Perhaps Death

by WritingSpirit


The Trottingham Ghoul: Part 1 - Daughter Of Mine

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Pay attention.





Have I got your attention? Wonderful. Brilliant.





It's best to be paying attention. Have your senses acute, your focus narrowed, your mind closed onto what I'm saying.





For what I may or may not say would be the very next thing that would save your life.





Advice from me to all of you.





Pay attention.





Pay close attention.


1008 AC, First Fall, 6, 11:52:43

We could've been anywhere.

No, really, we could've been anywhere.

I could've been scooping pints of vanilla ice cream off the shores of Creme Bay. I could've been having a battle with Dune Scorpions in the sandswept deserts of Demerista Five. I could've been listening to the galactic cries of space whales in some distant star cluster or even visit my other selves in a secret place where the Doctors shall only gather for a once in a lifetime party, to which I knew would be coming one day because I saw this lanky pony which was myself wearing a fez and drinking out from a bowl of custard before I became him.

I could be doing so much more. Oh, so much more.

Instead, I am in Trottingham.

Trottingham was one of the few pony settlements in the griffon kingdoms, located at the very north of the Griffish Isles. Life in this city was humbler than the daily going-ons of Canterlot and Manehatten, though certainly much busier than the smaller towns such as Ponyville, High Horn Gulch and Dodge Junction. Being home to pony and griffon alike, it was no wonder to see the cultures of both species flourishing within this town.

There was the fine and dandy Old Market Square, where some of the oldest churches and apartments still stand amid boutiques, theaters, halls and malls. There were the many pubs around where joy can be found in bundles. There were the music halls and venues all across town, with bands of ponies, griffons and sometimes a wonderful mix of both taking the stage and showing their strut. There were the parks, the art sculptures, the tabloids, the galleries, the cathedrals, the architecture— I could list on and on about the many wonderful things in Trottingham and you will never hear the end of it.

Still, I am in present-day Trottingham.

Not even a skip into the past or a hop in the future, just... here.

I am in Trottingham.

I have a time travelling blue box that could go to the very ends of space and I am now in Trottingham.

Alright. I'm calm. There we go. The Doctor is alright now, everybody!

Now, for those who haven't quite caught up to the story, or just plainly skimmed through the scribbles of my internal rants, we were in Trottingham. By definition of we, it would be myself, the Doctor of Gallopfrey, my marefriend Twilight Sparkle of Canterlot and the latest addition to the pool, Caramel of High Horn Gulch. On the notion of why we were here, however, I'm still currently in the middle of figuring it out.

"...and that's the statue of Robin Hoof, sculpted by Hames Woodford," Twilight's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Trottingham always celebrated Robin Hoof and his band of Merry Ponies. You heard of them, didn't you Caramel?"

"I think I did, from stories I heard when I was small," Caramel answered, straining his head. "Wasn't he some sort of thief?"

"The best kind. He robbed from the rich and gave it to the poor."

"Or that's what the legends say," I added, smirking at Twilight's deadpan stare. In case any of you were wondering, yes, Robin Hoof is very real. I had met him and... well, let's just say he leaned a little more towards the 'robbing from the rich' portion of his associated catchphrase. The truth can be a little hard sometimes.

What she said reminded me why we were in Trottingham. Looking at this place, it was quite a quaint town of ponies and griffons, all busy as the day lingers on. Neither Twilight nor Caramel had ever been here before, so Twilight thought it would be great for us to take a stop and have a little look around. I, for one, am a little too soft to her to ignore such a plea, so here we are in Trottingham.

I don't really know how long we were actually there just to trot about and go sightseeing. I hate sightseeing. Really, why sightsee when you can have a little adventure, eh? If my history lessons were of any use to me, Trottingham was a hub of adventure back in the day, back when Equestria was in its rebellious years. Now, where would an adventurer look to start his little adventure?

Simple.

Where the ponies go for a little toasty mug of cider.

"Ye Olde Bell Inn!" I announced the name of our latest destination. "One of the oldest of the oldest of Equestria's pubs. Whadaya say? Care for a little drink?"

