by Shadowhunter, » Fri Dec 13, 2024 4:50 pm
Username: shadowhunter,
Is she afraid of ghost stories? She is the ghost story
What ghost story would she tell, or what story would scare her most?
There’s two things everyone who escaped an encounter can agree on:
1- the entity has horrible, glowing orange eyes
2- it is attracted to light
A dead forest, scarred by past wildfire, is where our escapees fled from, with mocking laugher haunting their hasty retreat. Enter if you want, but you won’t leave the same as you came in.
- - -
A small group of young equids camp in the charred forest on a dare. The bare trees let weak moonlight stream in, a lack of vegetation means no insects break up the lively chatter of young adult equids by a roaring fire. They are relaxed and careless, having ignored the myriad of rumours they’d been told about the place. They don’t see the gleam of the flames reflecting on strange eyes in the dark, or heed the ominous creaking of bony trees. A throat clears as a figure emerges from the shadows. A dark equid glides out from the trees, head low in a gesture of peace. Her markings are nearly invisible in the wavering firelight, only the ghost of her dark stripes can be seen.
‘I got separated from my herd. Mind if I share some warmth?’ Her voice is soft and melodic. The teens look at each other and reach a silent agreement. They make room for the stranger, after all they have plenty of fire and stories to go around. She settles in with a sigh.
‘Thank you.’ She bows her head. ‘I owe you all.’ They talk well past sunset, swapping tales of adventure and the agonies of growing up with protective parents. The stranger brings her own lore of far away lands, and shimmering constellations. It’s not long before the entire group dozes off, lulled to sleep by the gentle crackle of the fire.
- - -
A high, shrill whinny jolts the young ones awake. They look around frantic. The stranger is gone. Their hearts stop - the place where she lay has been marred by jagged marks leading off into the foreboding forest. Distant whimpering, then-
Silence.
In the dim light of the dying fire, the friends struggle and strain to make out shapes around them. Their feet are unsteady. Every tree looks like something reaching out to grab them. They jump at every gust of wind. The quiets hangs heavy. Until-
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of distant, heavy, hoofteps.
Thudthudthudthud
The sound of young racing hearts.
A gust of wind, and the fire swells up again. That’s when they see it. Two massive, evil, orange eyes, clearly glowing in the gaps of the nearest trees. And at its feet…the motionless silhouette of an equid. A horrible laughter emerges from the darkness, seemingly engulfing the small group. They turn tail on a dime, the laughter following them all the way home.
- - -
‘Ugh they didn’t even leave anything GOOD,’ complains a red equid, shaking dirt and old pine needles from her coat. ‘Also, I am NOT playing ‘dead body’ for you EVER again. I don’t know why I let you talk me into it this time.’ She glares daggers into the shadows.
‘Oh MAN that was so much fun though,’ giggles her companion, stepping into the small clearing. Her white coat is still covered in mud with the exception of her spectacular orange markings. The low light and her light coat make mud an easy disguise, and her accomplice was reluctantly roped in to helping her pull it off. ‘Aw come on Viv,’ she bumps shoulders with the red mare who pins her ears in disgust, ‘something is better than nothing.’ She gestures to the supplies left behind. Some snacks, some friendship bracelets made of grass, marshmallows and other objects probably stolen from human campers - Vivian rolls her eyes.
‘Whatever. As long as they stay away from me and my forest, I don’t care.’ The white mare’s eyes gleam in the embers of the fire.
‘Oh trust me…I’ll keep trespassers far away as long as they have trinkets.’ She noses open the bag of marshmallows and helps herself. She looks up at Vivian. ‘Wan’ some?’ She asks, mouth full. Vivian recoils.
‘Ew, those squishy things? Just…clean up before you go, I hate a messy home.’ She retreats, quickly swallowed by the night. The white mare yawns and stretches languidly, putting off cleaning up for tonight. For now she rests with stolen treats in her belly, and the pleasure of knowing stories will be told about glowing eyes in the forest for a long time coming.