Ghost of the Christmas Miracle

>You are Crush, a fluffy who lives at the Fluffy Shelter for the Abused.
>Unlike most fluffies, you only have three legs.
>A mean human smashed your fourth one a long time ago.
>You don't really think about it anymore, so you've almost completely forgotten about what happened.
>But you're not sad about losing a leg. The nice people here gave you a little wheel, and it helps you get around.
>You can't complain. After all, there are fluffies here with no legs at all!
>It's very cold and dark tonight. Not in the shelter, of course.
>But outside, it's snowing, and the wind is blowing hard against the windows.
>Many of your friends are playing together, or cuddling up together for warmth. Even if the shelter isn't that cold, it just feels like this is the time to be extra warm.
>Most of the nice humans that work here have left early. They said it was Christmas Eve, and they have to spend time with their families.
>You vaguely remember something similar happening the last time it got cold and white outside.
>The only human left here is Mabel, and she's sitting at the window, watching the snow flying through the air.
>Mabel has been here for as long as you can remember.
>A lot of the other humans think she's a grouchy lady, but you know she's really nice.
>Well, in her own way.
>Fluffies are not smart creatures, but they pick up body language and other things like that pretty well.
>They may not understand what you're saying, but they can understand your tone of voice.
>And you've never felt any anger in Mabel, no matter what she might be saying.
>Though you're not fond of being around her after she's had a 'smoke break.'
>That's what she calls it when she puts a paper stick in her mouth and sets it on fire.
>It looks really dangerous, but she does it all the time, so she must know what she's doing.
>She used to smoke inside all the time, even if the other humans asked her not to.
>She would have her own bowl to put her fire sticks in when she was done with them in every room.
>But when Wayne arrived at the shelter, she started smoking outside only.
>That was nice of her, because Wayne smells like her fire sticks and is always coughing.


>You're making your usual rounds, seeing how all of your friends are doing.
>You have a lot of friends, so just making sure they're alright takes up most of your time.
>You pass by Cosmic Ray.
>He's probably the silliest friend ever. He always says such strange things.
>”A wight in da dawkest pwace.”
>See? That fluffy is silly.
>He seems to be doing okay, so you roll on over to Tatter, a new friend.
>Some meanie humans dug a big hole and put all his friends in the hole, then filled the hole with dirt!
>Why would anyone do that?
>He's been very sad over losing his family, and he needs a very bright night light during sleepy times, or else he starts getting scared.
>He's currently lying on his side, staring at the wall.
>”Hewwo, Tattew! Feew betta today?”
>Tatter sighs, and doesn't respond.
>”You haf nice bed? Good nummies?”
>Tatter slowly nods.
>”You no haf be afwaid of munstas an' meany fwuffies?”
>Tatter nods again.
>You smile and rub your head against his.
>”Dat good. Cwush am happy dat Tatter am cawed fo'.”
>Suddenly all the lights go out.
>Naturally, many fluffies get scared.
>”Why dawk? Nu wan' dawk!”
>”Is awweady sweepy times? Whewe night wight?”
>”Hewp! Biwch scawed! Nu can see!”
>But Tatter is the most scared of all the fluffies.
>He starts flailing around, tears pouring down his eyes.
>”Nu! Pwease nu dawk! Pwease nu dawk! Nu can bweaf!”
>He's panicking and gasping for air as his legs cycle frantically in the air.
>You resort to the one trick all fluffies know:
>Hugs
>You jump on him and hold him close, whispering “Is okay, Tattew. Is okay. Fwend am safe. Fwend in safe pwace wif fwends an' huggies.”
>You repeat this until Tatter calms down.
>Behind you, you can hear Mabel trying to regain order.
>”Okay, fluffies, listen up!”
>Most of the fluffies quiet down, despite their fear. Mabel's voice is one of quiet power, and fluffies understand dominant power.
>”You're all okay, no need to be scared. The, uh....fuck me, how do I explain this...the lights also went home for Christmas, like all the other humans. They also wanted to spend time with their families. So you don't have to panic, I'll find some lights that didn't go home, and we'll all be fine, alright? Anybody here not fall for that bullshit?”
>The lights went home too?
>Sounds a bit strange, but you trust Mabel.
>Besides, you don't want your friends to be scared if they don't have to be.
>After all, this is a safe place, and Mabel is here to keep you all safe!
>”Fank yoo, Mabew! Fwuffies be okay!”
>Your words help keep the more nervous fluffies calm. You would go out and give them all comforting hugs, but you're worried that if you stop hugging Tatter, he'll start freaking out again.
>”You all heard Crush. I'll be right back, do NOT leave your pens until then.”
>In the pitch black, you see a small fire heading towards you.
>You start worrying. Fire is bad for fluffies, and it burns badly.
>Just ask Chips. Poor fluffy gets so cold at night.
>As the fire gets closer, you see the light softly illuminating the face of Mabel, and you feel relieved.
>It's just her fire toy.
>”Hey Crush. Tatter doing alright?”
>Tatter is shivering and softly sobbing, but he seems to have calmed down.
>”Tattew okay. Pwease get new wights?”
>”Alrightey, I'm on it.”