"I don't know," Twilight muttered worriedly. "I mean... I've never really, well, drank before—"

"What? Are you serious?"

That wasn't me, by the way. Those words came from our ever illustrious Caramel, much to my surprise. I'm not one to make judgments about him drinking at such a young age, but it would seem he has affirmed that thought. One of the many wonders of youth, it seems.

"Well then, I know just the drink for first-timers like you," he declared, already about to trot in. "Come on! Won't know it till you try it!"

"Turner?"

"Well, doesn't hurt to try, eh Twilight?" I added, chuckling at how uneasy she was. "Don't worry! We'll make sure nothing happens to you."

Before any speculations can be made, no, nothing happened to Twilight while were in the pub, or any of us, for that matter. The most that happened to her was the coughing fit she had after her first try, but otherwise that was pretty much it. Caramel chugged a wooden mug or two down while he had a chat with Twilight and some of the other patrons, be it pony or griffon. I, on the other hoof, have something more interesting in mind. I slunk to the other side of the bar and called for a mug, watching as the bartender — quite a gorgeous mare, by the way. Primrose unicorn with streaks of maroon in her white mane — handed me another serving of cider, fresh from the barrel. Before she could turn around, however, I quickly slid an extra bit towards her, to which she stared blankly at me, looking rather amused.

"Tip for a tip?" I inquired, smiling. "Any um... mysteries that come by your ear?"

"That's er, pretty medieval of ya, don't you think?"

"Ah, well, yes, but!" I exclaimed flusteredly, glancing over my shoulders warily as I leaned in closer. "I'm sure you've heard some rumours here and there, eh? Care to share some with me?"

"Mind you, sir, I'm not the one with the rumours. That chap Gwyfthion, on the other hoof..."

I could only stare at her at that point.

"Sorry, who?"

"Gwyfthion, or for short, Gwyfth. I know, I know, can be a mouthful, but he's the one you're looking for."

The mare then pointed me to a table in the corner, where a cloaked figure enshrouded in shadow sat, a single flickering candle giving me a glimpse of a weary, black beak. His talons were sharp and glinting, scratching into the wooden mug he held in his grasp. His eyes were a piercing, unforgiving green, darting across the room and staring daggers into the hearts of anyone who dared to incite his wrath.

"He can be a little hot tempered at times, but he means well," the bartender added. "Though he has a few problems of his own to deal with recently."

"Really?" I asked, intrigued. "What kind of problems?"

"Strange things were happening around town. Something about ponies and griffons going missing. Gwyfth took it a little personally about that, but I don't know much about the details, so you gotta ask him about it yourself."

Missing citizens of Trottingham, eh? Any disappearance is rather unnatural: I've dealt with disappearances myself, yet something about this case was bothering me. Something was off, though I can't quite put my hoof on it, but there's one thing I am fairly certain of.

The Doctor has found his little adventure.

"Of course! Thank you, miss, uh..."

"Sugar Plum," she answered, giggling. "Thanks for the tip!"

I gave her grin and a tip of my bowtie, gently picking up my mug of cider before trotting over to the shady figure in the corner. His wary glance picked me out of the crowd, warily watching every step of my dandy way. Before he could utter whatever vulgarities to sweep me away, I placed the mug of cider on his table.

"On the house," I said, seeing how puzzled he was. "Mind if I have a seat?"

A gruff sigh, before the figure gave a nod.

Helping myself, I settled down and got a better look of this old fellow, which I would think made him more intimidating than shady. Slit across his left eye was a scar that left a dastardly mark on his fading, russet plumage. His beak was bruised, likely from a brawl or whatever griffonly act of violence he commited. Despite being hidden in the shadows, I could make out a faint tracing of his wings and, to be honest, they were huge! He'd probably be twice as large if he stretched those two babies out!

"You must be, uh..." I paused to think. "Geronimo of Griffy-Gruff-Griffonsville."

"Gwyfth," he rasped coldly. "Of Trottin'ham."

"Ah, yes, that," I quickly answered, laughing nervously. "So, word around the street is you know the word around the street."

