The Madness of Ponyville
The air of death in the bleak midwinter was stifling. Leaves lay rotting and crushed under the tide of the bitter snow. Ponyville lay in the shadow of the Canterhorn, the streets all but abandoned by the normally friendly ponies that made their home there. Only the occasional pedestrian, wrapped up as best as a mortal may in protection against the wrath of the cold, would normally be seen struggling through the dead, colorless streets. Tonight, however – tonight was as barren and lifeless as a frozen desert wasteland. Hearth’s Warming Eve was past, the cheer of its time only a fading memory through the brown and decrepit remains of holiday trees that lay discarded next to their previous homes. The night fast approached and the tessellation of grey stratus clouds hung over the town like carrion birds awaiting the final death rattle of their victim. It was in this dreariness that a lone yellow pegasus battled through the snow toward her destination.
Fluttershy let loose a meager utterance of fear as she felt the cold gnawing at her bones. Winter was, of course, her least favorite time of year. It was in winter that her animal friends slept. It was in winter that her friends rarely visited, for her house sat in the glare of the Everfree forest – a forest whose malevolence was ever more evident in the chill of this time of year. She often found herself visiting them instead, which was hardly a more comforting course of action than staying alone. The long walk into Ponyville left her vulnerable to both the deathly cold and the unknown animosity she felt around her. It seemed that Fluttershy had the curse to feel every bit of the acrimonious aura of the season, far more than any other pony could. She had once asked Twilight about it, but as might be expected, without quantifiable evidence she was apt to dismiss her concerns. You’re just depressed because of the weather, Fluttershy. There are a lot of ponies that get depressed when it’s raining, or cold. If it was something magic, I would feel it, trust me. She always said some form of the same thing, but it was a comforting and cathartic sentiment, nonetheless. Usually.
Fluttershy had tried to rationalize the situation as Twilight usually did, but was utterly ineffective on her own this time. The aggressive atmosphere would overwhelm her brain to her despair. She had to see Twilight again. She had to receive soothing reassurances from the indefatigable logic of the studious mare, if only to calm her nerves for a short time. Maybe she should ask Twilight if she could live with her during the winters. There was little work to be done in her cottage during this season, little to distract her from that permeating feeling of dread. Only the comfort of friendship could see her through the dead season this time.
She halted briefly, her baby-blue galoshes buried up to the rim in the snow. She was in Ponyville proper now, with all its wintery vitiation – muted colors, piles of snow around dead trees, its complete lack of anypony in the streets, and the echoing, cloying silence. With every step toward her destination, she felt her spirit dampen more and more toward the same bleakness as the world around her. The shadows themselves seemed to stalk her, as every time she turned her head they seemed to shift maliciously, only allowing their movements to be caught by the very fringes of her peripheral vision. The death and emptiness leered at her, and she felt every ounce of hatred in the quiet susurrations of the wind. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, indeed. She had to get inside, lest she be taken in by the madness around her.
She looked around desperately, her fragile pink mane blowing ever so slightly in the chilling breeze. Sugarcube Corner wasn’t but a block from here. Pinkie Pie lived in a room above the store; that was part of the many perks of her apprenticeship. The Cakes usually didn’t mind visitors, hopefully they would excuse the unorthodox hour of the visit to take pity on the half-frozen pegasus. Pushing through the waves of snow with all the energy she had left, she finally reached the side door that led to the abode above. She held her fore hoof up, and with minute hesitation, rapped smartly on the door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a familiar smiling face.
“Hey there Fluttershy!” cried Pinkie happily, the mirth in her eyes warming the fragile sanctity of her mind.
“H-h-hey, Pinkie,” she stuttered in return, jaw vibrating from cold.
“Well come on up before you freeze to death, silly!” smiled Pinkie as she hopped gaily up the steps to the residence proper.
Fluttershy quickly followed, a weight lifted from her mind as she got out of the malevolent winter air. This house was warm, not only physically but spiritually, too. She was safe here – she knew it.
She ascended the stairs behind her friend before entering the sturdy wooden door into the home of the bakers. The home was a relatively new one. She could see radiators in the main living room and in the hallway toward the bedrooms instead of the fireplaces of older houses. The usual candle brackets were replaced with clean, flickering oil lanterns. The furniture was modest, but homely. The Cakes, neither the couple nor the twins, were in sight, a fact that made Fluttershy raise her eyebrow.
“The Cakes went out until tomorrow,” Pinkie said as if reading her mind, “I’m here babysitting until they get back!”
Fluttershy knew better than to question the power of Pinkie’s eccentricities. Smarter ponies than her had tried, and been driven to the brink of madness by it. She merely smiled and took a seat next to her friend on the couch, which was thankfully facing the warmth of the radiator. Her snow clad boots and coat lay forgotten at the front door.
“So what brings you here tonight?” asked Pinkie, looking over with glee. Fluttershy looked into the cheery sky-blue eyes of her friend. There was nothing but happiness in those eyes, nothing but love and friendship.
“Oh, I was just going to go to see Twilight. I wanted to know if she could help me with something.”
“Ooh! Maybe I can help you instead? What did you need, a party, a cupcake?” she gasped at the onset of a glorious epiphany, “A cupcake party?!”
“None of that, no,” smiled Fluttershy serenely at the antics of her pink friend, “I just wanted to have someone to talk to.”
