Don't Look A Gift Horse In Innsmouth

by Bronio Kröger

Chapter Four: Of the Banishment of Miss Heartstrings, and Strange and Esoteric Pursuits.

Her sudden and tumultous absence precluding the possibility of true trial, Miss Heartstrings was nonetheless proclaimed guilty in absentia of ... of what? We had no words to describe what had been done to us. The cold and clinical "improper use of magic" was wholly insufficient to describe the enormity of the violation she had inflicted upon Ponyville. This impasse was transcended with the aid of the esoteric and foreign Zecora, a sorceress of some renown who dwelt in barbary upon the fringes of the Everfree Forest. She suggested terms that were but mere rumour to us: words like witch-craft.

Thus condemned for witch-craft and her malevolant designs, Miss Heartstrings was retroactively banished from Ponyville upon pain of imprisonment. Most were satisfied with this resolution, believing it best that the witch were never to be seen nor heard from again.

I say most because a few were profoundly distressed by this decision. Chief among them were myself and the sorceress Zecora; for we believed that, left unchecked, the dark and cthonic magic harnessed by Miss Heartstrings would prove to be the direst mischief for Equestria. Yet, oddly enough, the most affected by the banishment was Miss Bon; despite the logical assumption that Miss Heartstrings' absence would relieve her suffering, Miss Bon further deteriorated. Her paranoid rambling accelerated into an incoherent whinnying, incapable of conveying a fully structured train of thought. Out of concern for Miss Bon, we had her committed to the Ponyville Sanitarium. Convinced that time and the loving ministrations of our medical professionals would help restore Miss Bon to normalcy, we let the afflicted mare convalesce in peace.

Sadly, my dearest Princess, this was not to be. Rather, Miss Bon's raving grew increasingly frantic, and ever fixated on the subject of Miss Heartstrings' mutated -- neigh, mutilated hooves. "Her hands, her hands, I must see her hands!" she would exclaim, until such ejaculations became the greater part of her speech, such as it was. It was no great surprise to me, thus, when she finally escaped the grounds of the Ponyville Sanitarium. As you might suspect, dear Celestia, the hoofprints lead directly to the Everfree Forest. The authorities halted the search there, unwilling to risk their own lives in such a wild and savage place. Indeed, as Mayor Mare told me, "Her mind has gone anyway; she's an animal! She'll do just fine there ... just fine..." her voice trailing off into a mutter. Mayor Mare's gravitas had failed her, as it had failed all the citizens of Ponyville. Indeed, I discerned a palpable sense of relief in Mayor Mare's words. For nopony could explain what had happened in the town, and the departure of Miss Bon had liberated the townsponies from the forcible reminder of their ... violation.

However, my dearest Celestia, I am a pony of science; to that end, I felt compelled to seek each loose thread and see where it ended. In retrospect, it seems that I too had become ensnared by a compulsion of sorts; yet, I feel, this compulsion was borne of concerns for the well-being of Miss Bon and my nagging fear that Miss Heartstrings had more mischief in store. Alone and under cover of night, I left the town and stole away toward the Everfree Forest. Though great horrors were rumored to dwell under the gnarled boughs of that damnable wold, I remained undaunted. Plunging headfirst into the wood, I used my magic to illuminate the hoofprints of Miss Bon. Faint as they were, I saw where they wended their way toward the center of the forest.

My dear Princess, let it be stated here that of all the holy laws in the Ponytateuch. your proscription on entry to the Everfree Forest was the wisest law handed down from your everlasting grace unto mortal ponykind. For, indeed, the center of the forest contains a clearing filled with ruins. These ruins are older than imagination; the crumbling temples of a civilization once mightier than ours by orders of magnitude remained as mute testimonials to the sin of hubris. Though my knowledge of Old Horse runes was rusty, I was able to ascertain that the towers and pyramids at the dark heart of the forest are none other than the Lost Temple City of Neighniveh, where the titanic forebears to our kind, the Neighphilim, dwelt and dared to strive against your holy word. It was here, where your wrath had succeeded in eliminating the blasphemers, that I found Miss Bon.

Alas, I found her too late! For as I passed through the marble neighcropolis and approached the central temple complex, I saw a faint and sickening green glint from the top of the northmost building. The flash of nauseating light emerged from the topmost chamber of a giant ziggurat, covered in eldritch runes and cuneighiform scratches. These markings bore the name of the dark god, Akhal-Teke, to whom the temple was dedicated. As I examined the votive finials, I suddenly heard a piercing whinny; it was none other than Miss Bon.

