Glittershell tried to escape, once.
It would be flattering to state that she did so because she realized that her best hope of getting away with it was before Gladstone's Skeletal Guard arrived and helped him watch her. That would have revealed Glittershell as both brave and a cool thinker in a crisis.
However, a decent respect for the truth obliges me to report otherwise. While Glittershell was -- as we have already seen -- more than ordinarily brave, especially when fighting to protect a loved one, the fact is that she was not much of a thinker. Glittershell dealt with danger on raw reflexes and instincts; only later, if at all, thought much about it.
And right then, her every instinct as a mare was telling her that Gladstone was a major creep.
These were actually the terms in which she thought. She might, of course, have accurately described Gladstone as many worse things -- 'rapist,' 'slaver,' and 'murderer' were among the terms applicable in his instance -- but underlying, reinforcing and motivating his many crimes, he was a 'creep,' in Glittershell's conceptual terms, and thus in this appellation her instincts were entirely accurate. He had been a creep in his breathing days, before he had become a Wraith, before ever he had slain anypony.
Besides, Glittershell was, at age sixteen and one day, a basically-innocent mare. She had met 'creeps' before -- even a culture as civilized and kindly as Equestria had its share of them. Until the last half day, however, she had never met any murderers or slavers, and until just now had never met anypony who was an intentional rapist.
Gladstone had not, in point of fact, yet attempted to rape her. The reason why would not have reassured her, had she understood it. She actually knew enough that she might have guessed it, but Glittershell was no great mistress of deduction. She was, however, quite relieved that he did not intend her immediate murder or violation.
This did not mean that she was completely relieved by her treatment at the hooves of her captor. For, frustrated by the very demands of his ambition from using her as he would doubtless have preferred, Gladstone chose instead to terrorize Glittershell by keeping up a running description of what he meant to do to her.
"Thou'rt a comely young mare," Gladstone told her, standing over her and running a hoof across her cheeks; Glittershell squirming away from the cold, loathsomely-intimate touch. "Aye, thou shalt be a frisky bedmate, when I have schooled thee proper in it. We shall together make quite merry!"
Glittershell was not exactly sure what Gladstone meant by all this, though she had some terrible suspicions, compounded with reference to Cheerilee's sex-education classes, Rarity's bridle-rippers and some adolescent gossip. Her attempt at understanding was complicated by the facts that the things about which Gladstone insinuated included many possible only to the undead; that most of them were deemed unwholesome even by his fellow undead; and that Glittershell was naturally rather clean-minded. She simply lacked a sufficiently nasty imagination to understand Gladstone.
Which was, all in all, a blessing.
But she did understand enough to perceive that, unless she could get out from the fiend's control, some very unpleasant things would soon happen to her.
I shall not bore and disgust my readers with any attempt to reproduce every vile threat Gladstone made to her. One alone should suffice: the more so, because it was the one which impelled her to action.
"Really," quoth Glittershell, "thou'rt fortunate to have fallen among us, and into mine own hooves in particular. For I do know what thou art. Aye, and what thou no doubt dost most deeply desire. And I can give thee this boon."
Glittershell was not so naive that mental alarms were not going off within her at the vile, gloating voice of the ghost stallion. She was not so innocent that she failed to grasp that he meant by this something loathsome. However, his hints of knowing what she was and what she was deeply desired still tantalized her, so that instead of remaining resolutely silent in response to his insinuations, she primly said:
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
Gladstone laughed, and Glittershell cringed from his charnel vocal exhalations.
" I am full well sure thou dost, though perchance thou dost doubt that I know these secrets," said the Wraith. "As to the first, thou art plain a filly-souled colt, which be why thou dost seem to my soul-sight female but to the matter-eyes I manifest male. 'Tis thine own good luck that to us Wraiths, soul meaneth much more than matter: though I am no colt-cuddler, to me thou art a delightful maiden, just awaiting proper use by a firm strong stallion!"
Glittershell shuddered at that, but if Gladstone noticed, it did not seem to disturb him. Perhaps the contrary, for Gladstone grinnned, and continued:
"As for what thou dost desire, that be a simple riddle. Thou wantest to be a mare, in form as well as spirit."
Glittershell's ears perked up.
"And, of certain, that be a a boon with which I would gladly gift thee."
