Before this begins, I guess this requires a bit of context. 1: Snowdrop (the main character) I assumed everyone knew, hence the lack of description when it comes to her character and physical attributes. If you haven't already, read the prologue. 2: The story is still in MAJOR editing, so don't be convinced this is the final copy.
I only faintly remember what happened when I went on holiday to Ponyville all those years ago. What was supposed to be a short, week-long visit with my grandmother was interrupted when I came down with an awful illness. She thought it was only a small fever, and that I would get better in a few days. I didn't. My parents forced Grandmother to ring the local physician, even though she protested and said “It will clear up! Give it a few more days.” I sat, submerged in thought, waiting until at long last, the expected knock echoed throughout the house. Small murmurs bounced through the hallway until the sound of heavy hoof beats drew steadily closer to my room.
“Why hello!” a deep sounding stallion’s voice said as the door creaked open. “You must be Snowdrop. I’m Doctor Williams.” The doctor’s attitude practically lit up the room with optimism, and a very comforting feeling washed over me.
We spent the next hour with each other, him poking and prodding at my throat and torso. But with each instrument he used on me he became quieter and seemingly more desperate to find a positive sign of health. Eventually he packed up his things, exchanged a few thoughts with Grandmother, and left. Not a single word of farewell was spoken to me. Grandmother and I then sat in silence for hours. I occasionally asked what the doctor had said, but each question was met with a sharp hush from my elder.
That evening, when the door was knocked on a second time, the doctor -as well as my parents- walked in the door. My mother was in tears and my father was utterly silent, making me feel petrified of what was wrong. As the four of them spoke (me still lost in thought) I caught the words … fever, articular rheuma-something, and …terminal… I didn’t understand half of the strange phrases, but they still seemed to pierce my ears with bitterness and strain.
Yet another several hours passed by until I heard the door gently groan open, permitting the adults. They solemnly explained that I couldn’t go outside. At all.
Of course I was insurgent. “Can’t I at least play in the backyard?” I begged. My father said “No”, and I didn’t protest. I lawfully did as I was told and stayed in bed till everyone left.
The following days weren’t too bad. I listened to the radio, and Grandmother would read to me at night as I fell asleep. My parents frequently visited, bringing gifts and new toys and trinkets to entertain me, but I sensed something was wrong. My illness still plagued my mind and body, making me very weak, and my thoughts blurred. But aside from all of this, I felt a presence whenever I went to sleep. Almost as if somepony -or something- was watching. It wasn’t until I had been trapped inside for about two weeks that my suspicions were confirmed; On that night the strange presence made itself known to me.
“Call me Mr.Widemouth.”
He would say. I would never know what he looked like, but he described himself to me as
“A pony whose hooves had been split into five segments, and stood on its hind legs.” I imagined the thing in my head as a monster, but he was very friendly and kind to me. He played games with me, and read to me whenever Grandmother couldn’t; But I had also noticed that he would always become silent, and slither underneath the bed whenever someone else came into my room. When I had asked him why, he would always say
“I’m scared that if someone sees me, they won’t let us play together anymore.” Seemingly, that was reasonable enough, I thought. It was unpredictable how someone would react to such a strange looking pony, and they could very well be frightened by him.
One night I awoke with Mr.Widemouth leaning over me, his odorless breath blowing on my fur.
“Hey!” He rasped quietly. “I wanna play a game with you!”
“But it’s so late!” I replied drowsily. “Why can’t we wait till tomorrow?”
He thought for a moment. “Well… I wanna play a new game! But we have to do it now, or it won’t work.” he said. “C’mon!”
Mr.Widemouth leaped off the bed and began dragging me along with his soft, leathery hoof. “Just a little more now…” he whispered. I heard something slide open, and he lifted me up upon a hard, rubbery surface. The cold night air breezed gently through my thin coat.
“Mr.Widemouth… Where are we?” I asked, perplexed.
“We’re on the roof!” he replied excitedly. I gasped and took my hoof out of his.
“The roof? But I’m not allowed to go outside!”
“Oh, you’ll be fine! But here’s the game. Sometimes, I like to come up here and play ‘pretend’.” He explained. “I pretend that there’s a trampouline at the bottom of the house! If I pretend hard enough, when I hit the ground I bounce back up here without a scratch!”
“Oh…” I said sheepishly “That’s interesting. But I can’t really watch you…"
“No no no!” Mr.Widemouth clarified. “I want you to try it!”
“Me?? But I can’t really fly that well, and it’s probably a very long drop…”
“No, it’ll be ok! I know you can do it! You’ll have so much fun!”
After contemplating the situation for a few moments, I reached a decision “I’m sorry but… I won’t; no, I can’t do it.” I said sternly.
He grunted in anger and stamped on the shingles of the roof in a rage, but soon stopped and sighed calmly.
“Okay, ” he said, disappointed. We went back to my room and he crept under the bed again, grunting and groaning irregularly as he did so. I soon fell asleep, but had strange dreams and thoughts of Mr.Widemouth. When he had gotten angry, I felt truly terrified. Afraid that he would do… something. We didn’t play together for the next few days, and things got awfully drab without my new friend.
I occasionally looked under the bed for him, but would find nothing beside the empty space. I spent many nights and days alone, waiting for Mr.Widemouth. Eventually, I was awoken yet again by my friend. He knelt above me, breathing his warm breath on my fur again.
“Oh, you’re up!” he cried, jovial. “Did I ever tell you about that time I worked at a circus?”
I thought it was quite a strange question for this hour, but I replied in a polite manner anyways.
“No I don’t believe you did.” He stood, and I heard him shuffle over to the far corner of the room.
“Well, I did! I juggled… on a tightrope!” An eerie click echoed throughout the emptiness of the room, followed by a bit of rustling.
“I want you to learn how!” he rasped as he placed something very smooth and sharp into my hoof.
I gasped, and quickly withdrew.
"Knives??" I exclaimed.
“Yes knives. It’s easy! You just throw one up in the air and catch it when it falls down!” He again pressed the blade against my hoof, more aggressively now. Timidly, I grabbed the hilt and held it loosely. A…a knife… I thought to myself; my parents would kill me if they knew I had this.
“M-Mr.Widemouth…” I whispered. I felt his attitude intensify as he spoke.
“Yes, Snowdrop my good friend?”
“I-I…” I stuttered.
“Yes, what is it?” My hoof held the knife tighter.
“I-…I can’t.”
Mr.Widemouth went silent for a while.
“What do you mean, no? Remember, you don’t need to see the knives for this!” he said firmly. I continued, not willing to subject myself to this game anymore. It was clearly seeming like he wasn't my friend at all. By his actions, Mr.Widemouth was a sociopath, and most likely incapable of being a friend… just more of a friendly psychopath. “But, Mr.Widemouth… I. Won’t. Do it.”