>Mabel walks out of the room, and the fluffies in the room all start calling out to one another in the dark.
>It's almost like a game. A name is called, that fluffy responds.
>Mabel soon returns with a large box.
>She takes a small stick out and shakes it.
>Then she bends it a little, and suddenly the stick glows green!
>She lays it next to Tatter.
>”Don't put that in your mouth, got it?”
>Tatter stops shaking so much and wraps his body around the glowing stick.
>”Pwetty wight...”
>”Okay, Crush, you can let him go now.”
>You oblige, and follow the sound of Mabel's footsteps as she sets up new lights around the pens.
>She's holding a light in her hand that shines on fluffies as she points it at them.
>”Okay, quick attendance check. Sif? Check. Chips? Check. Andre and Timmy? Over there in the foal pen, double check. Peanut? Over there. Jeremy?”
>”Enf enf enf!”
>”Check. Mask? Mask, where are you? Do I have the right pen here? I'm all turned around in this dark...”
>Mask pops his head up right into the light, his white fluff shining bright in the darkness.
>”Hewwo!”
>”JESUS FUCK!”
>You see Mabel's silhouette jump back from Mask, almost falling down.
>”One of these days I'm going to hunt down your last owner and shove an ice pick through his eyeball. Goddamn skull face popping up out of nowhere...”
>One of Melody's foals clearly found this whole exchange riveting, because she's hopping up and down laughing.
>”Jebas fak! Jebas fak!”
>Mabel groans.
>”For the love of God, kid, please don't start repeating that...”
>Once lights have been placed all around the room, the fluffies quiet down a bit.
>”Okay, so the power outage is gonna make it hard to keep an eye on you lot, so we're just gonna have sleepy times early. Everyone get into their beds. Mommas, grab your babies for the trip back to your pens.”
>”Jebas fak!”
>”Hush, you.”
>All around, you can hear fluffies whining.
>”No am sweepy.”
>”No wan' sweepy times now.”
>”Wan' pway wif' fwends.”
>”No am tiwed!”
>”Enf enf enf!”
>Sounds like the darkness hasn't deterred Jeremy a bit.
>Mabel rubs her head with her hand.
>”Shit, y'all are right. Way too early to expect you to settle down. But I can't just let you dick around in the playpens if I can't see too well.”
>Mabel looks around, her eyes twinkling in the meager light as she thinks.
>”Fine, fuck it, why not? How about we have storytime?”
>This catches the fluffies' attention.
>”Yay! Wuv stowy!”
>”Stowy time! Stowy time!”
>”Jebas fak!”
>”Wan' stowy!”
>Mabel claps twice, and the room goes quiet.
>”That's enough! I'm doing this so you bunch will be calm and shit so you can all go to bed. Everyone just sit still and I'll come grab you. Crush, direct whoever you can into the big playpen.”
>”Okay, Mabew!”
>You walk by the pens, opening the doors of any fluffy able to walk on their own.
>The doors are easy to open from the outside, and the shelter workers trust you with how to open the latches.
>Soon you have Chips, Wayne, Sif and her foals, Flora, Charles, Mask, Birch, Peanut, and a few other fluffies following you into the big playpen.
>Andre and Timmy are already leading the motherless foals, while Mabel collects the fluffies that can't or won't move on their own.
>Soon, almost the entire room is sitting in the playpen, with a few exceptions.
>Jeremy, Valjean, and Bernard stay in their pens.
>The first two are a danger to other fluffies, the last one absolutely hates social interaction and physical contact. He'll be happier alone.
>As Mabel lays Patchy down beside Andre, many foals eagerly waddle over to her, eager for a late night snack. Patchy happily obliges as the little foals suckle. She always has plenty of milk to give, even if she can't walk.
>Mabel carefully steps over to the chair in the corner and sits down, setting more lights around her so she can see better.
>”Okay, anybody not here?”
>Several fluffies raise their hands.
>”Am hewe!”
>”Am hewe too!”
>”Jebas fak!”
>Mabel shakes her head.
>”Bunch of morons. Okay, so tonight, we'll be reading a new story you haven't heard before.”
>Ooh, a new story? How exciting!
>You're seated next to Tatter, in case he starts getting afraid of the dark again.
>He's still clutching that glowing stick and staring at it, a little drool dripping from his slightly open mouth.
>Mabel grabs a book off the tall shelf that only humans can reach.
>She moves some of the lights so that they shine right on the book.
>”Sure glad these fucking things have such large print. Old eyes can barely see as it is....”
>She opens the book and clears her throat.
>”Our story for tonight is called, “The Ghost of the Christmas Miracle...”


Ghost was a fluffy pony that lived in an alley. His fluff was gray like ash, and his mane was gray like smoke. Ghost lived all alone in that small alley, and he had lived there for as long as he could remember. Did he ever have a Mommy or Daddy? He didn't know. But as the days grew shorter and the winds blew colder, he remembered a long ago time when it had been very cold for a long time. We call it winter. He knew it as the Cold White Time.
