//------------------------------// // The Next Day // Story: The Nightmare // by TheMusicalBoy93 //------------------------------// The Everfree Forest wasn't somewhere you wanted to be unless you had a good reason. Too many things lurked in here. Things that could turn you to stone, things that could swallow you in one gulp, things that would stay with you forever if you weren't careful. Visitors were discouraged unless they came prepared, and very few sane individuals made their home amongst the oppressive flora and dangerous fauna. Hell, the smell was off-putting enough; some source of heat – an underground spring or something similar – raised the temperature several degrees, but it also meant that the mingling scents of rotting flesh and decaying plant matter were rendered especially pungent. Still, it beat the foul stench of the Flutterbat, as Rarity had dubbed the creature. I opposed the portmanteau name, wishing to keep Fluttershy and the bat separate in my mind, but the name had stuck with the others. I'm on my guard as I approach Zecora's hut; I've never had a problem reaching it before, but the forest seems unusually menacing today, and I wonder if my own internal fears are being reflected in the environment around me. Maybe it's just the exhaustion playing tricks on me? My tired hooves make squelching noises in the soft, loamy soil, and I picture the ground suddenly giving way and swallowing me up whole. A pang of guilt thrills through me as I find the herbalist – some call her a shaman, some call her a witch doctor, but they're usually frightened ponies who have no idea what she really is – already waiting at the door for me. I don't get out here often enough, and when I do, it's usually because I need to enlist Zecora's help in sorting out some imminent peril befalling Equestria. Things never really change. If only her hut wasn't so far away from Ponyville. However far away it was from Ponyville, no one really knew just how distant it was from the lands Zecora called home. I'd never asked her, and she'd never spoken of her compatriots; I picture an entire tribe of shamanic-zebras, spreading out across the world, putting down roots wherever they think they'll be most needed. Certainly, Equestria would be a very different place if I couldn't call on Zecora's advice now and again. When I asked her why she lived out here in the forest rather than in Ponyville, she'd told me that there were dozens, if not hundreds, of plants that grew here that couldn't be found anywhere else. They had to be picked when the time was right, or they would be useless in her potions. “You look terrible,” Zecora said sympathetically, appraising me as I entered her hut with a definite slump in my withers. “The pain you are feeling must be unbearable.” “I can cope with the physical pain just fine,” I lie. Actually, I fear that the near-constant agony I'm in is going to slowly drive me insane, but it's just one more thing I'm pushing to the back of my rapidly-overcrowding mind. I'll worry about myself once I sort this nightmare out. If only I could sleep for a bit. The heady aroma of brewing leaves, coupled with the sedate warmth of Zecora's hut, is having a soporific on me. There's something very soothing about this part of the forest, and I wonder if that's why the zebra chose it in the first place. “What's going on here,” I add, tapping my chest, “is what really hurts.” Zecora looks at me with a benevolent expression; when I discovered that Fluttershy was still transforming into the bat-creature, she had been my first port of call, and she had promised to continue searching for an answer while we got on with keeping the monster confined and the residents of Ponyville safe. “When I was much younger,” she had once told me, “all too often, I made a blunder.” “With side-effects as bad as this?” I had enquired. The zebra had smiled, shaking her head. “Never like this, I'm afraid, but that never stopped me from fearing an upbraid.” She disappeared into the kitchen, and I must've spaced out for a moment because it seemed like she was only gone for a split-second before returning with a steaming bowl. “Drink this elixir,” the witch doctor said, pushing the dish under my nose, “and we shall begin forming a plan to fix her.” Something spicy hit my nostrils; I'm not much of a cook, so I couldn't even guess at what it was that was getting my snout all tingly, but it was definitely not unpleasant. Even the smell alone was doing much to revive my flagging spirits. Credit to her, Zecora really knows her stuff. Okay, it wasn't a hayburger with a side-order of fries smeared with ketchup, but beggars can't be choosers. No fizzy apple juice either. That's my idea of Heaven, anyway. Now I'm not much of a meat-eater; I have partaken once or twice, nibbled on something at a party just to be sociable, but it's never been a big thing for me. That said, as the warm, slightly-metallic taste of whatever it was – I'm not an expert, but I think it might've been beef – hit the back of my throat, I wasn't complaining. Zecora's soup was loaded with all sorts of fresh vegetables, ground herbs, spices and nuts, but it was the raw piquancy of the meat which lingered longest on my tongue. Maybe because it was such an unusual taste for me? Not unpalatable by any means, though the connotations of the act – consuming another animal for sustenance – did leave me feeling slightly regretful. One time, I watched Zecora preparing a potion and I'd asked her about the animal remains used; she told me that she never killed anything herself, but only scavenged what she needed from beasts that had already died. It made sense, I suppose; living deep in the Everfree Forest, with the nearest supermarket being bit of a trek from your home, you had to make sure that nothing ever went to waste. It was with a rather unmarelike slurp that I finished my soup – even if she noticed the loud guzzling sound, I don't think Zecora would've minded – and, for a