Scwooge woke up, stretching his legs inside the warm burrow the herd had excavated beneath the roots of a birch tree. The insides were lined with fluff “donated” by the herd to keep their glorious leader warm through the Cold times. Sure the burrow was large enough to fit each fluffy, but Scrooge had always liked his space. Walking outside into the brisk morning air, he surveyed his herd.
It wasn’t the largest herd, but it was a pretty good size, and having just taken over from the prior smarty, he hadn’t had time to really do much yet. Looking around, he found his toughie Twinkle distributing rations from the herds meager food stores. The food stores had been ample to get through the somewhat Cold times, but the excavation of his burrow had taken most of the able bodied fluffies out of the scavenging patrols, and they had quickly begun to dwindle. While before they had a good deal of nuts, berries, fruits and grasses, they were now down to mostly dry grasses and a few acorns and berries, which Scwooge quickly gulped down for his breakfast.
“Whewe am da good nummies?” Scwooge turned to look at his toughie with irritation. Twinkle shook his head sadly. “Gon’, smarteh Scwooge, ‘ou nummed da west of dem wast bwight time.” This response was met with a hard nosey boop. “Dis nu am Scwooge fauwt! Dis dummeh hewds fauwt fo’ nu bwingin’ nuff nummies!” Scwooge glared at the cowering toughie, before looking away disinterestedly. “Gu way. Bwing back wotsa nummies ow get wowstest sowwy hoofsies!” He watched as the blue pegasus took off before turning to check in on the rest of the herd.
Huffing, he walked back towards the main clearing of the forest where the herd was situated. He watched angrily as the fluffies milled about, dishing out nosey boops and yelling at them to go out and collect food, the herd quickly obeying his orders. Trotting away from the clearing, he was about to go back to his nestie place for a nap before he reluctantly remembered it was his duty to check if the mummahs were doing ok.
Stomping off towards the large bush the mummahs and foals hid and played inside of, he abruptly crashed trough the leaf coverage, startling the foals who began to peep and chirp to gain the attention of their mummah’s and the attendant mares. “Awe mummahs otay?” Scwooge asked disinterestedly.
“Pwease smarteh!” a green and yellow mare, Twinkle’s special friend if he recalled correctly. Scwooge turned to her annoyed. “Wat?” She clutched a babbeh to her chest, a runt pink unicorn. He had been of the opinion they should just abandon it, but Twinkle had begged and pleaded to keep it so much he had finally relented. “Tuwip nee’ better nummies! Nu hab’ nuff miwkies fow aww da babbehs!”
Scwooge sighs exaggeratedly. “Den gu fin’ nummies. Dis nu am hawd.” That was a pretty good idea he thought. If all the fluffies were finding their own nummies there would be more time to find nummies for him! Feeling self satisfied, he waddled off to take his nap, ignoring the pleas of the mare behind him.
Scwooge managed to reach his nestie before the residual heat of his prior sleepy times had fully dissipated. Curling up, he quickly fell asleep, his snoring loudly reverberating through the hollow.
“Scwooge! Scwooge! Wakey wakey Scwooge!” a pale light shone upon Scwooge as he woke up grumpily, angrily rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Dummeh fwuffy! Scwooge nu am done sweepin!” Scwooge turned to face the intruder, screaming in horror as he came face to face with Mawley, the herds prior smarty who had met his end at the feet of a metal monster during a routine scavenging expedition.
Mawley was thin, his once prodigious fluff now taught against his face, his body covered in banana peels and fast food wrappers that had been woven tightly into his fur and dragged behind him, his favorite foods before his untimely end met chasing a discarded burger wrapper into the streets. Scwooge couldn’t believe his see places! And perhaps he shouldn’t, the apparition was also floating a few hooflengths above the fluff lined floor, the roots of the birch visible through his dirty gray fluff.
“MUNSTAH!” squealed Scwooge as he desperately tried to scramble out of the nestie place, being cut off by the dead smarty at every turn. “Mawley am nu mowe a munstah den ‘ou!” Scwooge pressed his back against the hard root wall of the den. “Scwooge nu am munstah! Dummeh Mawley get sowwy hoofsies!” he waved his hooves at the phantom, his wild swings going through the pegasus as though he wasnt even there. The dead fluffy sighed. “Fwuffy am nu hewe tu huwt ‘ou, fwuffy come to gib wawning!”