Ghost had a decent enough life for a stray. With no other fluffies, he didn't have to fight over the meager resources to be found in the alley. He lived in a wooden crate in the middle of the alley, in between two large piles of abandoned junk. Inside the crate was a pile of old rags and other pieces of cloth he could find to keep him warm at night. The alley was next to a modest cafe, and Ghost survived off the scraps of food tossed into the nearby garbage. With a convenient stack of boxes situated next to it, he could always climb up and grab a half eaten bagel, or the crusts of a sandwich.
All things considered, Ghost lived well. He stayed hidden from humans, so they either didn't notice him, or ignored him. Most of the stray fluffies in the city lived in the neighborhoods and parks, so Ghost never had to fight to keep his territory. The very thought of venturing out of the alley terrified him. There were so many unknowns, so many frightening potential dangers. No, it was best that he stay where he was.
And stay he would have, were it not for one event that would change his entire life.
It was a cold morning. Colder than the day before. And the day before that. Ghost awoke under his ragpile and stretched his little legs. He had learned long ago that the water drain in the middle of the alley would wash away his poopies, so that was where he did his business after waking. After that, it was time to see what was available to eat in the trash can. The answer, sadly, was not much. In the hot times, when people ate at the tables outside, Ghost could often build up a reserve food pile in his crate. But with the temperatures getting colder, nobody was eating outside anymore. This meant the trash can had less to offer day after day. Today, there was only a small piece of donut and half of a mushy brown banana. It wasn't much, but it would keep his stomach full until dark. Ghost had dealt with bad tummyaches before, and he would do it again if he had to. The cold temperatures didn't bother him as much, since his fluff had grown thicker as the leaves fell.
Once he had scrounged up whatever he could find, he quickly slunk back to his crate. Humans scared him so much, and in this weather, it was more comfortable to just sit in the crate with the warm rags away from the wind. With nothing to do, Ghost decided to back to sleep.
He woke up some time later to a high pitched noise.
“Nu wike sowwy box! Daddy pwease wet out!”
Huh?
“Sowwy fo’ babehs, pwease wet Buttewmiwk out sowwy box!”
Ghost roused from his sleep and stuck his head cautiously out of the crate, alert for any sign of trouble. He saw nothing strange, save for a new box near the entrance to the alley. It happened from time to time. Humans would leave stuff in the alley, and the other humans with the big metal monster would come and collect it sometimes. If it weren’t for the box making so much noise, Ghose would have completely ignored it. Maybe bring it over to his crate for extra wind protection.
“Huu huu, Buttewmiwk cowd, wan’ daddy. Wan’ huggies. Wan’ be wawm ‘gain. Daddy pwease come back!”
Ghost had never heard a box that talked before. The strange sight caused his curiosity to get the better of him, and he slowly walked towards the box as it continued to cry out. As he got closer, he could see the box was shuffling a bit. Another cry made Ghost jump back, afraid to get closer.
“Whaaaahaaaaahaaaaa, Buttewmiwk sowwy, daddy! Nu wike sowwy box, wan’ hug daddy ‘gain. Wan’ pway baww wif daddy ‘gain. Wan’ wuv babehs wif daddy. Huuu huuu huuu...”
Whatever was inside the box, it didn’t sound dangerous. Rather, it sounded sad. As it kept crying, Ghost walked around the box, sniffing it. It smelled familiar, but odd. Looking up, he could see the box was open at the top. That’s where the sound of crying was coming from. Ghost pressed the side of his head against the box and pushed with all his fluffy might. Which wasn’t much, but the box began to tilt a little all the same.
“Whaaaa, why sowwy box move? Daddy? Daddy move sowwy box? Come back fo’ Buttewmiwk?”
Ghost ignored the box’s inhabitant and kept pushing. With the box lifting up, he reached under with his hooves and shoved as hard as he could.
“Daddy, pwease be cawefuw! Buttewmiwk gonna fawwwwwwww!”
The box tipped over and spilled out its contents. A beige colored fluffy pony with a cream colored mane rolled out and onto the cold alley concrete, her legs wiggling frantically as her inflated form came to a stop upside down.
“Daddy, hewp! No can woww ovew, nee’ upsie downsies!”
Now there’s something Ghost hadn’t seen in such a long time. Another fluffy pony. She was very big, so big it didn’t look like her hooves would touch the ground even if she were the right way up. Ghost peeked around the box to get a good look at her. Her fluff was remarkably clean. Ghost’s fluff was very dirty from his life in the alley, but his dark fluff masked just how dirty. This new fluffy, on the other hand, looked spotless. She smelled very nice, too. Ghost could smell her from where he was standing. She smelled like...well, Ghost didn’t know the words, but she smelled like lilac and lavender.

>”Wha’ wiwak?”
>”Hmmm?”
>Some fluffy is asking something.
>”Wha’ wiwac smeww wike?”
>Mabel stops reading to ponder the curious fluffy’s question.
>”Well, um, it smells like, um...”
>”An’ wha’ wabendew?”
>”They’re both flowers, dude. They smell pretty. That enough for ya?”
>”But how dey smeww pwetty?”
>Mabel sighs and looks around the playpen.
>Her eyes settle on a metal bottle placed on a shelf far above the fluffy’s reach.
>”Okay, let’s retcon that last line.”

She smelled like...well, Ghost didn’t know the words, but she smelled like apples and cinnamon.