"What 'ye want?"

"Well, I want a story. Maybe a bit for a tale about, let's say... folks going missing?"

"Ya here to wind me up? That it?"

"No! No, uh, winding up... thing!" I protested, reaching for my wallet. "Look, I'm here to help. I'm with the authorities."

The griffon's eyes had a slight spark. "Yer a constable?"

"Yes, I am," I answered, flipping my wallet open to reveal my psychic paper. It was a handy little tool, this piece of paper, though I don't really use it when It comes to ponies, mostly because the trick isn't guaranteed to work all the time. Why it doesn't work, I suspect it has something to do with the inherent magic that all ponies have, which somehow negates that effect it was suppose to bring. As for griffons... er... first time for everything. "Here's my identification."

Gwyfth's eyes squinted down at my paper. I held my composure, my confident grin widening as he leaned in closer to have a better look of... whatever he believes he's looking at. He then glances at me, then back to my paper with a crinkle of his beak, before frowning at me with talons crossed.

"T'is blank."

Well, burn me up in a sackful of bowties.

"I-It is?" I stuttered, noticing his feathers beginning to ruffle. "I, buh— I mean, yes! Of course it is! Wait, no! It's a— it's... bl-blank?!"

"Ye think I'm a fool?" he growled, loud enough to catch the attention of some of the other patrons. "Ya here to scorn me, yeah?! Just like the others, ain't ya?! Ya boys never learn!"

"No! Wait, um, uh... Gwyfth! Yes! Gwyfth!"

I could feel the multitude of stares coming at me. Even Twilight and Caramel had stopped mid-laughter to look at me, already off their barstools and on their hooves. Before I could speak any further, Gwyfth grabbed me by my bowtie — yes, my bowtie! — and yanked me towards him, the tip of his beak alarmingly sinking into my snout.

"Listen well, little pony," he hissed. "I'm not one to play games with and when I do, I don't play nice."

"Let him go!" Twilight yelled, defiantly stomping a hoof forward. "Let him go now or I'll get the guard!"

"Fine by me, lass!" he chortled, waving his free talon. "Go! Get the guard! I'll give yer friend here a nice beating while ya at it."

"Gwyfthion Blacknail, let him go right now or I'll swear to both Celestia and Grover I'll give you the boot!"

Sugar Plum's voice was the voice of authority in this pub; a fact made known to me the moment the griffon pushed me back down onto my seat, before he heftily fell back onto his, his scowl and presumably his grudge against me growing by the second. I gave the bartender a hasty nod of thanks.

"Are you okay, Doctor?" Twilight worriedly asked, she and Caramel coming up to my side. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," I said, before turning back to the griffon. "Alright, now that we've got that out of the way—"

"Ya just don't know when to quit, don't ya?" Gwyfth groused.

"You're right, I don't." I then gave a tap on the side of his mug of cider that I had given to him, to which he raised his eyebrow. "However, there is one thing I'm pretty certain of. I know when someone is in desperate need of help, especially when that someone had almost given up all hope that help would come. Like you, I can tell that something strange is happening in this town."

Gwyfth's eyes widened with genuine surprise.

"You too?"

"What do you mean?" Caramel piped in.

"Sugar Plum told me about ponies and griffons going missing," I explained to my two companions. "That's the strange thing, see? We're in Trottingham, a town no larger than Canterlot where everypony may or may not know everypony. One day, families, friends and neighbours were starting to disappear. Ponies and griffons are gone, one by one. If that really is happening in Trottingham, then why didn't anyone do anything yet?"

Both of my companions stopped to think. "When you say that..." Twilight began. "It is a little strange. The whole time we were around town, no one looked worried or anxious or anything like that. Even right now, everypony's just enjoying themselves. If ponies and griffons are going missing, shouldn't they be looking around instead?"

"I don't see any 'Missing' posters around town either," Caramel added. "It's as if they just vanished and everyone in Trottingham completely forgot about them."

"Exactly. No one's caring. No one's looking for them. Everypony's just acting as if nothing happened," I answered. "All except one."

