes out the hinges and keyhole, and time itself gets screwed, that’s when you know something titanic and inevitable is around the corner.

Still, it doesn’t make it easier to watch their snakelike movements around someone I’ve come to know well. So, I opted the floor space away from Applejack’s seat and had them at the edge of my peripheral. I can have perfect tunnel vision whenever there’s need for it.

As before, the deceased parents snuggled on opposite sides of my sitting matter on the wood surface. The mother stayed close to her first daughter, while the father was near his youngest and eldest child.

Boo rested his wintry, phantom head on my lap. Pear brushed her peach hoof against his back, while Bright used his yellow one to scratch the spirit dog’s ear. The complete lack of ability for physical touch was ever ignored by the ghost trio that surrounded me in this equine homestead.

The pony farmers had a living canine of their own. An Australian shepherd, collie mix named Winona. I don’t know this world’s equivalent for her breed. She rested her own head against my lap opposite Boo’s. Winona’s back was against Bright Mac’s barrel.

My first visit to the estate introduced me to this playful, energetic, tongue-flapping creature. Brown and white fur, puffy as a cloud. Yet also lean, swift and agile. Winona was the staple of household dogs that you’d expect from Hollywood.

Applewood, in this case.

Automatically, she took a shine to me. Running laps around me wanting to play fetch. I saw her noting Frank’s presence, then make a jovial move towards Boo. More often than not, whenever the Apple siblings weren’t around, she would gravitate towards Bright Mac and Pear Butter.

Animals often show this keen awareness toward any and all spirits. Especially those that are unfriendly.

Trying not to be reminded of Terrible Chester, I kept my attention towards the yellow filly with a thousand, one questions. Away from the leering smoke phantoms among us. After an anxious groan from Winona, Boo offered her comfort while calming my own nerves also.

Around the warm hearth in the late-summer dusk, we sat to unwind. Despite the heat of the season not yet reduced, prepping the fireplace for a cooler night helped us to dry and relax. The flames emulated Pentecostal solace for sore limbs and aching joints. Its spellbinding, scorching glow of tongues danced with deadly enchantment that no insect could resist.

I gave my hosts a few descriptions about Wyatt Porter, his wife Karla, then Little Ozzie, Father Sean, Terry Stambaugh and Danny Jessup. The family I always needed but got much later in life. Not saying this to evoke pity. That’s the last thing I need.

If ever.

“And did you ever write anything, like Ozzie said you should,” asked Applebloom. Inadvertently she directed more unwanted attention towards myself. Somehow, we moved from my six-fingered friend to Little Ozzie’s encouragement that I should also become an author like himself.

“I put down a couple books since last year,” I nodded plainly. “Started on a third before coming here.”

The aforementioned journal doesn’t count, since that will never be published in my home world. Nor do I want it entering public domain here either.

“Were they bestsellers?” The eager curiosity gleamed most vigorously from her irises thanks to the fire’s blazing lightshow.

“They’re not published yet,” I told her with half the bleak truth. “I told Little Ozzie to wait ‘til I know I’m finished writing.”

“But when’ll that be?”

“Not sure yet,” I shrugged. “Hopefully sooner than later.”

"Do they have brave heroes saving the day and living happily ever after?"

"Not exactly." Never really considered myself one, though I've had heroic figures to help me. Some at great costs.

I made a point never to mention Stormy in our conversations. Something I had done throughout my tenure in Ponyville. One, because I already shared the love of my life with Bright Macintosh and Pear Butter. As well as somebody else.

And two, I had long since made my peace with her tragic passing. With the hope of someday seeing her again. After my need in this mortal, wounded state reaches its much-anticipated finale.

A resolution that’s also recounted in my previous chronicles.

“What’re they about,” Applebloom continued.

I shrugged, with my head down in a meek manner. “Just ramblings mostly. Things I’ve been up to. Things I’ve seen, people I met, places I visited…”

“Ya think you’ll write a book about meeting us and coming here to Equestria?”

“If I do,” I pondered, “I’ll have to ask Ozzie to put it out years later.”

And likely in another penname.

“How come?”

No, it’s not for reasons you might expect. Not because few or nobody would believe me and send me to an asylum or research lab. That ship sailed from the moment I understood the nature of my secret. My reasoning is more interior.

The amount of effort required for me to relate every single event would be astronomical. For those who have read my previous volumes to this point, you may or may not have wondered what sort of things I’d done or encountered since leaving Pico Mundo.

Preferably not.

Before the mall shooting. Or during my stay at the Abbey. Or how I kept my remaining sanity through Stormy, Chief Porter and Company.

Normally, I tell people that those things were irrelevant to the never-ending battle we each face on a regular basis. Whether we admit it, or not.

