//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: The Butterfly Cult 
// by Proper Noun 
//------------------------------//

	"I don't think they will actually be ponies. For all I know, this 'Butterfly Cult' is just a bunch of bronies with way too much Fluttershy paraphernalia." Greg, as my roommate calls himself, raises an eyebrow.

"You know, if I told you two years ago that you'd even consider hunting down a group of recluses from the Internet and implying they might not be humans, you would have laughed."

"That was before my boyfriend disappeared!" Greg looks away and I realize I snapped at him. I sigh. It's not like I'm the only one - Greg's entire family had gone missing a few months before she - I mean, he - moved in with me. The necessity was mutual - I couldn't make rent without my boyfriend, and he had nowhere else after his cousins won the legal fight over his parents' house. "Sorry. I just... yeah, I wouldn't be doing any of this if it weren't for him. I have to know, and this is my only lead."

"I wish you'd let me come with you," Greg says after a pause.

"Yeah, but you know the drill, and it goes double when they could be connected to everything that's been happening lately. Worry if I don't call by midnight, tell the police everything if you don't hear from me by morning."

"You're sure about this, Adrian?" I nod. I've been digging for this information for over a year, ever since it all started, and I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be. I've got their location, their knock, their pass phrase, and my hopes. Also a sandwich. Everything's better with a sandwich, or as one.


~*~*~*~


The old metal door doesn't have a buzzer. I knock, pause, then knock again. Then three times, then eight without stopping.

No response. I know to expect that, after all my research, and continue with the most ridiculous pass-phrase ever.

"I have a crush on Shining Armor." I keep my voice down as much as I can, but I still have to be heard on the other side of the door, and it comes out a stage-whisper. I look over my shoulder, back up the alley. It's dark, but there's enough indirect light from the street lamps to see I'm still alone, though I swear that garbage can wasn't there when I got out of my car.

I wait a few more minutes, keeping a nervous eye on the alley. No reply, though I reflexively swat at my ears when I pick up a sort of buzzing noise. Damn flies.

As I'm about to turn and go, the door swings inward with a long creak. There are no lights, but under the full moon, the entry room is revealed as barely closet-sized, with a lonely coat rack to the right of stairs that descend out of sight. My brain is throwing up all kinds of red flags.

This is creepy as fuck. Time to go.
I don't have a flashlight. How is this even supposed to work?
Who opened the door? It's too old and solid for a remote.

I push them aside, reminding myself that this is the only lead I have. My boyfriend's more important than some irrational fear of the dark. Still, this is not the kind of thing I would've expected from a bunch of Fluttershy fanatics. Unless they plan to flip on all the lights at once and yell 'Surprise!' when I walk in, I'm dealing with something else entirely. I pause in the doorway, looking into the gloom the stairs sink into towards what I hope is the bottom, and recount the facts.

My boyfriend went missing around the time the world started changing. The whole thing of animals behaving more intelligently; wild animals behaving in an almost domestic manner (except in Australia - I swear everything on that screwy continent is out to kill everything else); the increase in disappearances centered in, but by no means limited to, the United States; the strange-but-pleasant dreams everyone reported on full moons; and so on. Something is happening to the world, and my favorite theory is Brony Mad Scientists, but this place doesn't look like either a brony clubhouse or a mad science laboratory.

This is looking more and more like another dead end, no matter how much longer it took to get here than the police did to pursue the other false leads. In a way, though, that makes the situation win-win. If there's nothing here, I'm probably not in any danger. If there is, I can start by finding out what happened to my boyfriend, and fall back on my safety protocol if things go bad.

I realize I've been staring down towards the basement for at least five minutes. I shake my head, brush a few blond strands of hair from my eyes, and check my phone. 11:16 - I'd better get moving. Bolstering my confidence with the knowledge that I have a good plan, I head down into the darkness, and though I have to follow the handrail down the last few steps (creaking loudly all the way - it's a good thing I never planned to be stealthy), I finally settle my feet on what feels like the same painted concrete floor my parents had in their basement. The memory of that place makes me shudder.

Then I notice the smell. It's like grape juice and rotting leaves and musty, unwashed laundry all at once. It's strong enough that I could probably navigate by my nose alone, though I'd certainly rather not. Instead, I sweep my right hand over the wall to my side, trying to find a light switch. Nothing but blank plaster wall.

This is it, then. I'm going to either announce myself and hope for the best, or chicken out and, well, very likely never forgive myself for missing the opportunity to discover the truth. I swallow a nervous twitch.

“My name is Adrian,” I say. I'm trying to be clear, firm, and project my voice like I had learned during acting classes in college (not something I ever majored in, but fun, as far as electives go), but my voice shakes like a child admitting to breaking a bottle of Mommy's favorite vodka. I hadn't even realized how nervous I am until I spoke. Still, I force myself to continue. “I'm here for my boyfriend."

Water slowly drips into a puddle somewhere, and I hear flies. Beside that and the smell, the darkness refuses to answer me. I'm starting to wonder whether my sources were mistaken, or the Cult moved out. While the stink doesn't seem stale enough to be old, I have no remaining reason to believe I'm going to find any answers here. The thought of never knowing what happened feels like swallowing a triple cheeseburger made of lead, but I turn to leave. There's nothing for me here. The door must have been poorly latched or something.

As I feel around for the handrail to guide me back up the stairs, black gives way to bright white. I briefly register a sudden pain in the side of my head before everything turns black again, and all is silent.