Scwooge stopped flailing, opening an eye to look at the specter. “Nu huwt smarteh?” Mawley shook his head. “Am hewe to gib wawning. Scwooge, you habe been da WOSTEST SMARTEH!” Scwooge flinched as the declaration echoed through the nest. “Nu wowstest smarteh, Scwooge am gud smarteh!” The dead pegasus shook his head sadly. “Nu, Scwooge huwt odda fwuffies, take too many nummies, an’ make aww dah fwuffies sweep outside ob da wawm nestie!”
Scwooge scoffed. “If dey wan wawm nestie pwace den dey shouwd dig one!” Mawley looked at him sadly. “It am too wate fow Mawley, bu’ nu am too wate fow Scwooge.” The gray unicorn looked at the specter annoyed. “Fwuffy nu nee’ change, fwuffy am bestest smarteh awealdy!”
Mawley suddenly drew close to Scwooge. “’Ou wiww be visited by thwee spiwits! An if ‘ou do not change ‘our ways ‘ou wiww be SOWWY!” Scwooge flinched as the words echoed around the den again, and then with a rustle of fast food wrappers the old smarty was gone, and the den went dark… Slightly shaking with fear, Scwooge sat against the wall, fighting to stay awake, but inevitably falling asleep.
“Scwoooooge. SCWOOOOOOOOOOOGE!” The unfamiliar fluffies voice sounded through the den. It was a warm voice, and brought him memories of miwkies and mummah songs. Rousing himself, Scwooge was met by the sight of quite possibly the largest fluffy he had ever seen. A green pegasus with highlights of white in its red mane and tail, standing a full head taller than he. It giggled at him. “Hewwo sweepie fwuffs!”
Scwooge crouched, his hackles raised as he eyed the intruder suspiciously. “Who awe ‘ou!” The pegasus giggled again. “Fwuffy am da Spiwit o’ Fwuffmas’s Past!” Scwoofe was confused. “Fwuffmas? Wat am Fwuffmas?” The green pegasus laughed heartily. “Why, fwuffmas am da day dat AWW dah fwuffies in da wowld shawe dewe nummies an’ toysies wif aww da odda fwuffies!”
Scwooge stared blankly at the pegasus. “Dat sound wike a dummeh ting tu do.” The pegasus stopped laughing and gave him a harsh look. “Dat nu am nice ting to say!” Scwooge snorted. The pegasus looked at him angrily before sighing. “’Ou am a meanie smarteh!” The spirit said dissaprovingly, met with another snort of derision from the smarty. “Scwooge am da bestest smarteh ebba!”
Scwooge suddenly felt himself lifted up, and then felt a rush of cold wind blow past him, closing his eyes to protect them from the icy wind. Upon opening them again, he found himself at the mummah bush, a warm, soft, and familiar tune leaking from between the branches. A tune he recognized from his time as a foal. “Mummah?”
Bursting through the wall of the bush, he saw for the first time in many forevers his mummah, sitting upright and smiling as she sang to her litter of foals who clamored around her teats. A strange fluffy sat at her side. “Wook at aww da wittwe babbehs!” the unfamiliar fluffy cooed.
Scwooge’s mummah lifted and hugged a grey foal from the pile. “Spechul fwiend wanna gib babbehs namesies?” The fluffy took the foal from his mummah, smiling at it and hugging it close to his chest. “Jahcob name dis one… Scwooge.” Tears welled in his eyes as Scwooge realized who this fluffy could be. “Daddeh?”
Scwooge hadn’t met his daddeh, who had died shortly after the smarty was born. He had been the smarty before Mawley had been. The Spirit suddenly spoke beside Scwooge, startling him. “Jahcob was ‘our daddeh, an’ was a hewd weada wong befowe ‘ou wewe bown.” The two watched as the smarty trotted up to the nummie storage, currently filled to near bursting with nummies of all kinds, nuts, grasses, berries, even leftover human nummies!
Many fluffies waved at the smarty as he grabbed a mouthful of berries and carried them back to the mummah bush, carefully maneuvering his way into the nest to avoid a loud rustling so as not to startle the babies. “Hewe mummahs, hab sum bewwy nummies!” He laid the mouthful of berries down as the three mummahs inside began to eat, all cooing happily.
Suddenly, Scwooge was back in his nestie, the Spirit of Fluffmas past looking at him pityingly. “Scwooge nu am gud smarteh wike his daddeh. ‘Our mummah and daddeh wouwd cwy if dey saw how ‘ou tweated Twinkle!” Scwooge angrily stomped his feet. “Scwooge nu am bad smarteh! Scwooge am bestest smarteh hewd ebba habe!”