That got Glittershell's attention. To be a real mare ...
"How?" she asked. "How could you do that?"
Gladstone grinned, very evilly and wildly.
"Why," he said, "'tis very simple. When thou'rt mine own thrall, 'twill be mine own power that does affect thine own rotting. 'Tis easy to withhold regeneration from thy male parts, wherefore they shall rot and drop away. Menwhile, I can allow decay to cut a hole behind them, in the place I do desire for my delight. I do myself have a tool to help this drilling, and with it I shall drill thee well, aye, and often." He leered at Glittershell. "Alas, I do ken well that at first thy quaint shall be unready. But be not afraid that thou shalt disappoint me! For thou havest a mouth and bum-hole, for mine own enjoyment! It shall be --"
But at this point Gladstone broke off his horrid explanation, for Glittershell had at last fully grasped how Gladstone meant to use her.
She bolted.
As with most things Glittershell did, this was not planned out in advance, but done on impulse. In this case, the impulse was a sudden surge of fear and revulsion against her captor. It was a good impulse: Glittershell had realized the dire danger damage, not merely to her body, but to her soul. And she was right -- immediate flight lay her best hope of escaping unscathed.
It was a good idea, and one normally likely to work, as Glittershell was a fleet-hooved Pony. There was only one thing wrong with her plan.
She had failed to figure in the bodily damage she had already suffered.
So, when Glittershell rolled onto her hooves, squirming so strongly and swiftly that she actually managed to upset the bigger, stronger spectral stallion from his position atop her, sending him stumbling back as she rose, she did so only to feel a flare of pain in her strained right foreleg that nearly sent her sprawling back down again. Only her great fear and determination enabled the transmare to keep her hooves, and when she ran, it was with an awkward, lurching gait, far inferior to her normal graceful gallop.
But she was nevertheless running free.
For a moment, Glittershell knew hope.
Then, Gladstone descended on her back like an avalanche of snow, crushing her beneath his weight; the cold of him stabbing right through hair and hide to jab into her spine. There was an explosion of agony in her back that utterly dwarfed the pain in her foreleg. Then, there was no sensation at all behind the middle of her barrel: nothing but a terrifying numbness. She could not feel her hindquarters at all!
"My back!" cried Glittershell. "You broke my back!"
"Dost thou thank I jest with thee?" Gladstone hissed coldly into her ear from atop her. "Thy legs be not needful to get thee to Sunney Towne -- my Skeletal Guard shall bear thee. And as a cripple, thou canst try escape no more."
He got off her.
Nothing Gladstone said mattered at all, compared to the far more horrid reality of what had just happened to her. Nothing Gladstone might do mattered, compared to what he had already done. Rape ... murder ... even rape after murder, with her enthralled soul still able to suffer her body's violation ... these were prospects so far beyond anything Glittershell knew from experience, that they could not seem wholly real to her.
But being crippled ...
Glittershell had once had a third cousin, Victoria Lover, who had been an athlete. She hadn't known Victoria well -- she'd only been a third cousin, on a paternal side and a Pegasus to boot -- but she had met her twice at big Carrot celebrations. Victoria had been a big loud exuberant red-and-orange mare, all boasts and bawdy jokes, and at the peak of her career.
Then, Victoria had broken her back in an air crash. Glittershell hadn't seen it happen, or visited her in the hospital, or anything -- Victoria lived all the way up north in Whinnysconsin -- but she'd had occasional news on Victoria's condition, when other relations talked about her. At first, they've been hopeful, but as time went on, it became generally acknowledged that she would probably neither fly nor walk again. She was paralyzed from just behind her withers: her wings and rear legs forever useless.
Glittershell had seen the Pegasus one last time, when she had attended another family get-together a few years later.
Victoria had been a very different mare. If not for her red-and-orange colors, white scarf and wings, Glittershell might not have recognized her. The former athlete's back and haunches were wasted, mostly lost beneath a blanket draped over those parts, inadequately concealing the wheel bench on which her hindquarters rested. Her forelegs still worked fine, and looked very powerful, but her hind legs and tail just hung there, limp and helpless.
