//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: Howard Fillip Lovecraft // by Hengf //------------------------------// Chapter 4 “Zecora knew little of what he had hoped to find, but told him that like the cockatrice and manticore legends may come from something real.” Overlooking the crowd quickly, the rapt faces hanging upon her every word, she continued, “Lovecraft, having gained all he could from the others, and so returned to Twilight to check upon the progress of her search. Despite the efforts of both her and Spike nothing could be found, as she had decided that she had returned the book after all. During the time spent during the search, she had managed to check whether or not his access to the Canterlot Library, to his apparent joy, though he did not do well to shew it beyond a gracious thanks you.” She found almost humourous the nearly scripted areas which questions would be given, and even more was the tendencies that it be the same pony as the year prior, to the point that it seemed a part of the story itself. The perpetrator for this example was an older colt with a coat of custard yellow with a simplistic Rainbow Bolt costume, and his shock of white hair protruding randomly from his head. He spoke, voice a slightly gravely with only a minutely low pitch: “What happened to the book?” the pink eyes expressing the knowledge of the answer, yet not devoid of the curiosity. “The book itself was never found, Bisteeya, it was quite strange, the Canterlot Library had nothing there, nor did any further searches turn up evidence of its whereabouts. A shame really, that was the only copy, but such things can be miss-placed.” The question ended, he returned to his sitting position and continued to listen in general peace. “Now to return,” she paused to recollect where she had trailed off, “ah yes, before leaving to request of his sister the allowance of staying the night he also asked if Twilight could aid him with gaining an audience with me. She did not see why he could not do it himself, but, after a while, had convinced her to create an appointment.” Before she could continue, the ring of the clock tower told of the hour being close at hand, and she was forced to stop until its tolls had ceased. Time appeared not an issue as she listened to the deep bellowing, and her gaze went to one of her guards, Captain Rampart she believed as he walked by in the distance. Never restful are they she thought to herself, but soon the chiming had halted and she began again, free of interruptions. ------------------------- The small stream babbled along in the evening sun and soon Luna’s moon would rise to take its place. The bridge over which he crossed made little sound in response to his hoof-falls due much to the covering of moss that it shared with the majority of his sister’s home, laden as it was with a yard of bird-houses both in the immediate trees and adorning the home itself. The small dens surrounding it shewed no sign of occupation in the dusk light, but soon they were behind Lovecraft as the reddened fence that juxtaposed with a sky blue metallic mailbox signified the entrance as being at hand. The Dutch door was unadorned with any sort of marker, for all knew whose abode this was. Lovecraft sighed as he stood there in front of the door and finally rapped upon its wooden surface with his hoof. From within he could hear her converse with her beloved Angel as to her bafflement at who may be at the door. He closed his eyes momentarily in preparation for seeing her. Once the door had opened and the light spilled out from the inviting room. With a meeting of their eyes, Fluttershy immediately shrank away from his gaze, though it was not menacing, and she spoke barely above a whisper. “Oh… um… Hello, Howard.” The look that followed was one of exasperation at again the failure to be greeted in the way he requested, and he reminded her promptly. “Please Sister; I prefer to be called Lovecraft.” “And I prefer to be called Fluttershy, not Sister.” This retort surprised he for its forwardness was unlike his sister, but immediately did he understand what she meant, and cursed himself for overlooking such an over-sight as requesting an action that he did not allow another. “I… I am sorry Sis…Fluttershy,” he said catching himself, letting his head fall in a defeated manner for he found it disgraceful that he had not requested of her what she would be preferred to be referred to as. No longer looking away she gazed upon his somber gesture and said in her soft voice: “It’s okay Lovecraft. You don’t normally visit me, or visit at all for that matter, so I guess you need some help with something.” Head still bowed, he replied: “You know my actions well, and I regret to inform you that it is not simply reverie that brings me here. I am in need room and board for the night, and I cannot lodge at the local inn due to lack of funds. I would request of you if I may remain here for the night if you are not inconvenienced.” Flustered at this pleading she retorted with a stream of uncertainty, some perhaps feigned, until finally she accepted him under her care, a look not of disdain, but rather welcome across her face. The inside of Fluttershy’s home was as the exterior, covered in homes and dens for the many small animals she cared for, and through the window across from the door could be see the posterior yard with even more accommodations for additional creatures. The fireplace was lit and roaring, allowing for a warmth to linger in the house as a means to stave off the cool embrace of the nighttime. The carvings of butterflies across the door’s arch gave to the loving ambiance that the many holdings may have. The couch in the back, below the window, occupied by a rather cross looking rabbit, Angel nonetheless. The green floorboards thumped soundly as he walked along, his steps light in comparison to that of his