>Mabel pushes on the metal bottle and spray flies out.
>The area is filled with a wonderful smell.
>”That’s what apples and cinnamon smell like.”
>”Wuv appwes an’ cinnaminaminamin!”
>”Easy there, don’t pull a tongue muscle. Can we get back to the story?”
>The fluffies don’t answer, too entranced by the delightful smell.
>”Good.”
Ghost slowly approached the distressed fluffy, nudging her with his snout until she had rolled onto her tummy. The fluffy finally took notice of him.
“New fwend? Fwend fo’ Buttewmiwk?”
Ghost just stared. It had been so long since he had interacted with anyone or anything that his bashfulness took over.
“Mah name Buttewmiwk. Wha’ fwend name?”
Ghost tried to form the words, but he so rarely talked that the words came out as a rhaspy whisper.
“Dat not name, siwwy!”
Ghost coughed, then tried again.
“G-g-g-ghost.”
“Fwend name Ghost? Buttewmiwk wuv new fwend! Huggies?”
Ghost was leery about getting too close to the new fluffy, but the word ‘huggies’ awoke a primal need in his heart. He suddenly yearned to embrace Buttermilk. He walked forward and awkwardly put his front hooves over Buttermilk’s enlarged body. She felt soft. So very soft. Much softer than the rags in his crate. And the smell of apples and cinnamon only strengthened as his face pressed against her side. She felt warm, and he could feel movement under her fluff. The soft thump thump of her heart beating, and the subtle rising and falling as she breathed.

>Suddenly the urge for huggies overcomes you.
>From the looks of it, you’re far from alone.
>The entire pen seems to be hugging one another.
>You feel legs wrap around you from the side.
>Chips is hugging you, his purple not-fluff brushing against your face.
>You smile and hug him back.
>Hugs are nice.
“Buttewmiwk wuv huggies! Wuv Ghost fwend! Daddy, come see new fw-”
Buttermilk stopped smiling, and began to cry again.
“Daddy weave Buttewmiwk hewe. Go ‘way, nu come back fo’ Buttewmiwk. Daddy nu wuv Buttewmiwk nu mo’.”
Buttermilk layed there, her legs not reaching the ground from her swollen body, as she cried and cried. Ghost, not knowing what to do, let go and began to slowly back away towards his crate.
“Pwease nu weave Buttewmiwk, fwend! Buttewmiwk nu can move, haf babehs in tummy!”
Ghost was hesitant to move her. She was making a lot of noise, and that could attract humans. They’d find Ghost’s crate, and he was afraid to think of what could happen to him. But he looked at Buttermilk, completely helpless and upset. He couldn’t just leave her there to be found by....something. She had called him a friend. And friends helped each other, right? That sounded about right.
He walked back over and began pushing her again. Buttermilk protested, her stumpy legs wiggling impotently.
“Pwease no mo’ upsie downsies, Ghost fwend! Nu wike upsie downsies game! Feew cowd, fwoow cowd!”
Ghost kept rolling her until they had reached his tucked away crate. With more exertion, he had pushed her inside. Luckily there was barely enough room to fit them both. Buttermilk seemed to cheer up a bit now that she was out of the cold and wind. She tried to thank Ghost for his help with hugs, but she couldn’t reach him. Ghost instead went over to her and hugged her again. All this time without any interaction with other fluffies had made Ghost forget how nice it was. Buttermilk began humming a little song.
“Babehs, babehs, wanna gif yoo miwk. Babehs, babehs, wanna gif yoo huggies. Buttewmiwk wuv babehs, wanna hug babehs. Babehs wuv Buttewmiwk too.”
The song had no meter to speak of, nor any tune, but to Ghost it sounded sweet. But thinking about her babies only reminded Buttermilk of why she was there in the first place, and soon she was crying again.
“Pwease nu cwy, fwend. Why haf saddies?”
Once Buttermilk had calmed down a little, she told Ghost her story. She once had a Daddy that loved her very much. She lived with him in a small house, and she loved him more than anything in the world. One day, she saw something on the magic picture box that gave her a deep longing. It was a fluffy momma with happy little babies. They all looked so happy, hugging each other and babbling. She had begun to feel a deep need. Somewhere inside her, she knew that having baby fluffies would make her so happy. But her daddy had said no. When she asked why, he had talked about things she didn’t understand. Something about ‘costs’ and ‘time investments’ and ‘neighborhood pet limits’ and other words she didn’t know the meanings of. All she understood was that Daddy couldn’t have more than one fluffy in the house.
The human that lived next door to Daddy’s house also had a fluffy, a little boy named Tipper. He had come over for a playdate while Daddy did things outside. They had been in their safe room playing together when Buttermilk told Tipper about how she wanted babies, but she didn’t know how, and Daddy has said no. Tipper told her that he knew how to make babies, and that his Daddy had taken him to a place with girl fluffies to help them make babies. He called it ‘special hugs’ and said they made him feel good. That had sounded good to Buttermilk, but her Daddy had told her he couldn’t have more than one fluffy. Tipper then pointed out that with him in the house, that meant Daddy had 2 fluffies. He must have been wrong about that rule. Buttermilk was satisfied by that explanation, and Tipper showed her how special hugs worked. By the time her Daddy had come back into the house, the deed had been done, and Buttermilk was gleefully babbling about having babies.