However, the most shocking thing about Victoria was her change in attitude. No longer was she loud and exuberant, nor did she make boasts and bawdy jokes. She was quiet and sad-looking, and never cracked a smile. She seemed shrunken, and more than a little bit dazed.
After that, Glittershell never saw her again; some months ago, she heard Victoria had died. Glittershell was not certain of what. She had told Sweetie Belle the tale, and Sweetie suggested that Victoria might have died of a 'broken spirit.'
At the time, Glittershell had thought the idea rather romantic, but unlikely. How could anypony really died of a broken spirit?
Now, facing a horrid future, captured and crippled by an undead monster that wanted to kill and turn her into his undead slave, to be raped by him again and again, Glittershell could well see why Victoria might have welcomed death -- the true death, of whose release Gladstone also meant to rob her. Victoria had at least been able to die.
Glittershell wouldn't be granted even that mercy.
Glittershell gaped up at Gladstone, shocked by what had just happened.
Gladstone looked back at her with a wide excited smile.
I guess he's happy he caught me. I guess to him this is sort of a game. And he won.
"Thou'rt mine," Gladstone hissed. "From now on until I tire of thee ... and permit thy by then much-misused soul to depart." He beamed in joy. " Thou shalt bear the scars I put on thee into the next life."
Glittershell knew that what Gladstone had just said should disgust and frighten her. But she had already felt so much fear and disgust over this day that she could not work up the effort to be disgusted or frightened any more. All she could do, now, was to lie back and await whatever Gladstone choose to do to her.
Which would, no doubt, be something dreadful. She had seen enough of Gladstone already that she knew he liked to hurt Ponies. She had met other Ponies a little like Gladstone before -- she supposed Nightmare Moon had been something like that, though actually Nightmare Moon hadn't really hurt any of the ponies in Ponyville except those who were actively fighting her, so in that way Gladstone was worse, though weaker.
In any case, whether she understood it or not, Gladstone was real. And she was at his mercy.
At least Snips got free, she thought. She felt a sudden surge of joy at this realization. He'll make it back to Ponyville, and have a life, and get to be happy. He'll miss me bad at first, but he'll get over it, hang out with other Ponies, fall in love -- I hope not with that sleazy acrobat -- get married, sire foals. He'll make out okay. He's one tough little stallion.
And maybe, sometimes, he'll remember me. Not that I died, but that we had fun together. and remembering the fun times will make him smile.
And, at that thought, Glittershell also smiled.
"What hast thou to smile on?" snapped Gladstone.
Why's he mad? Glittershell wondered. He's won.
"Just a friend. A good friend. I'm glad he's okay." said Glittershell.
Gladstone squinted at her skeptically.
"You know -- that's just how you feel about friends."
Gladstone looked annoyed.
"You've had friends, right?" Glittershell asked.
Gladstone sneered at her. Then he smiled, almost tolerantly.
"Friendship be false," he said. "'Twas a lie in mine own age, and 'tis still a lie in thine. There be but allies and enemies; leaders and followers; masters and slaves. 'Twas ever such, though but few do ken it. 'Tis a mark of mine own wisdom that I already did ken this when I had less years than thou dost now. 'Twas young I learned all friendship false."
There was bitterness in the Wraith's tone.
Glittershell suddenly imagined Gladstone, younger than herself, scorned for his birth and giving up forever on making real friends. He must've been so lonely, she thought. It was hard to imagine: Glittershell had always felt a disappointment to her mother, but she had never really been lonely since she'd met Snips as a small colt. And other Ponies liked Glittershell well enough, even though most only knew her as Snails. She'd always had friends.
But, to have no friends at all ...
"That's ... so ... sad," she said.
Gladstone's hoof lashed out, almost faster than Glittershell could follow the motion, and clouted her on the cheek. There was a flash of light behind her eyes, and Glittershell found herself sprawling over on her left side, looking up at a snarling skull-face, stringy bits of decayed flesh hanging from blackened bone, dark blue witchfire eyes blazing with rage.
"How darest thou?" he shrieked, gobs of decayed matter flying right into Glittershell's face, giving her reasons beyond pain and fear to shrink away from his fury. "Thou fool! Thou worm! Thou'rt my victim! 'Tis not thy part to grant me pity, as if I were in some wise pitiable!
