Smarty was scouting ahead. Normally, he would bring one or two tuffies along, but today was different. Today, he was scouring human land, searching for something to eat in the long cold times. Desperation drove him through fear, for as lethal as the animals in the wide open plains were, they were nothing compared to humans, not in terms of cruelty, or lethality, or baffling and horrific magic.
He knew he was likely to die, but they hadn’t managed to hoard enough food the the cold times. No, they had managed, but Smarty was weak, too weak, and had foolishly taken in an errant mare and her babbehs. The food would have been enough, just barely, without their unproductive guests, but Smarty had let sympathy override his judgement.
Which was why he was alone. It was his mistake that created this crisis, and if anyone was going to die because of it, it would be him. Even as his legs trembled and he flinched at every sound, he was resolute. Death could take him at any moment; or worse, he could be tortured, mutilated, left a desolate husk that could only suffer. Still, he searched the dilapidated farmstead.
As he searched, dread slowly turned to relief. It was well and truly abandoned. At the very least, even if no food could be found here, it would still provide a safe place to stay, far better than the crumbling gopher burrow his herd stayed in now. No more would they stay awake at night, trembling in fear, waiting to sacrifice themselves so no hissy-munstah would take a babbeh.
Then he found it. A precious treasure, something he’d only seen once before. Once golden, much it had turned dark with age, and it was a little soggy, but Smarty wasn’t going to reject such an act of providence. They would survive the winter. Hewd nu gon’ gu fowebah-sweepies!
Smarty woke up in the dark of night, the full moon casting dim shadows, barely allowing him to see. Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong. He heard some large creature skulking around, and he shuddered in horror as it scratched at the door. The herd had barricaded it shut as best they could, but as Smarty watched on he knew their efforts had been for nothing.
A thin head poked through the crack in the door, and a emaciated torso slithered behind it. Two bright orbs looked down on him, from far, far above. It was so tall! Whatever it was, it was so tall! Gaunt, nearly skeletal, it was like a human, but somehow even scarier! It dragged a long hand down the door once more, its elongated face opening to reveal a dark pit of a mouth with long, thin teeth like the hissy-munstahs had.
Smarty quivered in terror, too frozen with sickening dread to even move. It was a mistake to come here! They’d invaded this thing’s home, and now they were going to die! He closed his eyes tight, not wanting to see the thing as it tore the herd apart.
But nothing happened. No screams, no tang of blood or reek of shredded organs. It was quiet. For what seemed like forever, it was quiet, until he finally opened his eyes, unable to bear the suspense.
The thing was staring at him from a fraction of an inch away.
Smarty woke up. When had he fallen asleep? How had he fallen asleep, staring into the munstah’s eyes all night long? He shook off the thought, frantically counting the herd, pleading with whatever higher power might listen that the munstah hadn’t taken any of them. One, two, three, four, four-and-one, he counted on and on, until finally he slumped with relief. They were all safe.
But they wouldn’t be. He knew that thing was just savoring his fear. Even if they fled now, it would hunt them, follow them until they were all dead. Until he was all alone. Somehow he knew, only then would it take him. He’d doomed them all by coming here.
Tuffy woke up after a night of the most horrific nightmares he’d ever experienced, gasping. His heart pounded in his ears, but the blessed daylight brought him to reality. It was okay, everything was okay. But if everything was okay, why did he feel so afraid?
Soon-mummah looked around at the herd, and saw only strangers. What had happened? Where was her herd? Who were these fluffies that’d stolen them away in the night? The answer settled into her belly, gnawing at her insides with anxiety. Munstahs.
Fluffy was a picky eater, something that drew much ire from the herd when he refused to eat the mushy or aging fruit they sometimes found. Not that he cared. Mummah had always told him never to eat suspicious food, and she was always right. He looked around, and wondered why the rest of the herd was glancing around furtively.
The day drew on, the herd abnormally quiet and withdrawn, until the discovery was made. A babbeh, one of the many orphans that the herd had rescued during their long wanderings on the plains. Dead. Whatever had killed the babbeh hadn’t left a mark on it, but its face was transfixed with horror as it stared blankly into space.
