Trixie’s frantic hoof-steps resounded in all corners of the mansion as she stumbled down the dank, moldering halls. Leaves and cracked tiles crunched beneath her hooves as she dodged the looming shadows of half-collapsed furnishings. Dirt and dust made its way into her eyes and nostrils. She was barely able to see where she was going as she breathed heavy rasps out of her irritated throat. The halls seemed to stretch into eternal darkness, an endless labyrinth of deterioration. A ghastly shriek came barreling out of her mouth as her legs became entangled in some fallen table that had escaped her obscured vision. The unicorn tumbled painfully to the floor, feeling the cold, coarse strata that had accumulated in the span of a hundred years.
The magician lay in a crumpled heap, now partially smeared in damp filth. A fiery, shooting pain made its way throughout every inch of her being. The unicorn’s adrenaline-fueled body ignored the agony and struggled to get back up. Trixie squawked as she slipped in her mad attempt to right herself, not realizing her leg was still caught in the small table. The broken bits of tile beneath her crunched loudly as Trixie’s body slammed onto the floor, forcing the air out of her lungs in a painful wheeze.
The unicorn’s terror subsided as the black tentacles of despair wormed their way into her heart. Still breathing in ragged gasps, Trixie dragged herself away from the center of the hallway, feeling her leg slide loose from the clutches of the table. She weakly pushed herself into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall, shivering as her body made contact with the moist, mildewed wallpaper. The magician’s gasps slowly changed into quiet sobs as hot tears crowded around her eyes.
Trixie was hurt in many ways, but what hurt the most was just how fast she’d submitted to the terror inspired by what she now believed to be the ghost that haunted the manor. Trixie had always believed herself to be a brave pony, even if she hadn't truly defeated an Ursa Major. That belief had been shattered in mere minutes once she’d entered the desolate manor. The unicorn involuntarily remembered herself on stage. She’d always claimed to the crowds that she’d looked straight into the face of terror and never once batted an eye--but she’d never known true terror until this very day.
An icy chill suddenly filled the air surrounding the unicorn. It was far colder than any autumn breeze, more akin to a wind from the dead of a winter night. Trixie shivered as she pressed her forelegs against her chest. Her sobbing slowed to a stop. She saw her breath appearing before her in small clouds of vapor. Trixie grimaced miserably. She knew the cause of the cold. She curled up and closed her eyes as nervous sweat began to ooze out of her pores. The unicorn winced as she heard a single hoof-step somewhere in the darkness. She buried her face in her forelegs.
Trixie felt an unseen presence move toward her as another hoof-step echoed down the hall. It radiated something that made her recoil in fear, something that she could identify only as a bitterness so strong she could almost taste it. There was another hoof-step, and then another, and the horrible presence drew closer and closer. Trixie felt her stomach tie itself in knots, and her heart was about to burst at any moment. The coldness grew stronger, piercing her hide and working its way to her core. She was now in the middle of a raging blizzard, yet sweat continued to pour down her trembling frame. She could feel its unseen eyes boring into her, monitoring her every movement, hovering over her like a vulture patiently awaiting the death of its prey.
Trixie was too terrified to scream as a stone-cold hoof ran through her mane. In those few brief moments she felt as though the specter had created a direct channel of fear through her hairs, feeding unprecedented horror into the unicorn. She sat frozen in fear even when the hoof withdrew a short time later. She remained hidden in her forelegs as she felt the presence draw away from her, moving down the way she had come. As its hoof-steps grew faint, Trixie dared to peek out after it. She caught only a fleeting glimpse as it turned a corner, something tall and thin, cloaked in the blackest of shadows. The unicorn immediately retreated back into her hiding place.
Trixie had almost lost her mind the moment the spirit had touched her. To know that it had the power to make physical contact was a thought so mortifying that she had literally felt her sanity slipping away, bit by bit, each part falling off into some dark abyss at the back of her mind. They had all been pulled back into place at the last moment, but Trixie felt as though some of the parts hadn’t been put back quite right, almost as if they were loose. The unicorn knew that it would only take a little more to break them apart again, and this time they might not come back.
Trixie slowly looked back up from her hooves. Once more she appeared to be alone in the lightless tunnel of the hallway. But she knew she wasn't. The spirit was watching her as it had been since she’d entered the manor, waiting for the next opportunity to scare her. Trixie frowned as tears returned to her eyes. She had never felt so utterly helpless and alone in her life. The mare knew next to nothing about necromancy besides a basic Séance, and there was no way she was purposely calling that thing from the shadowy abyss where it dwelt. She had felt its presence. It only wanted to harm her, make her miserable. And so far it was doing an exceptional job.
The unicorn slowly rose to her hooves. She knew it was hopeless to try and escape. But she just couldn’t sit here and wait for the spirit to return. Her body still ached from when she had crashed, but the pain had been pushed aside for now. The unicorn’s horn began to glow faintly as she activated a simple lighting spell. Using her horn as a lantern, Trixie looked both ways down the hall. Both ended in impossibly black voids, hungry for light, and possibly more. She glanced back at the way she had come. The ghost had traveled that way when it left. It was only logical then for Trixie to travel in the opposite direction. Mustering up what little courage she had left, she began her journey down the hall.
The unicorn took painstaking measures to keep as quiet as possible. Each step she took was pre-planned, touching only where the floor was free of debris. Sometimes she stretched her legs out uncomfortably to avoid crunching a fallen piece of plaster, other times she shuffled around piles of crispy leaves. She had no idea why she took such precautions. The ghost knew where she was, it would have come regardless if she made noise or not. But the silence just seemed safer than tromping noisily through the mansion. If anything it gave Trixie a false sense of security.
The light produced by her horn proved useful in her travel, but at the same time made the hallway more eerie by casting wavering shadows. Trixie nervously looked from one side of the hall to the other. Faded wallpaper had begun to fray and peel from the plaster, and hung like tattered curtains from the walls. They had once been vertically striped, but the blue and green bands had meshed together to form the sickening bluish hue of rotting flesh.
Occasionally Trixie would see a painting still hanging on its rusted nail. One such painting was of a bouquet of wildflowers. It was simple and unprofessional, probably done by one of the former owners of the manor. But like everything else, it had begun to decay. The damp canvas sagged, and most of the paint had melted together to form a dark, grayish-brown color. It almost looked as though the flowers had actually rotted.
Most of the doors Trixie passed were closed, and she preferred that they stayed that way. But once or twice she would come across one that had been left open. Though she would only cast a sparing glance into these rooms, Trixie could make out that some of them were bedrooms. The light of her horn cast large shadows over collapsed canopy beds, their sheets and blankets shredded and mutilated by vermin, the pillows torn open to reveal ancient, yellowed feathers.
The unicorn eventually came to the end of the hall, though it took quite some time. She found herself looking at a pair of double doors made of polished oak, now covered in dust. The handles looked to be the same type as those on the front doors, made of brass. Trixie contemplated if she should continue. There was a chance the doors were locked, and even if they weren’t she wasn’t sure if she should continue. There was no telling what awaited her behind the two dark doors. It could have been the ghost, come again to frighten her out of her wits. It could have simply been an empty room. Trixie took a nervous look back the way she had come. She did not want to have to go that way again. Biting her lip, the unicorn tried turning the handles. They weren’t locked. She took a deep breath as she pushed forward. The heavy doors opened with a long, drawn-out creak.