second, I was the most content I'd been in a long time; not that it was much, but it was certainly an improvement over the last few, fraught weeks. I've never been overly self-conscious when it comes to eating, so I made sure to literally lick the bowl clean before pushing the bowl aside. I'm trying to hold on to the glowing hotness now suffusing my body, but I know it can't last for long. Funny. Just a couple of years ago, spending my days researching magic and spells with a like-minded individual would've made me as happy as a filly; breaking off only to eat and sleep every now and then, not having any other care in the world but for the joy of studying. Mm. Sleep. “I wish there was more time to let you repose,” Zecora said sharply, cutting into the serene haze that had descended over my mind, “but before I can let you do that, the Flutterbat we must depose.” The periphery between consciousness and unconsciousness is an interesting state; everything feels as though it has been drenched in treacle, even time itself. Every sense operating at a diminished rate, until it feels as though you're trapped inside a bubble and the world is passing you by. I feel as though I've been trapped in this frame of mind forever, even though I know it's only been a few weeks. My memories have begun to run together, and keeping everything straight is becoming increasingly difficult. Between trying to keep the library running – Celestia would soon become suspicious if it was kept closed for too long – finding a way to help Fluttershy, and keeping the beast she transformed into in check, I can't remember any other time when I'd felt so much pressure on my shoulders. Discord. Queen Chrysalis. King Sombra. I would rather take any of those three – Hell, all of them together – than face this. At least with my friends by my side, I'm confident that we'll always prevail. “Do you have something?” I ask, hope making my voice crack. “I feel like we've tried everything at this point.” I know it's a rather petulant thing to say; if we really had tried everything, we would've found a solution. No problem is truly inextricable. Understanding what had gone wrong was the first step to finding a cure; the fruit bat influence had been removed from Fluttershy's body, but the vampiric half was still lodged in there somewhere, in the deepest recesses of her soul. It slept there until nightfall; some quirk of sunset triggered the metamorphoses, although we don't know if it's the light, some kind of cosmic radiation, or if the beast simply prefers the dark. Whatever the reason, it was proving nigh-impossible to shift. I don't want to think of it as an entity in its own right; it makes thing easier if I consider it nothing more than a parasite, feeding off the body of my friend, but it seems too … perspicacious to be just a mindless, rampaging demon. It knows we're trying to kill it; it fights back when we use magic, it spits out or potions, it laughs every time we fail to end it. When this is all over – if it's ever over – the laugh is what I'm going to be hearing in my nightmares for the rest of my life. The ugly, grating howl of a beast celebrating its victory. Even now, in the safety and warmth of Zecora's hut, I'm shaking as I recall the creature being mere inches from my snout and cackling ruthlessly. It was with a profound sense of uneasiness that Zecora spoke, “There is one other method that could see an end to this sad venture, but it entails great risk, and you may end up as the demon's thirst-quencher.” “That's all I am to it at the moment,” I say in an annoyed tone, indicating the myriad wounds I've picked up over the weeks. The fact that the shaman hadn't brought it up before now, though, was sparking off some doubts in my mind; it was easy enough to guess that it was something terribly drastic, given that we'd exhausted all other options ages ago. Guess she finally gets just how close to the edge we are. “The others, too. What's your idea?” “The vampiric influence is a magical infection of sorts, therefore it stands to reason that it would be capable of resisting magical intervention,” Zecora explained. “In order to draw it out of sweet Fluttershy and restore her to normal, we may have to do something that will cause you some perturbation.” I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, knowing instantly what the witch doctor's words were implying. “If we keep it starved, close to death,” Zecora went on, her voice turning dark with a hint of menace, “then we may be able to trap the monster on its last breath.” Yup. Drastic. It was certainly that. If we got this even a little bit wrong, we would kill Fluttershy as certainly as we would kill the monster residing within her. And if it was a magical infection, then it would be free to seek out another host. Even if we succeeded in this … “How do we trap it? How do we stop another pony getting infected when its forced from her body?” “With some effort, a soul container I can create,” the zebra replied, looking reluctant, “caught within its walls, the monster's curse will soon abate.” “I take it making a soul container is, um, problematic?” I ask with a frown. “Yes.” That brought me up short. I'm so used to Zecora's rhyming couplets that her abandoning of that convention has brought me out in a cold sweat. “What does it require? Whatever it is, I'll make sure that you get it.” “A piece of a willing pony's soul must be sacrificed to create the vessel,” expounds the witch doctor gravely, “to serve as a catalyst that will capture the devil.” “You can have mine,” I say without hesitation. This whole sad catastrophe was my fault, and it's only fitting that I be the one to put it to rights. “Be warned, Twilight Sparkle, this procedure will leave you … lessened,” advises Zecora, her look is ominous. “Your magic, even your life, might be relinquished.” “But this will save Fluttershy?” I insist, ignoring the fact that the words didn't quite rhyme. A nod. “Then, do it.”