Her Daddy was very very angry. He shouted at her for what she had done. She didn’t understand why, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Daddy had been mistaken about the number of fluffies, after all. Then her Daddy had slapped her across the face and called her stupid. He left her alone to cry in pain in her safe room. For over a week, he had left her in there, only coming in to give her food and empty her litterbox. Every time he came in, Buttermilk had tried to apologize, but he ignored her. She slowly got bigger, and could sometimes feel her babies moving around inside her. It gave her something to be happy about when all she had to do all day was lie in her room and be miserable because Daddy was so mad, and he couldn’t even tell her why.
When she had swollen up so much that she couldn’t move on her own, her owner came into her room and picked her up. She tried to hug him, but all he did was put her in a box. He put the box in his moving metal thing, all the while Buttermilk tried to talk to him. He didn’t say anything. Finally they stopped, and he dropped her and her box outside, then drove off. That’s how Ghost had found her.
Talking about it made Buttermilk realize that her Daddy had left her, and was never coming back. She cried and cried and cried. Ghost comforted her as best as he could, but she cried for a very long time. She stopped when the Big Yellow Ball was low in the sky.
“[sniff sniff] B-buttewmiwk hungwy. Fwend haf nummies?”
Ghost told her to wait while he went to check the trash can. The offerings were still sparse. Part of a hot dog bun and a few pieces of popcorn left in the bag. Barely enough to fill him, it would now have to be split between two hungry fluffies, and one of them was carrying babies inside her. He would just have to manage as best he could.
Buttermilk perked up a bit as Ghost came back into the crate. But her nose turned as she looked at the stale, discarded food.
“Dese smewwy nummies. Whewe fwuffy chow?”
Ghost did not know what that was, but the food he brought was all he had to offer. He took half of what remained of the bun, and left the rest with Buttermilk.
Buttermilk looked ready to take her chances with going hungry for the night when she felt her tummy rumble.
“Wha’ dat noise?”
[Gurgle]
“Babehs? Babehs in tummy? Yoo tawk to mumma?”
[Rumble]
“Nu cwy, babehs! Mummah eat yukky nummies so babehs nu haf tummy owwies.”
With a lot of resistance, Buttermilk ate the small portion available. After their supper, Ghost told Buttermilk about his life in the alley. It was a much shorter story than Buttermilk’s, as most days were exactly the same. But he told her all about hiding from humans, and that it would get even colder soon. That made Buttermilk worried.
“Haf babeh soon, nu wan’ dem be cowd...”
“Nu wowwy. Cwate is wawm, haf bwankets.”
Buttermilk was pleased that she had found a friend so soon after losing everything she ever had. When they both felt sleepy, they curled up together for warmth. She slept at the back end of the crate, leaving Ghost’s side partially exposed to the open air. It made him cold, but he didn’t mind. He had found something he didn’t know he was missing.
A friend to live with.

>”Yay! Wuv stowy!”
>”Haf feews now!”
>”Jebas fak!”
>”Sweepy time now?”
>”Hold up there, ya little varmints. The story’s not done yet!”
As the days went by and the air got colder, Ghost and Buttermilk spent all their time together. Ghost would only go out to find food in the garbage, or to drag Buttermilk’s ‘poopies rag’ to the drain. After all, she couldn’t move on her own, and pushing her over would be too exhausting. The amount of food that Ghost wasn’t getting any larger, and often he would go hungry so Buttermilk could have plenty of food for her babies. But it didn’t matter. He had a friend, and it made him happier than all the food in the world.
When her babies finally came, it was exciting for both of them. Even if Ghost hadn’t helped make the babies, he was still excited at the idea of being a father to them. Buttermilk wailed and struggled, until finally, she had given birth to two tiny babies. One was red, the other green. They chirped for their momma, and Buttermilk happily cleaned them and gave them milk. That night, as Buttermilk lay on her back with her babies sleeping on her tummy, Ghost lay beside her and hugged her tightly, glad that she was much smaller now and easier to hug. Plus, she didn’t take up as much space in the crate. Buttermilk nuzzled against his face, singing softly to herself.
“Wuv babehs, wuv Ghost, wuv babehs, wuv fwend. Buttewmiwk am happiest fwuffy eva, haf so much wuv!”
But the bliss does not last very long.

>”Wha’ bwiss?”
>”It means happiness.”
>”Den why not say happyness?”
>”Hush up and expand your vocabulary.”
>”Wha’ eckspand? Wha’ bobacuwaw-bacwubaw-bocabuwawy?”
>”Just be quiet and enjoy the story, alright?”
The cold quickly gets worse. Last year had been a very mild winter, but this year was going to be freezing. The babies spend almost all of their time in their momma’s fluff, huddling together to keep warm. The rags can only do so much from the bitter gales that blow through the narrow alley at night. Ghost always slept between the babies and the crate’s opening, but still they shiver. Then, a week after the babies were born, disaster struck.