But the sort of energy and focus for me to reflect on, reminisce and even sort through the things I’ve experienced is far too taxing. Otherwise, I would’ve liked for my obese, classically educated, culinary author with a sixth finger to share my trans-dimensional encounter with musically inclined ponies of different colors.

My little spin on Dorothy and the Land of Oz. Ghost white dog, Tin-man Sinatra, with talking and flying animals to boot.

No. This little adventure will have to be left to the side for now. At best. Most likely it’ll play host to worms and soil inside my Scarecrow skull, six feet under. Not for fear of how others may perceive me. Nor out of shame to those who welcomed me, befriend me and took me in as the best of Samaritans. But because it’s just too much for me to handle.

Alongside everything else that’s happening back home.

Looking at the yellow filly I said, “Because this place is too good for my short vocabulary. Not enough words to do right by it.”

My sincerity must’ve been detected, because Bloom beamed with the brightest glint in her eyes to overshadow the hearth. All other ponies living and deceased nodded with warm appreciation. Even Granny Smith was nodding off with a soft smile.

“I don’t know, Odd,” Jack commented in my periphery. “Looks to me like you’ve got a mighty fine dictionary to match Twilight’s in that there cantaloupe you got on your shoulders.”

Now more able to brace myself, not wanting to give Applejack the impression I was ignoring her, I turned my face directly towards the orange pony. Catching a small glimpse of the bodachs mingling in the shadows behind and over her Stetson.

“Really,” I asked in earnest. “Why’d you think that?”

“Just something I noticed when seeing you writing that journal of yours,” she answered. “How you’re muttering different words to yourself between pauses. Them few I could pick up while passing by were downright sophisticated if I ever heard such. Like one of them Unicorn professors in Canterlot where Twi lived.”

I shrugged with my usual downplaying demeanor. “I just pick up a thesaurus sometimes to make sure I know what I’m saying.”

“Don’t look like no dinothesaurus was sitting next to ya when you write. Nothing to be worried about or ashamed none neither. Big Mac knows a thing or two about learning words to say his piece when he wants to.”

“Yup,” her brother agreed.

“All I’m trying to say,” continued Applejack, “is when it comes to who you are at your core, Odd, I reckon you got what it takes to make a great storyteller for a task like writing a whole other world different than your own.”

She doesn’t know the half of it.

“Maybe,” came my response. “Though personally I prefer the life of a simple fry cook. And I’m guessing your brother shares in that goal. Or at least understands it.”

“Yup,” Mac nodded.

“Which part, Big Mac,” asked Applebloom. “Sharing or understanding?”

“Yup.”

Applejack teased, “Fry cook and all?”

“Yup,” was his playful retort. The Grandfather Clock standing nearby began to chime halfway towards the ninth hour.

“Alright, young’uns,” announced Granny as she stirred from her short nap. “Reckon it’s coming near that time when we start calling it a day and turn in.”

“Aw, Granny,” moaned the small filly next to her unseen father, “it’s still the school break. Can’t we just stay a teensy bit more?”

“No can do,” Smith replied shaking her head firmly. “Big Mac needs to make sure he’s well rested for his check-up tomorrow, and there’s still a bunch of prep work fer us afore Celestia brings out the sun.”

“Granny’s right, sis,” said Jack, rising from her mother's side and proud glance. “Can’t have you all tuckered out when welcoming Pipsqueak home cuz ya didn’t get a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh, alright. Goodnight, Odd.”

Since my human height rendered me unable to join the trusting filly upstairs and wish her goodnight, I received her heartfelt leap and embrace against my lean chest, frame and lap. Boo and Winona got up sensing Applebloom’s intended trajectory.

“Hope you get to come with us tomorrow,” she muttered behind my neck.

“Same here, Applebloom,” I said, giving her a mildly tender squeeze. “But even if I don’t make it, try to have the most fun anyway.”

“I’ll try. But it feels like you really are part of the family, and I don’t want you to miss out on nothing. I’m not sure why.”

The sentiment wasn’t from childish – or foalish – attachments toward anything and anyone pleasant to look at. Nothing naïve or cute in the expression. Just innocent. Pure and simple. And with my own silent guess to why she felt that way, I gave only a small thanks and comforting grin in reply.

“See you in the morning,” I asked.

“You bet!” She moved upstairs beside Macintosh. Smiling with that assurance. Winona had already raced to the top of the steps. As Granny rose from her rocking chair, Applejack stayed behind to spot her grandmother’s ascension. While the shadowy leeches stayed close to her, the count was still two from my marginal viewpoint.

I sat quietly by the glowing embers with my remaining companions. The sunset gleaming dimly through the windows.