All three of us looked at Gwyfth, the griffon staring somberly into his mug of cider. With a gruff sigh, Gwyfth chugged down the last of his drink, savoring it within his world of hopelessness and despair. Not many folks I know went to that world, but those that did never volunteered. It was all a chain of events that blindly lead them there, trapping them in a universe of illusion. A universe where they believed that nothing mattered anymore. One of us has to get the others out of it, don't you think?

"There's an old estate west of 'ere, on the top of a hill," he explained grimly. "Belonged to this lord from back then when Trottin'ham's just a wee little town. Always really mysterious, that house, but the ponies there mean well. Been there myself once: whole of Trottin'ham was invited to a party in their gardens. Quite a large place they have, if I do the judging."

"And the disappearances?" I egged on.

"One day, the owners came to town," he said in a hushed voice. "Said they wanted some extra hooves and talons in the estate. Pay was much more than the average joe was earnin', so many of the folks wanted in. Some of them got in and everything was fine for a while, but then some folks start to go missing."

"So all the workers who signed up were going missing?" Caramel asked.

"S'not like that," the gryphon muttered. "Not all of them went missing. Them folks who came back after workin' there had stories. Place was haunted, they said. Some sort of shadow lurking on the grounds. The Trottin'ham Ghoul, they called it. Some of 'em folks said that when you see it, you'll never leave the house. You'll be cursed to stay and none of Trottin'ham will ever hear from you again. That's what happens to the ones that went missing, they said."

"Interesting..." I mused, thinking. "And why would you know all of this?"

Gwyfth's glance shifted back to his drink, tightening his grip on the mug. "Daughter of mine, Gwendolen," he answered despondently. "Been workin' at the house for few months. My lil' girl's been sendin' letters every day about what she's been doing. Most of them's just 'bout them owner's kids," the griffon stopped to chuckle, though his dispirited frown returned almost immediately, "then one day, the letters just stopped comin'. Like she just vanished or somethin'. I tried writin' back, but she never answered. Went to the house meself and asked for her, though they wouldn't let me in. Said everyone's too busy to have a chat and everything."

"Right, so we got ponies and griffons vanishing, the rest of this lot not caring and a ghost," I connected the dots. "All this, in a house on the hill. Remember our last visit to a house on the hill, Twilight?"

"Don't remind me," Twilight grumbled with a shiver. "So what do you think, Doctor? Is the house really haunted?"

"There are no such things as a haunted house. There are only unwanted guests."

"But the creature!" Caramel exclaimed. "This... Trottingham Ghoul—"

"Either somepony had a really good prank and a funny sense of humor, or Trottingham has a big pickle to sort out. I need a good look of the creature to be sure."

"Wait, you intend to hunt this creature down?"

"Ah, yes, right, forgot the introductions!" Immediately, I gave Gwyfth a hug and a dainty kiss on each of his cheeks, leaving him stunned and my marefriend giggling. "Name's the Doctor! Just the Doctor! Evening! This is Twilight Sparkle and this here is Caramel," I finished, gesturing to both of them. "Twilight and Caramel, this here is Geronimo—"

"Gwyfthion."

"Yes, that, now!"

I felt my spirit burning within me. Here it is, in the middle of boring, old Trottingham: the adventure I was seeking for! Yeah, sure, I had been to the most wonderful of places these past few days, but this! This is what I'm missing!

"The Trottingham Ghoul," I dipped my voice in a pool of looming suspense, marching towards the front door with Twilight, Caramel and Gwyfth trotting along, listening attentively to every word I say. "A ghost in a mansion at the top of a hill. A ghost that takes the living away, never to be seen again. There is only one question I would ask right now, and that is this."

My two companions, Twilight especially, shook their heads, to which I grinned.

"Is it me or Nightmare Night came early this year?"

A brief moment of thought.

"Never studied a ghost before..." Twilight Sparkle was the first to respond from within the throes of her boundless curiosity, before laughing her excitement out. "Don't even need to ask! Count me in, Doctor!"