Babbehs died sometimes, often randomly, and it wasn’t that unexpected. It was a sad, bitter reality, but deaths weren’t something to comment on. They were tragic, yes, and the herd would grieve, but deaths weren’t remarkable. Maybe the babbeh had been weak and just hadn’t had runt smell, or maybe a buggy-munstah had bitten it during the night. There were many logical reasons for a feral babbeh to die, after all.
But this time was different. This time, the herd knew something was wrong. Smarty shivered as he realized the munstah had taken a victim, after all, as soon as a babbeh had been alone. Tuffy realized the feeling in his gut hadn’t been wrong. There was something horrible about this place. Soon-mummah backed into a corner, watching the horrible imposters pretend to grieve over the babbeh they’d no doubt killed. Fluffy wondered why the herd was reacting so strangely.
Then, the tension broke into a cacophony of accusations, denials, and fights. Smarty was too wrapped up in self-blame and horror to intervene, staring vacantly out the door, expecting any moment to see a gaunt figure skulk around the edge of the door. The munstah was mocking them. This babbeh had died quickly, but Smarty knew the rest would die to a slow, unimaginable torment.
Eventually, a fluffy was pushed out of the herd, chosen as the scapegoat for the babbeh’s death. Punishments were suggested, each more extreme than the last, as the helpless colt sobbed and begged. Smarty decided. For the herd to survive, there would have to be a sacrifice. And try as he might, he couldn’t muster the willpower to suggest it be himself.
Babbeh lay shaking on the cold floor, kicked out of the fluffpile and the nesty. He lay all alone outside the door, twitching with terror whenever he heard a noise. A lone babbeh was easy pickings for predators, and he was weak from being denied milkies since he was accused, wrongly, of giving the other babbeh forever-sleepies.
The night was cold, far too cold, and by the time morning’s light came, babbeh was gone.
Smarty’s eyes drooped, his head foggy from lack of sleep. All night long he’d heard the sound of babbeh being…toyed with…by the munstah. The screams and wails had grown more and more frantic, begging turning to wordless shrieks, before silence had finally fallen just before morning had arrived. Worse, though, was the brief moment when the munstah had poked its head around the door once more, fangs exposed in a bloody, predatory grin.
Another night, another sacrifice.
Another.
Another.
Another.
The food ran out. Smarty knew they should have rationed it, but he was too sleepless, too terrified, too sick with self-hatred to care. Death after death after death, and he blamed himself for them all. Each left staring blankly, cold, unmarked, but faces showing the terror the munstah had inflicted on them before they’d mercifully passed.
Smarty finally decided. His head was so fuzzy with fatigue, but his fear of the munstah had dulled along with his thoughts. It was time to leave, even if it meant risking angering the munstah. Right now, he’d gladly accept a massacre over sending another sacrifice to be that thing’s toy.
Tuffy’s belly growled, hunger pangs beginning. He’d been eating less than the others, the anxiety making it hard to keep anything down. But today he felt hungry, after the food had run out last night. He hadn’t eaten then, either, but now he was ravenous. He felt so much better, though, and he couldn’t pinpoint why.
Soon-mummah sobbed with joy. After so many bright-times, the herd was back! The munstahs that’d taken their places had gone away, and the herd was back! She waddled around, hugging confused fluffies who couldn’t understand what she was babbling about.
Fluffy’s building concern gradually faded as the herd left the comfortable new nesty. He didn’t know why Smarty insisted on it, and the herd’s leader wasn’t elaborating, but it must be a good reason. He had to admit, the others had been acting…odd…while they were there, but while Fluffy had never been the brightest bulb, he’d at least known to keep his head down.
What was left of the herd left the farm behind. As the miles past, many began to have a slow, dawning realization. What had they done?
Smarty stood watch again, watching for the munstah he knew wasn’t there. Just as he’d been certain it would follow them, now he knew something else. It couldn’t follow them. It could never hurt them. He sobbed quietly, thinking about friends and herdmates left outside the door to freeze.
The munstah couldn’t hurt them because there never was a munstah.
In the abandoned granary, the few grains of wheat the herd had missed slowly rotted away, turning brown, then black.
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Hallucinations caused by bad food?
I believe it’s ergotism. Probably needed more explanation… I’m also not totally clear on how much they would share delusions?
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I don’t think they did, smarty thought there was a monster, the pregnant one thought everyone was sus (amogus) while the picky eater just thought the others were all acting weird.
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