The Spirit of Fluffmas past sighed, then disappeared. After looking around to make sure the spirit was truly gone, Scwooge angrily curled up in his beddie spot and fell asleep.
Scwooge was rudely awoken yet again, this time even ruder as he received a hard nosey bop. “OWWIES!” Scwooge scrambled to his hooves, angrily gazing at the intruder. A blue and white earthy pony looked at him scornfully. “Ge’ up, Scwooge.”
Scwooge angrily huffed at the pony. “Dummy stoopid fwuffy! Nu gib’ huwties tu smarteh! Scwooge gib ‘ou wowstest huwties!” The glittering pony rolled his eyes as Scwooge charged him, the smarty’s hooves passing straight through the glowing ponies body. “Wha?”
The pony bopped Scwooge on the nose again, his hoof solidly connecting with the smarties nose. “Dummeh fwuffy, nu can huwt spiwits.” Scwooge angrily glared at the floating pony as it stared impassively back. The two stared at each other for a few seconds before the spirit rolled his eyes again and began his introduction.
“Fwuffy am da Spiwit o’ Fwuffmas Nows.” The spirit waited as if for an unseen audience to finish their oohs and ahs, before rolling his eyes again. “Scwooge am bad smarteh. Nu kno’ how tu wead hewd, nu knu how tweat fwiends.” Scwooge snorted angrily. “Dummeh spiwit nu caww smarteh dummeh.”
The spirit glared at him again, and suddenly Scwooge felt himself beginning to float, up and up and up, straight through the root ceiling of the burrow. Suddenly they were rocketing away from the herds nest through the cold, dark, night air, towards an alley way where they came to a stop, floating above a blue pegasus that was currently scrounging through a split garbage bag.
Scwooge peered down at the fluffy, recognition slowly dawning in him. “Am dat dummeh Twinkwe? Why am dummeh toughie wookin’ fow nummies so wate?” The spirit gave a short laugh. “Fwuffies dummeh smarteh towd him tu.” The spirit brought them in closer as Twinkle tucked a stale chunk of pretzel into his fluff to carry back. “Huuhuu, dummeh smarteh nu am gud fwuffy.”
Immediately, Scwooge was enraged. “NU! DUMMEH STOOPID TWINKWE AM DUMMEH! GIB WOWSTEST SOWWY HOOFSIES!” He struggled to move forwards, still held in an invisible grip by the spirit who simply sighed again.
“How am fwuffy gud weadew?” The question caught Scwooge off guard for a moment, before he recovered and puffed out his chest proudly. “Fwuffy make bestest nestie!” The specter shook it’s head. “Nu, odda fwuffies dig nestie. ‘Ou just sweep dewe.”
“Fwuffy gib bestest nummies to hewd!” The phantom pony sighed again. “Nu, odda fwuffies bwing nummies to hewd, den ‘ou num da bestest ones befowe goin sweepies.”
Scwooge thought hard. What did he do? He knew he was the bestest smarty ever. But why? What did he do that was so different from all the other fluffies in the herd? The answer suddenly hit him as he smugly turned to face the spirit.
“Scwooge take da bestest cawe of da babbehs an’ da mummahs!” The spirit sighed harder than before. Suddenly they were flying back to the park, to the nest, straight into the mummah bush. It took Scwooge a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bush.
“Huuhuu…” Tulip, the special friend of Twinkle, clutched her runt to her chest as she choked out a lullaby to the hungrily peeping baby. “Mumm-Mummah wub babb- babbeh… Babb- babbeh wub mummah…” Before she could reach the Miwkies part, Tulip broke into sobs. “Sowwy babbeh, mummah nu hab nuff miwkies…”
Scrooge looked at the situation puzzled. “Why dey nu gu fin’ nummies?” The Spirit turned to him angrily. “Why don’t ‘ou?” As Scwooge pondered the question, Twinkle made his way into the bush, laying the meager meal he had found outside at his mates hooved. A chunk of hard, stale, pretzel, some wilted dandelion leaves, and a couple berries. The products of hours of searching barely amounted to a mouthful of food.