"Well, I'm stuck with you two, aren't I?" Caramel remarked with an unsure smile. "Yeah, I guess I'll just tag along."

"Brilliant! Now then, west of here, right?"

"I-I guess so, yes," Gwyfth replied, almost breathless. "Listen uh, Doctor. Would you perhaps grant me a favor?"

"About your daughter, Gwendolen, eh?"

"Y-Yes. Please, Doctor," he implored. "Please bring my daughter back. She's the only fledging I had after my mate left this earth. She matters to me more than my own life had ever been, Doctor, and I would ask nothing more of you than to see her safe in your company."

"Gwyfth, I can't promise that. Not yet."

The look of appall on his face was expected, as was the shock of my companions. Before any of them could voice their opinions, I proceeded with my explanation. "I don't want to make promises I can't keep, Gwyfth. Saving your daughter, your dear Gwendolen, and bringing her back to you alive... this isn't the first time I made this promise, Gwyfth, but you see, time has its way of doing things to us that we don't understand. Time can give you all the things in the world and take it all away in a blink of an eye. Time can give you all of hope, only to drop you down in a spiral of loss and agony. So, as much as I would love to say yes, I'm sorry. I can't make that promise."

To the griffon, it felt like the world came crumbling down his shoulders, his last sliver of hope, bruised and battered, had just been trampled by my words. He was giving up, I could see it in his eyes. Still, I wasn't quite done just yet.

"But there is one promise I can make," I continued, snapping him out of his blue daze. "I'll be looking for her. If she really is still in the house, I'll find her. I'll do everything in my power to find out where she is. If I find her alive, then maybe, just maybe, I can promise that I'll bring your daughter back to you."

"Th-Thank you..."

With a glimmer and a nod, Gwyfthion Blacknail returned to his seclusion, this time with his hope burning brighter than before. I'd say that talk went well, even though it headed just a little south in the middle. With that done, I turned back to my companions, though I stopped short at their smiles. Those strange pair of weird smiles.

"What?" I brushed them off, marching out into the open.

"Oh, nothing," Twilight replied in a singsong voice.

"Right, nothing!" Caramel exclaimed in agreement.

I shook my head, eliciting a slight groan at the cheekiness of those two. It didn't dampen my mood for an adventure, however, and it certainly didn't hamper my train of thought speeding like a bullet. This tale of the Trottingham Ghoul was already shaping to be a memorable one, I can tell, and it all starts with a mansion at the top of a hill.

Well then, I said this and I shall say this once more.

Geronimo!


1008 AC, First Fall, 6, 19:36:10

Hello, mansion of the hill.

It was true to its definition, in which it is a grand old house fenced by iron railings on the summit of a green curved pasture that shields what would be a glorious view of the setting sun, accesible only through a large iron gate. It was a three-storey monument of red bricked walls, with one side of it covered in leafy vines. The windows are outlined with a fading white, some of them having the stone chins that are the balconies protruding from the helm. Down the cobblestone path and up the stone steps was the pair of ominous obsidian doors, with a pair of griffin-like brass knockers that looked as if it could rival the cathedral bells of the nearby town.

"Well then," I began, the three of us standing before the main doors. "Who would do the honors?"

"Turner, you can do it yourself, you know that?" Twilight stated.

"Well, yes, but I thought it'd be nice if one of you give it a shot."

"Doctor, you're the one that lead us here," Caramel said. "Shouldn't you be the one doing it?"

"I suppose I should." I raised my hoof, my knocking arsenal at the ready, before I suddenly withdrew my forces. "On second thought, maybe you should give it a go, Caramel," I muttered.

"W-Why me?" he protested. "I mean, it's just knocking the door."

"Alright, then you do it then!"

"B-But I..." Caramel hesitated for a moment, then shifted his glance. "Twilight, why don't you do it?"

"I, bwa— me?" Twilight exclaimed. "Hey, I'm waiting for Turner here to do it! He's the one who suggested this, like you said."

"I didn't specify who should do the knocking," I affirmed. "Now then, since I'm the one who lead us here, I get to say who knocks the door and so I appoint you, my trusted Caramel."