As secrecy was of the essence, I crept up the hundreds -- neigh, thousands of steps to the top of the ziggurat as silently as I could. Alas, my need for stealth may have turned to be Miss Bon's undoing, for as I arrived at the top, hiding behind columns, I heard a sickening crunch sound, followed by a nauseating tearing noise. Peeking around the corner, I caught a glimpse of a most terrifying tableau; Miss Bon, dead and atop a rectangular altar. Behind her stood Miss Heartstrings, using her telekinesis to literally rip Miss Heartstrings apart, Miss Bon's blood running in rivulets down the stone and onto the floor. Would that this gore be all I saw! Alas, I was doomed to see more, the very memory of which induces palpitations and retching.

For, my dearest Celestia, Miss Heartstrings was using her telekinesis to -- the horror, the horror! -- extrude Miss Bon's viscera to form strings for her lyre. All the while Miss Heartstrings muttered to herself in an oblivious trance, "it must be strung with horsegut, it must be strung with horsegut, it must be strung ..." If she said more, I was unaware, for I was transfixed upon the glassy-eyed rictus of Miss Bon. It was evident that her death was both painful and terrifying beyond compare. I silently sent a prayer of mercy to you, my dear Princess, for her safe passage to the fields of Fillysium.

My silent elegy was broken by Miss Heartstrings caressing the bone-harp with her foul, deformed, tentacular split hooves. As these protuberances glided along the bone, the eldritch runes covering its exterior began glowing as if embers in a fire. Our efforts in town were for naught; for the lyre existed anew, strung with Miss Bon's very intestines. I feared the worst, for nothing but mischief was to follow.

I silently cast the protection ward upon me; my premonition was wise, for soon thereafter Miss Heartstrings began to play the new lyre with her sickening, mutilated hooves. She began to chant, in a gravelly, horse voice:

With this her hooves went still, and the lyre went silent. After a moment of complete quiescence, the altar began to glow a sickly green; above it appeared a mist that began to congeal and grow thicker with each passing moment. As the mist condensed, it too began to grow a sickly green, brighter and brighter until it finally was a dazzling flame. I reflexively averted my eyes, but sensed ... a presence emerging from this cloud. It was massive, and reeked of death and decay. The sickly color left a greasy feel upon my hair and mane; whatever creature this was, it was not of our world and its very presence polluted the air around us.

Then the creature spoke. Some of its words were unfamiliar and unpronouncable to me; I have transcribed to the best of my ability in Equestrian.

"Whoa there, whoa." It spoke harshly, with a hissing sibilance to its voice. "You have sssssserved usssss well, pard'ner. We are ready to enter your world sssssoon."

Lyra responded in a trembling and humble voice: "Thus speaks Kikkuli, master horse trainer of the land of Mitanni. Um-ma Kikkuli Luashushanni, sha kur uru-mitanni!"

The creature continued. "Yesssssss. We mussssst continue while the sssssstarssssss are right. You mussssssst perform the intervalssssssss -- the wartanna. Firssssssst one interval, aiga-wartanna, then three: tera-wartanna, then five, ssssssseven, nine; panza-wartanna, satta-wartana, nawa-wartanna. This mussssssst be done while the sssssstarsssss are right." Its voice trailed off into a foul hiss. I knew not what these "intervals" were, but I knew that they were doubtless portents of evil.

"I live only to serve you, Kikkuli the Whisperer. Command that I might obey," came a timid reply from Miss Heartstrings.

"You musssssst continue to Insssssssmouth. There, our high priesssssstessssss will show you the nexssssst sssstep. Go now! Giddi'yap!" I shuddered at the recollection of that arcane and unholy word, not of our language nor our world.

A grinding sound, as if of great stone blocks crushing against each other, nearly deafened me. The blinding glow receded, and I was able to look again at the altar. When I did so, neither the mist nor Miss Heartstrings were to be found.

My dearest Princess, I beg your forgiveness, for you now know what I did next: though Miss Heartstrings and her lyre had disappeared, I knew where they were headed. I resolved to follow her to Innsmouth and solve this horrible mystery once and for all.