Scwooge looked at the pitiful amount of food, flashing back to the extravagant amount he ate almost daily, a small pit of guilt forming in his stomach. The pit only grew as Tulip broke down into heavy sobbing as Twinkle attempted to soothe her with hugs. “Scwooge am nu gud smarteh, am I?” The spirit shook its head. “Nu, fwuffy am not.”
Suddenly, they were back in the den. Scwooge had the worstest heart hurties he had ever had. It was his fault that the babies were going hungry. Gazing down at his ample bulk he felt even worse. He didn’t need as much food as he took, he just took it because he could and he wanted to. He never considered how he was taking miwkies straight from the mouths of the tiny babies, and on Fluffmas eve no less.
The spirit stared at Scwooge as the smarty began to heave with guilt racked sobs, rolling his eyes once again. “Fwuffy onwy hab one mowe spiwit to meet. Den fwuffy nee’ make choice.”
The spirit slowly faded and Scwooge curled up in his beddie, waiting for whatever specter would next haunt him.
The nestie Scwooge woke up to was colder than the coldest cold time he had ever experienced. Waking with a shiver, Scwooge found himself face to face with a monster fluffy, black as night with a glittering silver mane flowing behind it, as if blown by an unseen wind. After a few minutes of screaming in abject terror at the sight of a glowing, floating, monster fluffy, he managed to collect himself enough to croak out a question.
“Who… am… fwuffy?” he panted, still exhausted from the effort of screaming. The alicorn exhaled harshly, the room dropping a few degrees in temperature as Scwooge shivered. Working his brain as hard as he could, Scwooge managed to work out the identity of the final spirit.
“Am fwuffy da spiwit of Fwuffmas next?” The alicorn nodded, and suddenly they were outside in the middle of the herds land. It was cold and barren, a thin layer of untouched snow blanketing the area.
Scwooge looked around confused. “Whewe am hewd? Whewe am aww da fwuffies?” The spirit set him down gently on the ground and Scwooge began to look around for his absent herd. Trotting to the mummah bush, he found it abandoned, the only sign of fluffies having ever been there being the slight stink of old foal poopies. Trotting over to the food storage, Scwooge found it almost entirely stripped bare except for a couple glistening frozen berries. “Whewe aww da nummies?”
Walking over to the hovering spirit, Scwooge began to plead with it. “Take fwuffy to hewd!” The alicorn gave a short nod, and suddenly the two were floating above an alley. Two homeless vagrants sat around a steel drum fire. Despite their situation, they seemed pleased with themselves.
“God, can you believe it? Food for days!” the taller one cackled, a jagged set of yellow teeth flashing in the firelight. “It fucking even delivered itself too!” The shorter one laughed harshly. Walking over to the dumpster, he banged on its side with a length of re bar iron.
“Hey you fucks!” There was a chorus of screes, cheeps, cries and huuhuus from the dumpster as Scwooge came to the horrifying realization of their words. “Any of you ever had owners?”
A timid voice came from the dumpster. “Tuwip hab owna…” The short man smiled viciously. “Great! I hear runaways have more tender, succulent meat. We’ll save you until we have good alcohol to pair with you!” Turning to his partner, he cackled. “What wine do you think pairs with fluffy meat?” The tall man smiled. “We have plenty of others to try first!” the two devolved into howling laughter as Scwooge ran angrily at them, attempting to batter their legs with sorry hoofsies. “DUMMEH HOOMINS! SCWOOGE SABE HEWD!”
His blows passed through the humans legs almost as ineffectually as his actual strikes would be. After tiring him self out, he watched in horror as one of the humans reached into the dumpster, retrieving a foal from a screaming mother. “Hey Barry, how long it been since you toasted marshmallows?” The other human grinned wickedly. “Around twenty years, but I think I remember the gist of it!”
Scwooge covered his eyes in horror as the human tied the foal to his rebar rod and began slowly roasting it over the flames, the foal screeing as its fatty flesh began to pop and sizzle. “SMARTEH!” the mummah cried. “SABE BABBEH PWEASE!” Scwooge perked up. If he was actually here then he could definitely save the foal from the meanie humans!
Looking around, he heard the voice of Twinkle sob. “Nu can escape sowwy box! Fwuffy am su sowwy!” Scwooge was both terrified and confused, the screaming of the foal adding to the general chaos of the scene. “Buh… Scwooge am Smarteh, Twinkwe am jus’ tuffie!”