Ghost woke up that morning to a sea of white. Snow littered the ground everywhere, and continued to fall from the sky. It was cold as Ghost walked across it towards the trash can. The small bits of food to be found were somehow getting even more uncommon, and Ghost had spent many days with his tummy making painful rumblings from dawn till dusk. Buttermilk was barely getting enough to eat to produce milk for her babies. Ghost feared that they too were going hungry all day. He hoped that this time, there would be enough to eat in the garbage.
The easy climb up the boxes was suddenly much harder with the slippery snow coating everything. When he finally reached the garbage can to open the lid, it wouldn’t budge. The temperatures had frozen the can shut, and try as he might, he could not get it to open.
“Pwease, mistah twashy can, pwease open. Nee’ nummies fo’ fwend an’ babehs...”
Ghost pushed and pulled and kicked and pleaded to no avail. In his frustration, he charged the can, butting it as hard as he would with his head. The impact left him with a very painful bruise on his head, as well as one knocked over trash can. The force of hitting the ground had knocked the lid loose, leaving it open. Ignoring his pounding headache for a moment, Ghost eagerly climbed back down to inspect what the can had to offer. What he found filled his heart with despair.
Nothing. The can was completely empty. It had been emptied the night before. And all the shops nearby were closed. It was Christmas Eve, and the humans that had unknowingly served as the little fluffy family’s life line were all spending time with their own families. And nobody would have wasted their time trying to pry a frozen shut trash can open. Ghost could feel his legs shivering in the snow, his thick winter fluff standing on end.
He had failed. There was no food, and it would be even colder tonight. The babies barely had any fluff, they were completely defenseless against the freezing temperatures. Buttermilk’s coat was fully grown, but not as thick as his. Without food in their tummies, they would not survive the night. But there was no food to be found. That trash can was the only food source in the alley. All the other boxes were either empty, or filled with things that couldn’t be eaten.
Ghost went back to the crate to tell Buttermilk the bad news. She was inside, underneath the rags, holding her babies close to give them as much warmth as possible. They hugged her tightly, their little bodies shivering.
“N-n-n-nu mo’ nummies, Buttewmiwk. Twashy can empty. Sowwy, babehs. Daddeh nu haf nummies fo’ mummah, nu can make miwk...”
He lay beside the babies and cried. He had never felt so helpless before. Buttermilk too began to cry, as well as the babies. She had been cared for by her owner all her life. She knew nothing about survival out here; she had spent all her time since being abandoned in the crate, caring for the babies. The only time she ever left was to make poopies in the water drain, then she’d always run back to keep the babies warm. The babies were too little to really understand what was happening, but their momma and daddy were crying, and they were cold and hungry, so it felt like the perfect time to cry.
After they had all had a good cry, Buttermilk asked Ghost, “What we do now, fwend? Babehs nee’ miwkies, nu can make miwk wifout nummies!”
Ghost knew the answer, but it terrified him. He loved the safe, if meager, life in his alley. Nobody harassed him or took away his few possessions. He had survived this long by quiet and out of they way. But now he loved Buttermilk and her babies more than anything. If they stayed, it would be the end for all of them. So Ghost took a deep breath, and said something he never thought he’d say.
“We go out of awwey, fin’ nummies in otha pwace.”
Ghost knew the days were getting shorter and shorter, and they had to find food and shelter before it got dark, so they moved as fast as they could. They put the babies on Buttermilk’s back, and covered them with the biggest rags to keep them warm. Ghost hesitated a moment, then hugged his crate.
“Bye, cwate. Fank yoo fo’ be such good home. Ghost gonna miss yoo...”
With a single tear in his eye, he turned around, then headed towards his first steps out of the alley. He had one goal in his mind: find food for Buttermilk and her babies, and find them a warm place to live. Or sleep forever trying.
The metal monsters that usually drove past the alley were nowhere to be seen. Christmas Eve meant very little traffic around the already closed stores. Ghost and Buttermilk were able to cross the street without any danger. Once across, they didn’t know where to go, so they chose one direction of the sidewalk, and started walking. Ghost checked any trash can he could reach, but all of them were empty. Not even a scrap of discarded food could be found, especially under the blanket of snow. And it just kept falling. While humans in their houses drank in the romantic view of snowfall on Christmas Eve, and children played in the yards with snowmen and sleds, one small fluffy family trudged through the freezing snow, hungry, shivering, and desperate.
No matter where they went, there was no food anywhere. Not even any shelter. The small playground they came across had grass underneath the snow, but it was yellow and too bitter to eat. Ghost had to push Buttermilk away because she wouldn’t stop trying to eat it despite spitting it back up every time.
“Nu, pwease! Nee’ nummies fo’ babehs. Dey do hungwy! Buttewmiwk heaw dey tummy owwies!”
Soon the Big Yellow Ball was sinking in the sky, and would shortly go to sleep. Buttermilk could no longer feel her little legs as they slogged through the snow. But she didn’t say anything. Her babies, despite their severe hunger, were at least a little warm under the rags, and it gave her courage.
When night came, it brought a snowstorm. And the fluffies were caught completely out in the open. The wind blew right through their fluff, even Ghost’s, chilling them to the bone. The snow turned to slush on their bodies, and they were soon soaked and shivering. Suddenly a gust hit them both, and they reflexively winced against the penetrating cold. The wind caught the rags on Buttermilk’s back and blew them up into the air.