sister, the centre carpet nearly muffling them completely. The gaze of Angel upon Lovecraft was not that of welcome, and his crossed arms furthered this idea. Upon the fire’s cookery sat a pot of boiling liquid that smelled slightly sweet, as if some sort of a sweetened vegetable brew. Seeing his gaze drift towards the pot, Fluttershy asked: “Oh, I was making some vegetable soup for me and Angel, would you like some?” After the offer had registered he answered: “No, Thank you Fluttershy, I am well enough as it is.” “Not eating again?” “I have my reasons,” he said gently, turning away to survey the remainder of the room, “please I wish to not speak of it further.” “Oh, okay.” She kicked her left forelimb out in front of her and then retracted it rather nervously, unaccustomed to the company of her brother, but more so his amplified stoic mannerisms. After some moments the insistent taping of Angel’s foot could be heard, his glowering features obvious in the message he tried to convey. “Where shall I be bedding?” Asked he, wishing to dally no longer. “It’s the upstairs guest room,” she said looking to avoid his eyes again, “First room on the right.” He nodded as these were all the directions he needed, and proceeded up the steps to prepare for rest. His steps could be heard throughout the house until he finally stopped inside of the room his was told. Another knock soon came at door, as she heard the portal close to the guest room, and again did Fluttershy question Angel about the sudden influx of guests tonight. However, this time the orbs that greeted her were of light cerulean and bouncing up and down with the light pink body to which they were attached. The deeper pink of the mane and tail also bounced jovially with the rest of her body, as the fast paced voice of Pinkie Pie made itself heard. “Hi Fluttershy! Rainbow Dash told me your brother was here so I wanted to throw him party to welcome him, and since I never knew you had a brother, I guess it will also be a ‘Nice To Meet You Brother We Just Met’ party, and since he’s leaving to-morrow I guess it will also be a going-away party, and…” “Oh…Pinkie?” attempted to interrupt Fluttershy, “And I just wanted to ask,” “Pinkie?” “What kind of cake does he like, and what is his favourite colour so I know what to get for balloons, and… “Pinkie!” this time the her interrupt was loud enough to be heard and Pinkie Pie recognised this by saying, “Yeah, Fluttershy,” as she stopped her bouncing, “what is it?” “You can’t throw a party for my brother.” “Aw, but that’s boring, I’m sure he’d love my parties, can I meet him,” she said trying to look for him over her head, her bouncing having resumed. However, Fluttershy was resolute in barring her access, and with an identically steadfast voice said, “Pinkie you can’t throw a party for Howard, he doesn’t like them.” This managed to provoke a gasp from Pinkie and she continued her insistence, “WHAT!? Who doesn’t like parties!? I’ll have to shew him a really good party, then he’ll like them!” Again did she try to push past, and again was she blocked, “Come on Fluttershy let me in so I can take him to a party.” “No!” said Fluttershy, a bit of declaratory within her voice, “He doesn’t like parties, so I think you should leave… at least for today,” Her voice softening again as she finished. “Just one quick party,” and once more did she attempt to move past her. The unwillingness of her friend to not throw a party for her brother drove her to use the only thing that might have worked. When Pinkie stopped to look at Fluttershy she stared at her in a method as to propagate the compliance of her pink friend. Slightly taken aback by this usage of the Stare that she paid full attention to what she said next. “Howard does not like parties and I’m sorry Pinkie Pie, but you’ll just have to leave.” Her much more forward approach elicited a respect for her wishes from Pinkie Pie, even at the denial of a party. Backing away slightly at the ferocity of her gaze, she replied, “Oh… okay, I won’t. I’ll just be headed out then.” With acquiescence at hand Fluttershy ended her leer and reverted to her usual friendly self, and gave Pinkie Pie a farewell as she turned to leave in addition to another apology that she could not do as she wished. After closing the door, Pinkie thought it was so strange that Fluttershy would use the Stare on her, and about how her brother disliked parties. As she pondered she came to the conclusion that perhaps he had an allergy to parties, as this was the only logical cause for this, and she vowed to invent the first hypoallergenic party, so that nopony could ever be left out. Lovecraft would have needed to rely upon deafness to not have heard the exchange that took place downstairs, and he was grateful at his sister’s conviction to prevent his attendance of a celebration. It was very true his aversion to parties, and it had stemmed from his colthood, when during such a festivities a nervous breakdown had occurred, the reason behind it was never truly isolated, but he had always felt it was the fete that had brought it upon him. With his saddlebag placed upstairs, next to the bed, he returned downstairs to see his sister, looking at his watch before he went and noting that he would retire for the night soon. When he had reached ground level, he saw his sister sitting on the couch adjacent to Angel, the commotion subsided. Looking upon her he asked, “Si… Fluttershy?” “Yes, Lovecraft?” “As you are acquainted with the local weather control, might I ask if you are aware of any cloud cover scheduled for this night?” She thought for a moment and replied: “Oh no, there shouldn’t be any clouds tonight,” Angel giving a wayward glare towards Lovecraft, “only the moon tonight.” “That is good,” he nodded in approval as he looked away in thought, “I shall retire then, a biddence of good-night sister for you, you as well