Drawloween - Haunted Toys

The plastic crabs weren't haunted.  At least, allegedly they weren't.  Still, to the ill-tempered Piri, a lot of things were going to be received far worse than anyone could expect.  Battery operated, with clicking claws and side-to-side movement, they were decent for desensitizing young horses.  As far as Wyatt was concerned, the trainers had them all properly put away, shuffled back into the box of objects used as unorthodox training aides.  Certainly not haunted, at least as far as anyone was aware.  

 

Ordinarily, she wouldn't be stalled.  Frankly, she's a destructive beast of a thing, and keeping her up in the barn overnight was a recipe for disaster.  As Wyatt set about his evening chores, the ruckus she put up was unmatched.  Kicking at the door, cribbing, pawing.  All the usual bad habits that kept her outdoors in the first place.  Still, she would remain stalled on the vet's orders.  With an abscess about to break open in her right front hoof, Piri couldn't be out.  

 

"We'll get through this together, you just need to chill the hell out."  Wyatt's sigh was long and dramatic as he swept the aisle one final time.  Piri wouldn't settle, but he'd attribute that to his presence more than anything else, at this point.  Flicking the lights off and shutting the door with a resounding thud, Wyatt would make himself scarce.  Slipping out into the chill of the autumn evening, and trying to shake the stress away.  The spice mare refused to calm down, but the tantrum was something he didn't have the time or energy for.  Piri would be fine.  

 

Ears pinned to her skull, every bit of her indignant, the mare continued to cause a scene.  Lashing out at the door, kicking, watching the front of it shake.  It's not long before the tub of crab toys jiggles free and tips over, clattering to the floor.  Watching as they scatter, a handful of them springing to life.  Piri wouldn't be having any of that, thank you.  Kicking against the door and reaching at the same time, by some twisted miracle the door springs free.  Blame that on the magic or malevolence of the crabs.  They wanted to play too, it seemed.  

 

Piri is quick to begin dispatching them.  A hoof through one, reaching to grab one that remained inert with her teeth.  Slamming that crab into its animated brethren, there's something almost gleeful about her.  Delighted in the chaos and destruction, Piri was pleased with herself.  Every bit of her shining in the little moonlight left to filter through the windows and cracked slats, silhouetted against the inky darkness of the fall evening.  Was she making bad choices?  Absolutely.  Was she banishing haunted toys?  In Piri's mind, of course she was.  Racing through the aisle between stalls, loose and loud, Piri would be content to squash plastic until the sun rose.  

 

As for Wyatt?  The motion activity notification on his phone was a reminder to never get too comfortable, and never get too attached to going to sleep at a reasonable hour.  Looks like he has some stomped, chomped, and otherwise shredded plastic to clean up.