“Nuuuu! Bwankies! Pwease come back!”
It was no use. The wind blew them too far for them to follow. The babies were now exposed to the elements, their momma’s wet windswept fluff their only comfort. With no other option, Ghost and Buttermilk kept walking as best as they could.
Soon it became too much for poor Buttermilk, and she collapsed on the sidewalk, her limbs too numb to move. Ghost runs to her side, but she can’t get up. Despite starving himself for her sake, Ghost still had a bit of energy left in him. He could keep going, maybe find a safe place and come back for them. But he wouldn’t do that. They hadn’t found a safe place yet, and they probably wouldn’t. So Ghost layed down beside Buttermilk, giving her and her babies was little warmth was left in him. Too dehydrated to cry, Ghost sobbed softly. He had been so happy with Buttermilk and her babies, and now they were all about to freeze. But despite all that, he felt a tiny mote of peace, for the time they had spent together were the best of his life.
As the wind blew away the remains of his strength, he felt everything go fuzzy. His vision fading, he could see a large figure approaching him through the falling snow. A figure, cloaked in black, with white gloves and tall hat. Ghost’s world goes dark and the figures envelopes him.

>Many fluffies around you are crying.
>Melody is holding onto Patchy.
>”Pwease nu foweva sweepy, Ghost!”
>”Feew saddy feews now...”
>”Babehs, gif mumma huggies. Wuv babehs.”
>”Nu wike cowd.”
>”Jebas fak...”
>Mabel whistles to get every fluffy’s attention again.
>”Don’t get too depressed ya little furballs. Still have more story to tell.”
Ghost’s eyes were closed, but he felt something warm blowing into his side. He jumped up with a start, then fell back down as the sudden movement proved too much for his legs.
“Easy there, little fella. You’ve been through a lot. You need to take it easy.”
Ghost looked around for the source of the voice. It sounded human, but his vision was still blurry and his legs too weak. He could barely make out the dim outline of a figure sitting nearby. Smoke was coming out of his mouth.
Ghost checked the rest of his surroundings while his eyesight returned. To his great relief, he saw Buttermilk and the babies lying next to him. Their breathing was ragged, but it was there. Behind Buttermilk was a big metal...thing...that was blowing warm air on them. Ghost tried to speak, but it came out as a dry wheeze.
“Here, drink some of this.”
The shadowy figure pushed a bowl towards Ghost. The bowl was filled with brown water. Ghost looked up suspiciously. He didn’t know what this human was doing, but he had drank water this dirty before. It had made him sick for many days. No way was he going to drink it again.
“It’s vegetable broth, little guy. Not the most flavorful thing in the world, but it’s warm.”
Ghost didn’t respond.
“Fine, look, I’m drinking some myself.” The figure picked up the bowl and took a sip. “See? Perfectly safe.”
Putting the bowl back, the figure sat back in what Ghost could see was a big chair. With his vision improving, Ghost could see that it was an old human. His face had lots of wrinkles, and his hair was silver. In fact, it matched Ghost’s mane.
Ghost took a tentative sip of the water. It was warm. And salty. And so tasty! He drank quickly, feeling the warmth sliding down his dry throat. After a few gulps, he felt like a new fluffy. The pain in his stomach assuaged for the time being, Ghost pushed the bowl over to Buttermilk, nudging her head with his hoof.
“Buttewmiwk! Buttewmiwk! Wake up, fwend! Haf nummies! In wawm pwace!”
“Mnnnnn. Wha? Ghost? Whewe Buttewmiwk? [gasp] BABEHS?!”
Ghost hugged her close.
“Is otay, Buttewmiwk. Babehs sweeping. Dey safe. Dwink diwty wawa, is yummy!”
“Broth. It’s called broth.”
“Dwink diwty bwof.”
“Just broth.”
“Dwink bwof.”
Of course, by the time the old man had corrected Ghost, Buttermilk was already drinking the soup. She too found it delicious.
“Fank yoo, nice mista! Bwof yummy nummies!”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
“Name not sweetie, is Buttewmiwk! And dis Ghost! And dese mah babehs!”
Buttermilk beamed as she turned around to show off her babies asleep on her back.
“Soon haf miwkies fo’ babehs, den dey nu mo’ have tummy owwies!”
With both fluffies now in a much better state, they began to take a better look at their surroundings.
“Feew so wawm. Wike daddy pwace...”
The old man just sat there, smoking his pipe while the fluffies look at everything in the room. It’s a sparsely decorated living room. Picture frames cover most surface areas. Pictures of children and relatives from different points in the old man’s life.
He was never much for pets. If you asked him, raising kids was a big enough hassle. He didn’t hate animals, of course, he was just neutral to them. On most other days, he’d have probably let nature take its course on the poor fluffies he found on the sidewalk when he had gotten turned around in the snowstorm and wound up on the wrong street to his house. He was on his way back from a community theater performance of A Christmas Carol. Hardly demanding thespian drama, but it was entertaining for the local kids, and as a retiree, it’s not like he had much to do. All of his children and grandchildren were off elsewhere for Christmas, leave him alone. He didn’t really blame them, though. After all, they all had their own lives and friendships, and flying made him too nervous. But it still left him a bit lonely and grouchy on Christmas Eve.