Angel.” Fluttershy returned it, where as the white rabbit remained unmoved. Nodding he moved up the stairs again and the closing of the door prompted a look from Angel towards his caretaker which compelled her to respond with: “He’s not so bad Angel, you just have to get to know him.” However, the rabbit’s opinion seemed unaltered by this sentiment. Above them Lovecraft looked out upon the now darkened sky and towards the glowing disk that was Luna’s moon. The simple room in which he boarded was to his liking, the linens of the bed a plain red with oak headboard and the window had the ability to be shuttered, and the view of the posterior yard and forest quite enjoyable. The shelf above the headboard held the candle that lit the room and a clock to give the time. With door closed he removed his vest, folded, and placed it upon a chair that he shared the room with. Standing there looking over the vest, he appeared to be pondering some unknown action and with several moments of contemplation he appeared to stand on the side of its partaking. Moving over to the saddlebag that had been set adjacent to the bed, he opened the left most flap and extruded from it’s inside a rather rotted and foetid tome. The words along the cover that give clue to its name, and perhaps its purpose, were worn and some had even gone with its decrepitude. Only the letters ‘N c nom on’ were visible, however, the script of those remaining were enough to inspire a certain amount of a queer abhorrence. Soon the tome had been opened and, placing it upon the bed, he sitting on the floor, he began to peruse its contents, after searching for an obviously specific page within. Were one to actually view the innards, only a jumble of incoherent scribbles would be seen, with illustrations giving a similar effect as that of the broken title. Yet despite this he read through with great certainty. At a point in this progress the complacency mirrored in his face became transient, and began to falter. So too did the steadiness of his breathing become uncertain, as its intensity fluxed to one of higher pace. As his eyes flowed over the strange scrawling, a look of aversion came over him, but soon this escalated and took on the disposition of fear, and finally horror. He closed the book suddenly then, eyes closed, and attempted to steady his breathing. He was shuddering rather ferociously, and he sat there hoof on the now closed binding, a brown and blackened material of some strange substance better left unknown. Time passed slowly as an attempt at recovery was perpetrated, and soon the seconds became minutes until the shaking had finally subsided. Returning the book to its holding and extinguishing the candle, he stood in the darkness of the room, allowing for his eyes to adjust to the new lighting. It did not take long, for the beam of the moon brightened the room enough to easily see around, in addition to some light creeping in from underneath the doorway. He moved to the window and looked upon the spectacle that was the moon’s allure. A heavy sigh expelled before he said aloud: “Perhaps tonight I can sleep with the protection of the moon’s light.” His head dropped as he sat there in front of the window basking in the light of that lunar body, and thoughts of his three days of endless travel returned to him, and soon the need of sleep overtook him and, closing the shutters, he crawled into the bed that was given so graciously by his sister. Underneath the cover, he laid his head upon the soft cushion and drifted off to sleep for the first time since leaving Ballymare. ------------------------- The scream that assailed her ears woke her quite suddenly, and at first she thought it was a dream that had awoken here, but soon a successive scream of equal quality cemented this concept. “Howard!” she whispered in fear, throwing from her embrace the counterpane from under she was, wings opened mirroring the panic she felt. Forgoing the lighting of a candle due to the urgency, she rushed, using her wings to speed herself through the door when a triennial blood-curdling cry sounded from behind the oppositely closed door. Arriving at the door she tried to open it, but found it locked following a fourth terror-stricken yell. In the darkness of the hallway she pounded upon the door shouting at the occupant. “Howard! Unlock the door! Howard! Howard!” But the only sound in response was yet another scream the subsequent silence filled only by an incoherent babble of sounds. Tears beginning to stream down her face as she felt helpless in the aid of her brother, she whispered painfully for him to unlock the door. No more outcries could be heard, but this only acted to further the alarm she felt, and, seeing no alternative if unsure of her strength, backed from the door reared up on her front legs and kicked down the obstruction. Though the room was dark, the light of the moon that spilled in from the window gave enough light to see by as she franticly looked about for the figure of her brother. The coverings of his bed were thrown to the floor a tangled mess, with pillows tossed across the room, creased and contorted. Though she could not see her brother, that unintelligible muttering still that held detectability gave evidence of another presence. Calmly, or more so hesitance at this unsettling scenario, she moved to the opposite side of the bed, poking her head around low, fearful of what she might find. She gave a gasp upon viewing his curled form, shaking profusely, one hoof place against his forehead as if in thought, the other waving through the air as if nervously giving a panegyric. Total concern shewed in her face, and she rushed forward to his side and took his head in her arms, previous hesitance banished from her actions. His tremors were nearly uncontrollable, and from this close proximity his gibbering could be made to form strange words as he