"Now, hold on a minute, Doctor. You're the one that lead us here, why don't you just finish the job and knock the door already?"

"Ugh, I can't believe we're doing this," Twilight groaned, burying her face in her hooves. "How hard can knocking the door get?"

Before I could answer with my cleverly-formulated response — something to do with statistics, charts and graphs that would take an eternity to explain — the door suddenly swung open, shunning us in silence as a stallion poked his head out, his ashen moustache twitching on his snout. He was wearing a black vest over a white shirt, topping it all off with a wondrous sight that was bestowed upon my eyes the moment I spotted it perched on his collar.

"Ahh~! Look at you!" I cheered like a young colt, gleefully pinching at his neat little accesory. "Nice bowtie, sir. Bowties are cool."

"Who are you all and what is your business here?" the old stallion groused. "The day is ending and the mistress does not wish to be disturbed by all the fuss you're making."

"Hello there! I'm the Doctor!"

"Doctor who?"

"Just the Doctor," I replied frivolously. "This is Twilight and Caramel. They're my companions."

"Doctor, doctor... wait a minute!"

The stallion's eyes flared in a fit of epiphany, before fixating his stare at me. For a moment, I thought I saw a smile in his lips, though a blink later, all that was ever present was his stoic, stone-faced expression, taking a studious gander at us before humming out his satisfied judgments.

"You must be here for the children," he said. "Wait here. I'll go get my mistress."

Quickly, the butler — an assumption that I'm rather certain of — rushed off, leaving us standing at the doorway below the darkening skies. Slowly, I turned back to Twilight and Caramel, the two of them apparently sharing the same look and thought that I was having after all that had just transpired.

"Well, that was easy," I muttered.

"Strange coincidence," Twilight remarked with a mere smile. "I wonder what she's like?"

"He mentioned children as well. One of them probably caught something," Caramel added. "Hopefully it's not something serious."

"What makes you say that?" I couldn't help but ask.

"If it's something like a cold or a fever, Pops would be taking care of me by himself instead of calling for a doctor."

Caramel has a point there, leaving Twilight and I thinking once again. Well done, I would say, Caramel. Slightest bit of detail unmissed there, which is exceptional from a pony with his tendency of forgetfulness. Before I could openly commend him about it, however, the old stallion had returned, this time with another pony following closely behind: a mare in her mid thirties, bearing a pale pink coat with a yellow mane that had a few streaks of white. Like the butler before, she gave us a little look, before a beaming smile burst forth from her cheeks with a glistening warmth like a fireplace in a wasteland of ice and snow.

"Why, hello there," she spoke with a fine sharpness in her voice. "Name's Floria Hearthsgrove, current mistress of the Hearthsgrove estate. Saxon here told me you were a doctor of sorts?"

"Yes," I replied, instinctively grabbing out my wallet and opening it for her to see. "I'm the Doctor. These here are my uh... what's that word... nurses! Yes! My fellow nurses, Twilight and Caramel."

"Hmm..." Floria's eyes scanned across my 'credentials', as it were, before that blooming smile returned again. "Why, it does look like you may be just what we needed! Come in, come in! Make yourself comfortable!"

With a welcoming gesture, the mistress of the house, this bubbly mare with a flair, trotted back into her house. The three of us trotted in, Saxon holding the door for us, to which I tip my bowtie to that. I was greeted with the sight of a large foyer: a sextuplet of large columns on both sides that grew from the marble tiles to the arched ceiling above. Ornate lamps hung on the walls beside the windows, accented by red draperies and the occasional banner. Portraits of the family's ancestors smiled benevolently at us, promising comfort to the newest guests of the mansion.

All three of us could only canter forwards in awe, taking in our prestigious surroundings one step at a time. With a chuckle, Floria Hearthsgrove gave a little curtsy, her smile no doubt bringing a healthy dose of sunshine into the establishment as she spoke in her courteous, fine voice:

"Welcome, my guests, to Hearthsgrove Mansion."

Why, hello, mansion of the hill.