Writing Fiasco

by Buttery Biscuit

Writing Fiasco

Fountain Pen loved Nightmare Night more than any other Holliday, even Hearth's Warming. This was his favorite holiday, everything about it was just the best. He loved getting scared, he loved getting free candy, he loved the parties, and he loved dressing up.  

Unfortunately, this year wouldn’t allow most of these things. Equestria was currently in lockdown due to a virus outbreak, which left Nightmare Night canceled and left Fountain heartbroken. Everything was canceled these days: concerts, parties, and even school for some time. He wouldn’t let any of this sway him, oh, no. Fountain joined a new social app created by Twilight Sparkle to help during the difficult times. Fountain joined some servers for fans of the elements, fans of horror, fans of writing fanfic, and fans of a kid's show. There he went by Belgian Waffle. 

This week on some of the servers, there were horror movie showings. Fountain made sure to make time for them. Even creating his own horror movie week after learning his internet friends hadn’t seen classics, like Stupid Movie Teens are Stupid, Evil Under the Bed, Chainsaw Muder one through three, and ending on Shut Up This Is Scary. Fountain also decorated his house, went to virtual Nightmare Night parties where he got to dress up, and bought discounted candy, the piles of “IShipIt” boxes littering his house evidence of that.

He was eating candy by the hooffull as he stared into his crystal ball, just hanging out in a few different chats when a light dig sounded. A red circle popped up on the app icon, a little white “1” inside it. Fountain had been at’ed! Who dares at him?! The audacity! 

Immediately, Fountain took to his laptop scrolling through his chat groups. Rain pitter-pattered at the white meshed windows of Fountain’s two-story home as he looked for the culprit of the ping. Sofa and Quills Speed Writing. A speed writing group that he had joined in the hopes of becoming a much better writer. See, Fountain, despite sharing a name with the famous writing utensil, was terrible with words in any form. He could barely even spell, but here he was, competing in contests with some of the best writers he had ever seen.

Carefully he read over the message sent in #announcements. 

Fountain could feel his heart pumping with anticipation. Tonight was perfect, not only because he was free, but more importantly, it was raining something fierce. Perfect weather for writing something bone-chilling. He wiggled back and forth with a smile, ecstatic to get a second chance at writing a horror story for the group. The last story he wrote, that one was yikes to put it as lightly and kindly as he could. It was unfortunate, horror was something he truly loved and he knew he could do it if he tried just one more time. He had an hour and that was plenty of time to get a rough idea. 

Fountain stared into the void of his computer screen, letting ideas flow through his mind:

‘Candy, but the candy = Sweetie Bell. So it is sweet to bite? No, too literal. 

A pony whose teeth are cursed to be candy? Candy Pony? Noooooo...

Candy, but it’s really a pony, but they don’t know it? No, not that one either.

Maybe a windy night, very scary, branches tapping at a window as it rained? The shadows could make a creature? No, not that one either. 

Something-something dark side? Something-something use the force?’ 

‘Terrible, all of those were terrible. Why was this always so hard?’ Fountain thought as he grumbled to himself. Rubbing his hooves through his sky blue mane, he tried his best to put together a single cohesive story in his mind. The storm certainly wasn't helping like he thought it would. The loud wind whined and and whooshed through the chimes Fountain’s parents hung on the tree outside. Fountain stuck out his tongue, squeezed his eyes tighter, and tried to think harder. Concentrate harder.

FUTZ

“AH!” Fountain jumped out of his seat as the power went out. “Stupid lights, thank you, I loved that,” Fountain hissed at the overhead light fixture. “UGH!” he yelled in frustration; these things were timed. Fountain was not a fast writer, but then again, he wasn’t fast in general. He was lucky to get anywhere close to ten words a minute. He needed all the time he could get, and with the power out and no other way to check the app, he wouldn’t get the notification that the contest had started. 

Fountain took one look outside his living room window and noticed all the other houses had their lights on, which meant it was only his problem. This also meant checking the fuse box unless he wanted to miss the contest, and there was no way in Tartarus he was going to miss that. 

Fountain made his way through the darkness of his living room to grab a light for the basement. It wasn’t connected to the inside of his house, making it an inconvenient design at best and a plot device at worst. There was no way he was bringing his several thousand-bit laptop outside, though it’s not like he could anyway, the small red battery logo in the bottom-right corner showing that only two percent was left. Fountain grunted as he cursed a string of curse words that would make even the most hardened sailor blush.

He had to find that light now. Carefully, Fountain placed his laptop on one of his ruffled dark blue wings, making extra sure it wouldn’t fall as he turned up the brightness. The pallid blue light settled over the furniture of his living room, making the decor itself look like something otherworldly as the balanced laptop shivered gently on his wing with each reserved step. The floor creaked and groaned under the weight of his hooves as he carefully shuffled off to the kitchen. 

Not a single time did his hoof lift from the old wooden floor. If he went too fast he could hurt himself badly. Even with the pale blue light, Fountain’s wings got in the way of most of the light. Casting large, jagged, predator-like shadows onto the floors and walls. Fountain watched those shadows closely as he squeezed through the kitchen doorway. The sharp jagged points making a confined hallway even more confined, at any moment those walls could touch Fountain’s side.