spoke them constantly in a hushed tone. “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.” Minutes passed as she held him, waiting for this episode to pass, concern displayed through the creases in her eyes and the now drying tears. As time passed he shortened this to simply “Cthulhu fhtagn,” all the while he did not look at her, his eyes staring away at some vista of reality she hoped never to see. A bit of control seemed to return to him as he looked to her, his chanting finished, and asked, voice quivering: “Why do they chant those words so? In the fires of trees, and in that city of buildings so horrifying in their foreign design? Why?” tears welling in his eyes, words a harsh whisper, “I hear their words so foreign from my own, yet I understand the horrors of which they speak. They say when the stars are right he will rise from his house, how can I know what they say?” The fear in his face was of something she could never know, and she held him closer as she said: “I don’t know Howard, but they’re gone now, you’re here with me.” “Do not let them take me back, sister, those ghastly things with rubbery wings that drag me from my sleep to those grey worlds in nightmare’s well, those things that carry me with their stinging touch without sound and without faces, as they creep towards me on their skeletal legs, hands like bones in their lack of substance.” His hoof touching the side of her face as he pleaded with her, begged her. His hoof dropped as tears flowed down his cheeks, burying his face as he pressed against her. “I won’t,” came her solid reply. “They whisper their names to me,” came his muffled voice, twinges of terror rampant within his words, “Iä! Nyarlathotep, Iä! Shub-NIggurath the Black Ram of The Forest with a Thousand Ewes, Iä! Yog-Sothoth, give praise to the crustaceans of Yuggoth and their Tok’l. Always they say these things, always I understand them…always,” his shudders returning at the mention of these names. Stroking his head she tried to calm him by having him hush about these mentionings. “Shh…Howard, shh. Don’t talk about them; you’re here now, shh. You don’t have to be scared.” Her surroundings altered as she recalled the years directly prior to her residence in Ponyville, and her temporary living at the home of her brother in Rode Island. Having only gained her cutie-mark a few years prior she hoped to gain experience helping with the animals in the town of her brother. His only condition was that he be left alone during the nights he would read relentless by candle light: every night. During one of these escapades, she recalled being wakened by his frightful screams, she had tried to ignore so paralyzed was she, a result of her timidity, but when they would not cease and became so fierce she felt that he was in danger. Despite her intense fear of what was to come, she entered the study where he normally slept and found him shaking in the corner as she had to-night, even if the time it took her to reach the room was of a length much protracted. She remembered listened to his horrified whispering. It was at that moment that she felt she truly had a brother, for though she had fears of the world, whether justified or not, he felt something greater than all of her frightened anxieties, and needed a crutch on which to lean. His episode had lasted for days, and even after it passed the night terrors returned. He had told her that they were not new ailments, and that he had felt them throughout his colthood, but he did not wish to talk of these afflictions very oft, nor of the things he would see in nightmarish experiences, except during the nights when they struck would he whispered queer and terrible things. It was the care for him over that year, which taught her and refined the kindness that was now such a defining trait. She had only left him after he had assured her of his well-being in addition to help her procure a house here in Ponyville. She had hoped his so called ‘Night-Gaunts’ would end their ceaseless torment, but it appears that they had not subsided after all. She continued to hold him for many minutes, humming softly. The minutes turned to hours, and his tormented sobs finally reduced to laboured breathing, eventually becoming slow and uniform as sleep once again took him. He remained in the arms of his sister as he had once done, sheltered from the whispers by her love. Once the feint lightening of the sky that foreshadowed the arrival of dawn, she felt confident that he could remain alone, and, after moving his surprisingly light frame into the bed and returning the cover, she returned to her own bed, to sleep the last remaining hours until activity would begin in town. A few hours passed until she awoke from her slumber. Seeing the place of the sun through her window in the sky she knew the time was nigh that she would need to prepare for the days chores and errands. She exited the covering of her pink and red butterfly quilt and opened the door to her room and went across the hallway, the door to the guest room slighting ajar due to its being kicked in during the night. She pushed open the door and said: “Good Morning How…” but was cut short by his absence. The bed was made and the pillows replaced, with nothing to shew his former residence there except for two silver buckles placed upon a pillow, a compensation for the broken door. She ran down stairs in a sorrowful silence, and flung open the door to look for him, but no one was there, the trail untraveled. Though she felt unhappy at the suddenness of his departure, this did not hurt her, for she knew this to be how her brother always felt about her care of him, or about the actions of anypony that would be so selfless towards him: shame and the feeling that he did not deserve it. But the one thing she hoped most of all as she closed the door behind her was that he would remain safe during his journey.