Day 8
Do the terrors of this place never cease!? What I experienced in Sweetie’s dream, or, rather, nightmare, has put everything I have ever feared to shame. Even Sombra, the former king of fear, could not have conjured up something like this.
Even recalling these events fills me with dread, but I must persevere, for the sake of knowledge.
My observations have revealed that the locations of the dream pillars in this land roughly reflect the position of their dreamers in the real world (I say roughly because the distances vary unpredictably, but the direction is always consistent). As such, I was fairly easily able to locate the pillar belonging to Sweetie Belle.
It was not hard to identify. While other pillars have always exhibited a soft white-purple coloration, the mist that formed this one was black, almost like a storm cloud. Entering, I felt a slight bit more resistance than normal, but otherwise my passage was uneventful.
The world held within was a barren wasteland. The dry earth below my hooves was scorched and blackened, and no life grew from it. The sun that hung in the sky was not a bright yellow but a dull red, and it bathed the land in a dim red glow that came across as more sinister than inviting. Once again, it was completely silent, inviting memories of my last dream-walking to begin flooding my mind.
With a shiver, I began to wander the decrepit landscape, searching for any sign of its occupant. After what felt like hours of walking, I finally spied something in the distance. Galloping towards it, I found a replica of the boutique where Rarity lived and worked. Much like the rest of the dreamscape, however, it was old and in disrepair, the once vibrant paint peeling and the wood plagued by rot. The addition of the red lighting created a very ominous effect.
Gathering my courage, I entered the boutique. The interior was in a similar state of decay as the exterior. The ponyqiunn models that usually displayed Rarity’s newest designs were bare and toppled, some of them appearing to have been violently torn open, their liberated stuffing spilling out across the floor.
As I observed the state of the room, something dripped onto my shoulder. Gasping, I jumped away before looking up. Hanging from a rope tied to the ceiling was a rough burlap sack, a thick black liquid dripping from its soaked bottom. I shudder to think what was in that bag.
A sudden noise from the basement, thankfully, diverted my attention. Listening, I again heard it: a sobbing cry, and then the sound of something impacting something else. Cautiously, I made my way into the lower floor, dreading what I would find.
Sweetie Belle sat in the center of the room, sobbing, with a knife clasped in her hooves. Below her lay the mutilated corpse of her sister, Rarity. Multiple stab wounds covered the mare’s body, blood pooling around her mangled form.
While these images will haunt me for the rest of my days, they will never compare to the terror of the third figure in the room.
It is difficult for me to recall it, but I will do my best to describe the nightmarish being that stood over Sweetie Belle. It stood on two long spindly legs, almost like those of a spider. They ended in sharp points, making it seemingly impossible for it to balance upright, yet it somehow did. The legs connected to a long, thin, ropelike body, almost resembling a spine in the way it arched, but much too long. The creature stood at almost the height of a tree, easily towering over the little filly in front of it. Two arms emerged from a point at the top of the spine, long and thin, and bending at odd angles from their three joints. They reached almost to the floor, where two hands, each with three fingers, sprouted. Its hands were wrapped around Sweetie’s forelegs, the ones gripping the knife.
And the creature’s head, oh sweet Celestia its head! Hanging from a bent neck that was the same thickness as the rest of the creature’s body and was almost a meter long, the head of the creature was that of a pony. Its mane hung down, almost to the monster’s midsection, while its eye sockets were empty and hollow. The creature’s mouth appeared to be stitched shut, but it was clear that it was smiling!
My attention was torn back to Sweetie Belle as the filly raised her hooves for another strike, but on closer inspection, it was clear that it was not her doing. Her hooves were being gently raised by the creature’s long arms, in a way that made me think of a filly playing with a doll.
The creature was forcing the young and traumatized filly to murder her sister.
And it was enjoying it.
Paralyzed by shock, I could do nothing but stare as the filly, guided by the nightmare standing over her, slammed the knife into her sister’s chest. And did it again.
And again.
And again.
I could not even move as a massive concussive blast erupted behind me, throwing me across the room and into a pile of boxes, which fell on top of my frozen body, obscuring me from sight, as well as cutting off my vision of the room.
“AWAY FROM OUR SUBJECT, MOST FOUL OF CREATURES!”
There was only one mare I had ever met who would talk in such a fashion. My suspicions were confirmed by Sweetie Belle’s next, desperate exclamation:
“Luna! Hel-”
Unfortunately, this was all I would hear, as I suddenly felt myself being dragged through the walls of this reality by the golden lifeline around my horn.
It appears that some form of my fear and shock had somehow been imparted to the sleeping consciousness of the physical Twilight, causing her to wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat. She did not return to sleep for the remainder of the night.
This incident brings with it a whole new set of questions. What was that creature? Why was it forcing Sweetie Belle to… to…?
And what role does Princess Luna play in any of this?