The mare began to scream again as the tall man went in to pick a second foal for his dinner, retrieving Tulips runt, spearing it through its poopie place and setting it to roast, the runt unable to scream with the stick shoved out through its throat. “Whewe am Scwooge? Scwooge nee’ sabe hewd!” Scwooge begged the spirit, who sat to the side watching the scene impassively.
Scwooge threw himself at the hooves of the alicorn and began to beg. “Take Scwooge to Scwooge! Pwease!” With a flutter of its wings, the two were back at the herds land. “Wha? Whewe am fwuffy?” The alicorn led him towards the hole leading to his den, its entrance nearly blocked by snow.
Scwooge was enraged. While his herd suffered and died, he was still taking sleepies! He WAS the worstest smarty ever! Furiously he began to kick the snow out of the way of the den, ready to give himself a piece of his mind. The den was dark and cold, but Scwooge could still make out the shape of a fat gray unicorn curled up in the middle of the den.
Scwooge felt his rage building as he watched his sleeping self just nap away without a care to his herd being subjected to horrible torture, before it finally boiled over and he charged the sleeping fluffy, barraging it with sorry hoofsies. Blow after blow, hit after hit, the other Scwooge slept through the attack with out a care. Finally exhausted, Scwooge sat back exhausted.
The spirit made its way inside the hole, its glowing mane fully illuminating the dessicated corpse of the dead Scwooge, the cold, dry air having mummified the smarty. Scwooge screamed in terror, as the dead Scwooge turned to dust and dissipated, the den warming back up to its usual level as Scwooge turned to look at the spirit in horror.
“Scwooge can change! Scwooge pwomise!” The spirit gave a short exhale and walked out of the den, Scwooge scrambling to follow it. Upon exiting, he saw the spirit was gone, replaced by the orange sky of a sunrise. He was terrified, and resolved to change, scrambling to run to the one place he knew would allow him to properly convey his resolve to change.
He rounded the corner to see the red and white roof of ‘Il Pagiliaccio,’ or as the fluffies knew it, ‘Skettiplace.’ Running up, Scwooge saw the owner of the place, a large, fat Italian man, dumping buckets of shiny black berries into the dumpster.
“Mistah Skettiman!” The fat man looked down with surprise to see the fat, panting unicorn. “Hello there little man, how can I help you?”
“Can fwuffy hab aww da sketti?” The man looked incredulous. “All the sketti? Why would I do that? You need to pay for i-”
“PWEASE!” Scwooge begged. “It’s fow Fwuffmas!” The old man smiled. “For Fluffmas? Why didn’t you say so!” The man walked into the restaurant, returning with a massive steel pot heaped high with sketties and plenty of meatballs. “Merry Fluffmas little one!”
“Thank ‘ou suuuu much mistah!” Scwooge called behind him as he raced home, the pot riding on his back. Upon reaching the herd’s land, he gave himself a few minutes to catch his breath, before he began. “EBWEY FWUFFY!” his bellowing shout brought many sleepy fluffies out of their nesties. “Smarteh nee’ make announcemen’.”
Twinkle trotted up to Scwooge, confusion and hunger on his face. “Scwooge? Awe ‘ou gonna num aww da skettis?” Scwooge smiled, rushing over to hug Twinkle tightly. “Twinkwe am bestest tuffie ebah, habe aww da sketties ‘ou wan!” he turned to the rest of the herd. “Aww fwuffies hab as much sketties ‘ou wan!”
He looked down sadly. “Fwuffy been wostest smarteh. Am suuuuuuu sowwy.” Twinkle put his hoof on Scwooge’s shoulder. “Dat am otay, jus’ nee be betta next bwight tiems!” The herd cheered as the two fluffies hugged it out, and then began the Fluffmas day sketti feast in earnest.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Twinkle wrinkled his nose at the entrance to Scwooges den. He had warned the herd to never interrupt his naps, but he had been asleep for two days now. Surely there would be no harm in checking in on him, right? At least, this is what Twinkle told himself as his crawled into the den, gagging at the stench inside. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was able to make out the corpse of Scwooge, surrounded by puddles of vomit from which the skins of the highly toxic nightshade berries glistened among copious amounts of blood and bile.
There is no such thing as Fluffmas, of course. Fluffies are barely able to use a litterbox, much less form an organized holiday that a human would know of. After learning of the smarties death, the herd gathered up to move to greener pastures under the leadership of Twinkle, the new leader, who oddly enough led them into the grasps of two hungry vagrants, leading to the herd’s downfall as they were summarily roasted and eaten.
