JEEPERS PEEPERS
By FoalOut4
(Inspired by gr1m_1’s comic about a man wandering around at night, finding and choking foals to death, and leaving them for their mummah to find the next morning.)
Source Image: fluffybooru 40251
I call myself ‘Jeepers Peepers’, like the horror villain in ‘Jeepers Creepers’, only I wander around at night, searching for sleeping mummahs and their foals, and strangling the peeping foals to death while their mothers are asleep unaware, leaving her a nice present in the morning.
A few nights ago, while wandering around at night, near a shore, the night silence was broken when I suddenly heard the sounds of a frightened foal making what their mothers call “scawdy-peeps”. It sounded pretty close by.
After making the series of scawdy-peeps, the peeping foal says out loud in a frightened voice,
“Chirp SCAWY! Peep DAWK SCAWY! Cheep MUMMAH! Peep”
I hear a mare try to soothe her frightened foal, again, pretty close by.
“Shhh, shhh, it otay bestest babbeh. Gu back tu sweepies, it nu bwight time yet. Mummah hewe! Mummah nu wet dawk time get babbeh! Mummah wuv bestest babbeh!”
I hear the foal make a few softer scawdy-peeps this time, that trails off and then falls silent. It must have fallen back asleep.
I slowly begin to walk in the direction that I heard the commotion from, a tall large rock, not far from the shore. I always make sure to not make any noise, and I wear shoes that are perfect for this sort of thing.
I slowly peek around the tall large rock, and I see a purple mare with three foals, all sleeping peacefully. A darker shade of purple foal is sleeping on her back (obviously her bestest). A green foal and a yellow foal are sleeping at her tail, away from her warmth, sleeping in a huggie embrace, in a fluff pile of their own.
“Fucking bitch mare and her favoritism” I think to myself.
I slowly walk over to the mare. The dark purple foal on her back suddenly begins to stir in its sleep, making soft scawdy-peeps that are barly audiable, then resumes sleeping. Must be having a bad dream. The mare slightly stirs when this happens, but soon resumes sleeping as well.
I move in quickly! I snatch the purple foal in my hand, carefully closing my thumb around its throat so it can’t scream or peep. It suddenly awakens, opens its eyes widely, and looks over to its mother in a pleading gaze, with its legs holding out to her. She sleeps unaware.
I move the foal in my hand to stare directly at my face, and I tighten the grip on its throat. The foal quickly realizes it can’t breath, and starts to wiggle all of its legs trying to get free, and soon voids its bowels in a panic!
The foal starts rapidly making a series of silent chirps and peeps with its mouth, trying to instinctively alert its mother with its “scawdy-peeps”, but with my thumb firmly blocking its airway, all it can do is make scawdy-peeps in total silence.
I squeeze my thumb around its throat even tighter! The foal closes its eyes, sticking out its tongue, with its cheeks puffed out, and places its little hooves around my thumb, while kicking its back legs back and forth like crazy! Struggling so sooo sooooo hard to try to breathe and break free! Uselessly.
“Awww, I bet its thinking about sketties, drinking its mummah’s miwkies, sleeping on her fluff, playing with its litter mates, being hugged by its mummah, and pretty soon, it won’t be thinking about anything, ever again!” I think to myself.
The foal continues to struggle in my hand, and pretty soon, it starts pissing itself as well. It uselessly starts batting at my thumb with its front hooves after realizing its useless trying to pry it away.
It opens its eyes, now bloodshot, and stares at me right in the eyes with a desperate and pleading look, tears streaming from its eyes. Its tongue waggling wildly out of its mouth.
I move the choking foal right up to my face, and whisper to it in my quietest whisper,
“No more huggies, no more miwkies, no more poopies, no more pee pees, no more wuvsies, no more playsies, just forever sleepies!”
I keep the choking foal close to my face, and watch as its struggling slows, and finally stops all together. The foals legs fall lifeless to its side, its dead eyes are now half open, staring at nothing forever, and its mouth is open, with its tongue hanging out, resting on my thumb.
I smile a deviant smile. I quickly place the dead foal in my other hand, and move to pick up the yellow foal.
I successfully snatch away the yellow foal, still in its huggie embrace with its green litter mate, with my thumb placed around its throat.
The yellow foal wakes up in a panic, trying to make silent choked scawdy-peeps to alarm its mother, to no avail.
Its green litter mate stired in its sleep when I pulled its sibling away, but it soon resumed sleeping.
I repeat the choking process with the yellow foal, but this time, I show the yellow foal its dead sibling in my other hand!
I place the dead dark purple foal’s face right up to the choking yellow foal’s face!
The yellow foal chokes to death while having to stare its dead purple sibling in the eyes. The yellow foal pisses itself, shits itself, and struggling wildly, before losing consciousness forever.