"I am Gladstone Leaf, a Wraith of Sunney Towne. I have haunted this pace for fifty generations! I have slain hundreds of Ponies, and I command powers from a source beyond thy ken!
"Thou thinkest I am to be pitied for that I lack friends?" he asked. "Simpleton! I need no friends, for my thralls well serve me, and all who know me fear my power and wrath! Friends be fickle, but those under my sway obey me from compulsion, and fear." He bent until his muzzle was almost touching Glittershell's. "For I ... I am STRONG!" He threw his head back and shouted that last word into the cloudy sky, as if proclaiming his defiance to the shrouded Sun herself.
The Sun did not reply. But Glittershell whimpered.
It was but a small noise, but it drew Gladstone's attenton. The Wraith looked back down at her; stared at her face, searchingly. Flesh and hair once again clothed the skull; ordinary dark-blue eyes replaced the hellish witch-fires. He smiled, his fury evidently spent.
"Ahh," Gladstone nearly purred. "At last, thou dost understand. Thou dost fear me proper." He reached out and touched Glittershell's cheek, smiling even more broadly when she shivered. "We shall have such fun together, me and thee, for many years. I shall teach thee hate and fear of me, beyond any art of my meddlesome baby sister to undo. By this hate and fear thou shalt be bound to me. It shall be long before thou canst pass on -- I shall no doubt by then be bored of thee. My sweet young maiden, I have such delights to show thee. Even when thou dost manage to pass on, they shall forever scar thy soul!"
At that last horrible boast, Gladstone smiled most warmly, like a normal Pony contemplating an especially tasty treat.
Glittershell could only think that it was possibly a good thing that she couldn't feel her hindquarters.
Then, Gladstone's attention was abruptly drawn by something he seemed to see over Glittershell's head. He paused, then beamed at her with mock-benevolence.
"Little maiden," asked the Wraith, "wilst thou miss thy friends?"
Glittershell nodded, wondering what new cruelty concealed itself behind Gladstone's sudden seeming kindness.
"And 'tis a long weary way back to Sunney Towne," Gladstone went on, "for one so halt as I have left thee. 'Twould be so sad if I mad thee drag thyself back by thine own forelegs!" His eyes twinkled with unholy merriment. "Wouldst thou prefer to be borne by my minions?"
Glittershell thought on it a moment. Being carried around by Skeletal Guards sounded awful -- but dragging herself more than a mile by her forelegs sounded even worse. Again, she nodded.
"Then I shall prove myself a most generous stallion," said Gladstone, extending a foreleg in a sweeping gesture. "Behold! My Guards have returned, ready to bear thee into town!"
Glittershell followed his gesture. At first her merely-mortal eyes could see nothing. Then, several gaunt figures, red witchlights glowing from their eye sockets, loomed out of the mist, trudging slowly toward them.
"Witness my kindness," said Gladstone. "Thou shalt be bore in comfort and safety back to my father's feast!"
Glittershell winced at the prospect, and Gladstone smiled.
"But my generosity goes still further!" he announced. "For thou didst affirm that without thy friend, thou wouldst feel all lone and forlorn. And I would not have thee so saddened. So ..." he looked at Glittrshell expectantly, "... behold my greatest generosity!"
He pointed toward the center of his squad of Guards.
At first, Glittershell could not make out whatever it was that Gladstone wanted her to see. Then, she noticed a sort of large lump bound up onto the back of one of the bigger Guards. The lump squirmed, and she saw it was the hind end of a short, stocky blue stallion, with a bright orange tail; the head end was concealed behind the bulk of the Guard.
Glittershell knew that rump well. It bore the bleeding wounds of Sandwren's bite, and of Glittershell's own misguided attempt at first aid.
"Snipsy?" she wailed.
"Snailsy?" came the reply, in his familiar voice. "Aww ... I'm sorry they got you."
"I'm sorry they got you, too," said Glittershell, her voice breaking. "Sorrier 'n you know!"
"Ya can't bawl," said Snips. "We ain't colts no more. We're stallions now!" But his own voice had in it a suspicious quaver.
"O," said Gladstone, "I shall have such joy with both ye twain!"
And, as the two stricken young Ponies struggled to restrain themselves from open sobbing in the face of their enemy, the mists around them were filled with the cacchinations of Gladstone's evil laughter.