Fortunately for Ghost and his new family, however, portraying a character that had learned the value of compassion on Christmas Eve night had gotten him into a more generous mood. So when he saw the little family of fluffy ponies, almost completely frozen and right upon death’s door, he decided to be kind and see if they could be saved. To his relief, they were still alive when he made it home. His old room heater brought their body temperatures back up to normal quick. The little things might have gotten some bad frostbite, but at least they’re alive.
The fluffies stayed within range of the heater, and soon the babies woke up. Buttermilk was excited to tell them that they were in a warm safe place, and she even had milk for them! The babies were so hungry that they latched on to her teats without a moment’s hesitation and began suckling as hard as they could. They were so happy to have milk again that their little tails wagged a little.
As Buttermilk beamed at the sight of her babies safe, warm, and fed, she looked back at the old man who had saved their lives.
“Fank yoo, nice mistah. Babehs safe, haf miwk.”
Ghost came to her side and they shared hugs, their faces nuzzling together.
“Ghost was afwaid. Afwaid hafta say bye to Buttewmiwk, bye to babehs. Afwaid to sweep foweva wifout fwend.”
The old man put aside his pipe and smiled.
“"I'm not much for pets, but I figure a family like you should have a warm place on Christmas. And I'm lonely for much of the rest of the year. What say you guys stay with me for awhile?"
“Weawwy?”
“Really.”
Buttermilk let out a cheer.
“Yayyyyyy! Nu daddy! Nu daddy!”
“Now now, I’m too old to be anybody’s daddy. How about you call me grandpa instead?”
“Nu gwampa! Nu gwampa!”
The babies even joined in on the celebration.
“Gampa! Gampa!”
Ghost did not join them. Instead, he slowly walked over to the old man, looking up into his eyes. Happy tears began to stream down Ghost’s face as he hugged the old man’s legs as hard as he could.
"F-f-f-fank yooo-hu-ooo-hu huuuu. Nu wan' eva see B-b-b-buttamiwk be saddies again hu hu huuuuuu"
The old man smiled and picked Ghost up into his lap. He gently stroked Ghosts’ fluff.
"Don't worry, little guy. Christmas is a time for the whole family to be happy together. My family's gone or scattered across the country, but maybe you'll let me be a part of yours."
Ghost didn’t know what Christmas was, but if it meant he and Buttermilk and the babies didn’t have to starve in the cold again, then he loved Christmas.
“Now, how about I make you guys some oatmeal?”
Ghost didn’t know what that was either, but it sounded like food, so he nodded emphatically.
Two hours later, their tummies full of milk and oatmeal, the exhausted fluffies huddled up into their family fluffpile to sleep.
“I’m going to bed. Good night, little ones.”
“Wuv gwampa!”
“Gampa! Gampa!”
Ghost tried to speak, but the words were caught in his throat. He coughed, then said, “Wuv hooman.”
The old man smiled. “I love you too.”
As the old man changed into his pajamas, he thought back to another Christmas Eve night over 50 years ago. As a young lad, he had been caught in a similar snowstorm to tonight’s, and was trying to get into a closed diner for shelter. Fortunately for him, there was one waitress still cleaning up, and she had enough mercy to let him in. One marriage and 50 years together later, he was by her hospital bed as her life slowly drifted away into the wind. For two years he grieved almost completely alone. Friends dead, relatives and offspring all scattered across the country, he was alone. Then tonight happened.
Before turning the lights off, he checked on the fluffies one more time. They were already asleep, the babies sleeping in between the mother and father. The sight of a family together brought a smile to his face. As he climbed into bed, he wondered if it was fate that led him to save a family on the anniversary of the day he had started his own.

>”The end.”
>All the fluffies cheer, you the loudest.
>”Alright, storytime’s over. Let’s get you all back to your beds. Time to sleep. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. March!”
>As the fluffies all scramble to get to their beds, many of them already yawning, they all talk about how much they loved the story.
>You make sure every fluffy was where they should be, then go to your own pen.
>Mabel finishes moving the fluffies that need assistance.
>Patchy and Melody hug each other closely while Melody’s foals climb on top to settle in for the night, one of them still mumbling “Jebas fak...” between yawns.
>You arrive at your pen to see Birch already settling in under his blanket. You can see he’s smiling for the first time.
>”Wight going ‘way!”
>Mabel sighs, then cracks another glowstick for Tatter, replacing the old one.
>”Alright, is everyone settled in? We’re all good to go? To sleep?”
>All around you can hear tired mumblings in the affirmative.
>”Good to hear. Oh, and before you all go tottering off to dreamland, just do me a favor. Don’t tell anybody I did storytime. I got a reputation to uphold.”

>As you lay your head down to sleep, Mabel looks out the window.
>Snow is beginning to fall.
>And out in the distance, she can see a light on in a house.
>Though it's a far distance, she can just barely see a man and 4 happy playing fluffy ponies. One gray, one cream, one red, one green.