When the yellow foal suffocates, I repeat the process with the green foal, which I also pick up and choke to death without incident.
The green foal had to stare into the dead eyes of both of its dead litter mates in my other hand, as it slowly choked to death.
Like them, it pissed itself, shit itself, tried to make silent choked scawdy-peeps to alarm its mother, and died alone.
After all three foals are dead, I quietly placed them back in the same exact spots I had picked them up from.
I placed the green foal on the ground near the mare’s tail, with the yellow foal placed on top of the green foal. I then placed the dark purple foal onto the mare’s back.
The mare stired in her sleep when I did this, but didn’t wake up.
I quietly walked away, found a good spot from a distance, sat down, and waited for morning to watch the results of my handiwork.
When morning arrived, the mare stired from her sleep, and awoke, yawning.
“Miwkies time babbehs! Time fow wakies!”
She smiles, turns around, picks up the dark purple foal in her teeth, and placing him in front of her to snuggle and coo at him.
Her smile quickly turned to a horrified frown.
“B-babbeh?!”
She instantly recognizes something is horribly wrong. The foals eyes were open, blood shot, and its tongue was hanging out of its mouth. Most importantly, it wasn’t moving or breathing.
“B-b-bestest babbeh?! Mummah nu wike dis game! Pwease stowp makie scawy pwetendies and wakies fow mummah! Make chiwpies an tawkies fow mummah!”
She coos at him, nudges him with her nose, pokes him with her hoof. Nothing.
“B-b-bestest b-babbeh! Pwease! Mummah nu wike dis game! Wakies fow mummah! Dwink mummah’s miwkies! Gwow big an stwong fow mummah! Make chiwpies an tawkies fow mummah!”
After a few more minutes of being unable to rouse the dead foal, she turns around towards the other two foals. She is becoming a nervous wreck.
“M-m-maybe d-dancie babbeh an u-ugwy-babbeh wan miwkies? D-d-dancie babbeh can d-dancie fow mummah’s miwkies, d-d-den ugwy babbeh can get wast miwkies if wick mummah’s poopie pwace aftur make poopies.”
She turns around and sees that her “dancie babbeh” and “ugwy babbeh” are dead too, tongues hanging out, blood shot eyes open wide, staring at nothing forever.
She spends a few minutes trying to get them to wake up, trying to get them to “make chiwpies an tawkies fow mummah”, likewise to no avail.
Then she turns back to her dead bestest babbeh.
She places him up to her crotch tits, begging him to drink, to grow big and strong, but he won’t drink.
“Pwease bestest babbeh! Dwink mummah’s miwkies! Pwease! Bestest babbeh gonna gwow up big an stwong, mummah can teww! Pwease dwink mummah’s miwkie, pwease! Mummah wuv bestest babbeh! Make chiwpies an tawkies fow mummah! Huuuu Huuuu!”
After about an hour of this, it finally dawns on the retarded bitch mare that her babies are probably dead … probably.
“Pwease babbehs, nu be fowevew sweepies! Huuuuu, Huuuuu! Mummah nu wike dis game, pwease babbehs, pwease! Make wakies fow mummah! Dwink mummah’s miwkies! Make chiwpies an tawkies fow mummah! PWEASE! PWEASE! Huuuu, Huuuuu!”
She embraces the three dead foals in her hooves, and begins shitting herself, with snot running out of her nose, bawling like crazy, mourning them.
Then after about another hour, her mind seems to completely snap.
“M-m-mummah now get it! Bestest babbeh was scawed wast dawkies time, an an mummah nu couwd make dawkies time gu away fow babbeh, s-su babbehs am mad at mummah fow dat! Dats it! Dats it! Siwwy babbehs jus making scawy pwetend game wif mummah! Wakies, wakies!”
CHRIST, what a fucking moron!
I leave, and eventually return two days later, only the find the retarded mare still carrying around the three dead foals on her back like they are still alive!
They are covered with flies, and ants, but she is still treating them like they are still alive, and are only playing a scary pretend game with her.
Her crotch tits are so full of milk they are dragging the ground now.
“Mummah haf so many miwkies fow babbehs when babbehs get hungwy an stowp making scawy pwetendies! Pwease babbehs, make wakies fow mummah! Mummah nu wike dis scawy pwetend game! Pwease babbehs, pwease!”
She’s totally lost her mind.
I come less than a week later, to find the bitch mare carrying around three nearly picked-clean foal skeletons on her back, screaming at birds flying nearby who are trying to pick off any remaining flesh from their bones.
Many of the mares I’ve done this to have entered the wan die loop after finding her foals dead, or wandered around in a deep depression until a stallion knocked them up again.
But this one, this one is as retarded as she is crazy. Can’t even accept their deaths, even when they are bleached skeletons on her back.
(The End)