Boo returned his head onto my lap, with Pear and Bright petting him once again. One by one, the bedroom doors upstairs made the sounds of closing against their respective thresholds. But before the last door could shut, the rhythm of hooves picked up volume back down to the family room, where I was the sole visible occupant.

Applejack was seen once again by the light of the heated coals. I didn’t need my additional sense to recognize her steady calm with great worry aimed towards me. Not that I was surprised, seeing as how much she valued deep familial bonds.

As her little sister mentioned previously, these ponies were quick to include me as an honorary family member. Quicker to adopt me than Wyatt and Karla Porter becoming my unofficial surrogate parents.

When asked if that was a hasty move, Jack’s friend Miss Sparkle told me how it was normal. Once a warm acquaintance is made with mutual respect and genuine openness, most ponies in the village are quick to befriend and nurture said bond with cheerful endearment.

Apparently what openness I offered was satisfactory, since everything else about me was translucent.

“Hey partner,” the young pony asked evenly as shapes moved around her. “Ya sure you’re doing alright?”

By now, you must be asking why I haven’t entrusted my secret to any of these thoughtful, caring, understanding, neighborly equines on the color wheel. My answer to that question is simple.

I have. Just not with these ponies. And for reasons explained shortly. But with my suspicions confirmed about her astute observations, I figured I should meet Applejack halfway.

“I was,” I said after a deep breath, “But something tells me I need to talk with one of your leaders.”

“You mean Luna?”

I nodded.

Princess Luna is the shorter, darker, and cooler temperament to her sister Celestia. She’s the one who revolves this world’s moon after returning from her millennial banishment inside it. Again, the less said the better.

I first encountered the horned Pegasus also of great prowess when I had my first dream in this whimsical land. While graceful and elegant like her elder sibling of white, her deep blue coat and nebula mane completed her more solemn, stoic outlook with turquoise irises. A black patch like spilled ink carrying a white crescent is her emblem.

“Most blessed salutations to you, o weary traveler,” she spoke. “My name is Luna. Princess of Equestria, Keeper of Dreams, and Guide of the Moon. Fear not, Master Thomas of Peak-oh Moon-doh. You are well met by Celestia, my sister.”

Despite my supernatural sense alerting me to her own insurmountable countenance, I found myself more at ease by this constant star of the sea. Like a guiding light that’s shining blissfully through the darkest, most brutal maelstrom. And beneath the surface was someone who felt awkward and unsure of herself interacting with others, like yours truly.

Since then, my nights were occasionally visited by her presence, where she has offered some things about her past and learned a few things about my own. Something like soporific group therapy.

I wondered if ever Stormy had a sister, that she would resemble Luna in terms of character and disposition. She definitely wouldn't be like my imagined sister. Too much alike.

Applejack and her friends learned about this arrangement after Princess Celestia told of her sister’s initiative. One meant to build rapport with their alien visitor. Not to say they doubted my goodwill to the point of involuntary soul reading. Everything discussed between myself and the dark Princess has been shared freely without any sense of deceit, paranoia or intrigue.

And as a bonus, these pony princesses with wings and horns shared in my sixth sense.

One that only a select few of their subjects ever knew about during their immortal lives. They not only sympathized my hesitance in telling other ponies of my ability. They also offered encouragement. Saying how such a talent known by few was because only those few could rightly fathom all that responsibility entailed.

Though they’ve got centuries of experience over me, I’m not sure I totally agree with them. Chief Porter, Little Ozzie, and even Stormy trusted me despite never fully understanding my secret. Even I don’t comprehend it on a good day.

If there ever was one.

Then again, such knowledge got Wyatt Porter in danger and Stormy killed. And Danny wasn’t immune to oath-breaking, nearly getting ourselves killed. It’s a miracle Danny and I made it back, though I wished I hadn’t.

My best friend apologized plenty, and I forgave him on the spot. The reason I shared my secret in the first place was that he suffered from a condition all could see. Letting Danny in on it was my way of telling him he’s not the only one that others would label abnormal. Wittingly or not.

We all have something that makes us unwholesome. Whether it’s seen, or unseen.

The orange farm pony stared at my still matter for a minute longer, as if to say she’s ready to listen while also respecting my privacy at once. Since she was aware of Luna’s correspondence with me, Applejack said, “Well, whatever it is that’s eating at you I’m sure the Princess is just the pony to help.”

I thanked her for checking on me and wished her good night. Even though it grew darker inside the Apple Family’s homestead, I could still distinguish the odious movements of the things stalking her.

She reciprocated before climbing back up the steps. Then gave the door to her room a faint thud. No doubt the pair of bodach escorts accompanied the young mare inside.

AMDG