When he tore away from that door frame, the shadows were worse, twisting and disfigured on the patterned glass tiles of the kitchen walls. Fountain took a deep calming breath as he stepped on the tiled kitchen floors. The chill of them running another shiver up his spine and goosebumps all over his hide. He didn’t care, his hooves never left the ground as he meekly shuffled across the floor, bringing his body closer and close to the icy chill of the tiles, further away from the stalking shadows.

Suddenly, everything was cast in a flashing blood-red light. A built-in warning that his computer neared shutting down. The blood-covered teeth-like shadows getting closer and closer to Fountain every time he took a breath.

Fountain ran for the candles, tearing open the cabinets below the sink and diving underneath it. He pushed and tossed the cleaning supplies out, finding the electric candle in the back left corner. With shaky hooves, he scraped the tip of his left forehoof against the bottom of the candle. “Come on, come on, come on…,” he begged as he hit the button just as the computer turned off. 

“Thank you,” he said to the candle, as he trotted to the kitchen island placing his laptop on it. Taking a few deep breaths he tried to check the time but the oven timer just blinked 00:00:00 in green. He had no idea how much time was left until the contest, or if it even started. He could have enough time, he really didn’t want to miss it. 

Fountain looked at his front door and was filled with determination as he trotted for it. He wasn’t going to miss this. He just had to make it to the fuse box, and he was home free. Fountain opened his front door only to be greeted with the wind. Immediately he pinned his ears against his head, wind loudly rushing against him. Taking a look around he noticed more pitch dark houses. Trees were bent at a ninety-degree angle if they weren't already on the ground. The street was no longer just a street as a rapid stream of water rushed down it.

Fountain chose to stick close to his house, not wishing to be caught up in the storm. Luckily there was a well-placed plot bush next to his house. His parents carved a nice path out of it that went around a good portion of the house. 

Keeping his hoof over the electrical bits of the candle, he moved forward, hoping the candle wouldn't go out as well. Fountain crawled through the cramp leafy dark green tunnel. Occasional drips from the wet leaves falling onto his hide. 

‘Geez this is bad,’ Fountain thought. As the lightning cast leaf shadows everywhere. It made him jump every single time. He hoped his parents were alright. They had gone to Hoofsco for booze. It might be a while, he rather them stay there and not risk their life on the road home. A flash of lightning blinded him as he rounded the end of the tunnel. He covered his eyes with his free hooves as she tried to blink back his sight. He peered at the blurry bulky brown door to the basement.

There was only a little bit of land between him and the door, so Fountain ran for it with all he had. The quicker he was in there the less soaked he would be. He skidded to a stop in front of the door, splashing muddy water against a nearby tree. Cool mud polling around his hind hooves. He pulled at the brass handle with the hoof that had been shielding his eyes. 

It wouldn’t budge, a light flashed as he covered his eyes once more. Tucking the candle under his wing, he dug his hind hooves into the squishy ground. Muddy climbing further up his hooves. He grunted, pulling at the door even harder against the roaring wind.

As soon as he cracked it open the wind did the rest of the work, flinging it wide open with a huge SMACK. He winced as he heard the sound, he could see the dent, he could see the anger on his parents face. It was too late now. He could hear the anger in their voices as he stepped inside. 

Fountain put the candle down onto the floor, wiping his hooves off on the mat before fighting the door closed. It was a much more growling and tiring task than opening it as he fought against the roaring wind. 

Eventually, he got it to shut. He took a seat right after to stare at the flakey white roof. Deciding to turn his head to the side and he gulped down air greedily. He didn't want to inhale whatever that was.

Unfortunately, this view wasn't any better, a dark, dank, all-consuming abyss stared back at him. Basements. As a horror fan, Fountain hated and loved basements. He loved watching others be in them, he hated when he was in them. 

Every time he was down here all he could think about was every horror movie to take place in a basement. Now it was worse than ever since he just watched Basement Horrors Two: Black Mold. 

Fountain took another deep breath as he grabbed the candle in his hooves once more. Holding it close to the stairs, he carefully descended. This was real life, not some horror movie. Fountain would be just fine, just like always. He had been down here so many times, this was just another one of those times. 

Yes the kitchen scared him, yes the bush scared him, yes this basement scared him but how hard he tried to reassure himself. His heart badly rapidly, threatening to jump out his throat at any moment. His chest felt like a rope was tied tightly around it, leaving him gasping for air more than closing the door did.

‘It is just a basement, in my house’, was a thought he didn’t believe in. He closed his eyes tightly as he rounded the corner as he tried to calm his reeling mind. 'Just a basement, just a basement, just-'

Fountain opened his eyes and his scream could be heard in the next dimension. He dropped his candle. It shown a harsh pale white light onto a white eyeless pony, blood dripping from its mouth. “PLEASE NO!” He screamed, begged at the pony. It was over, his life was over, he was going to die, by, by, by-. 

The lights flicked back on, An old, unconvincing, Nightmare Night mannequin? Fountain took a closer look, it….wasn’t real? That’s when he remembered his mother mentioning buying up an old used Mannequin from Rarity, who was just going to throw it out. His mother must have made it up for halloween.

"Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Fountain whined as he laid down on the plush basement floor. He was going to miss the contest. He sighed as his heart jackhammered in his chest. It was unfortunate that he wouldn't make it back. This would have made a killer story.