“I can do that,” smiled Pinkie happily, “As long as we don’t wake up the twins. I put them to bed an hour ago, and that’s about all I can handle in one day. So what do you want to talk about? Cake? The number six? You want to try to impersonate each other’s voices? I bet I’d be really good at that. Ooh, I know! Let’s tell scary stories!”
“Uhm, I don’t know if that…” started Fluttershy quietly. The last thing she needed right now was to be put more on edge.
“There were once two friends, just like us, on a night, just like tonight. Little did anypony know that these two friends were actually… lovers! They were all alone that night, so they decided they would have super fun by making out. So they start making out when the phone rings. One of the ponies answers the phone, and a voice says on the other line – ‘What are you doing with my daughter?’ She hung up the phone, and told her friend what happened. She said ‘My dad is dead.’”
Pinkie took a deep breath and revealed what she thought was the scariest part of the story –
“‘THEN WHO WAS PHONE!?’”
Pinkie stood up on the couch and stretched her limbs as far as they would go in an attempt to tower over Fluttershy. The oil lanterns flickered and she panted from the exertion it took to tell her story. Fluttershy looked up at her and giggled daintily behind her hooves. Pinkie simply smiled back and settled back down on the couch next to the pegasus.
“Now you tell one.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I can do that. I’m not very good at scary stories.”
“Sure you are. I bet you have a great imagination! Just say the first thing that comes to your head!”
She smiled gingerly. Even if she could come up with a good scary story, she wouldn’t. The last thing she needed was to be scared of the creations of her own mind.
“Uhm, ok. Once there was a pony named… Sprinklebutt,” she stopped to giggle at the absurdity of the name she had come up with on the fly.
“I like it already,” Pinkie said happily.
“And Sprinklebutt was really, really nice, and he lived in a bright sunny land, and there were rainbows every day and lots and lots of happy friends and…”
She looked over sheepishly at Pinkie, who appeared to have fallen asleep, complete with snores. As soon as she stopped talking, Pinkie awoke and smiled wryly at her friend.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, your story was just so…”
“Boring?”
Pinkie broke into a huge grin, oblivious to the inconsiderateness of her response. Fluttershy sighed deeply and acquiesced.
“There were two ponies alone in the woods,” she started uncertainly. She looked toward Pinkie, who smiled encouragingly. “They were alone in the woods, and they were cold. And, uhm, lost. They wandered the woods, but they never talked. They knew that if they talked, they would be lost forever.”
The radiator in front of them sputtered, unnoticed by either occupant. The purifying heat that had previously emanated throughout the room began to die off. This would normally be something that Fluttershy would be apt to notice, for Fluttershy fears the cold above all else. However, so engrossed was she in her storytelling, that the slow lapse of warmth in the room was something she was not wont to notice. Her very essence seemed to chill, and fogs of frost billowed out from her breath far sooner than Pinkie’s did. The coldness extended to her voice, and while the speaker was undoubtedly always Fluttershy in timbre, the mannerisms morphed into something that was definitely not the shy yellow pony. It was as if the cold itself began to tell the story - the cold that Fluttershy so feared.
“The creatures of the woods watched them. The ponies saw yellow eyes watching, but they didn’t say anything, because they were afraid. They were afraid the eyes would take them any moment. One of the ponies, Sweet Holly, had forgotten to wear a coat, so her friend, Gilded Fire, gave her his coat. Even though she had a coat, she still couldn’t get warm. As she shivered, she thought she heard a voice coming from beyond. All it said was ‘Don’t go down there’. She thought Gilded Fire had said it, so she asked him, but he shook his head. The ponies kept walking.
“Eventually they came to a hole in the ground. It had a stone staircase in it that led downward. The two ponies stared at it and felt a fiery warmth blow up at them. Finally, Gilded Fire said –
‘I’m going down there, Holly. It’s cold.’
‘I don’t think you should. The voice told me not to go down there.’
‘Are you sure you heard a voice? Maybe the cold is making you hear things.’
“All that Sweet Holly could do was shake in fear - in fear and cold that no coat could break and no fire could warm, except the fire in the pit in front of them. Gilded Fire left her and slowly walked down the stone stairs, his iron shoes impacting loudly as he went down. Sweet Holly was left alone in the cold, and the eyes kept staring at her.
“After a half an hour, Gilded Fire still hadn’t come back, and the warmth from the pit faded. The eyes and the darkness started closing in on her, and she got scared. She called down the pit –
‘Fire! Gilded Fire! Are you down there?’
“The only response was a daemonic voice, deep and seething with hate, thundering into her soul –
‘GILDED FIRE IS DEAD. HIS TORMENT WILL BE ETERNAL. YOU ARE LOST.’”
Fluttershy panted heavily, clutching her limbs around her to shield herself from the sudden onslaught of cold, the cold that had been building yet remained unnoticed to her until now. Pinkie stared at her, eyes wide, mouth curled into a horrified grin of amazement.
“Wow, Fluttershy. Where’d you hear that one? I don’t think Rainbow Dash could even come up with a story like that.”
“I don’t know,” she responded, her voice returning to its usual level of timidity, “It just came to me. You told me to say the first thing that I thought of.”
“Well it was super!” Pinkie smiled, “I’m going to have to remember that one. I can’t wait until Dashie and I go camping again!”
“It’s cold…” Fluttershy whimpered, pulling into herself more. The lifeless, frosty air seemed to surround and penetrate her. She began shaking violently. Pinkie grabbed her to pull her into a warm embrace, but the mare’s touch was… icy. It wasn’t anything like the bubbly, warm bundle of energy Fluttershy was used to. It was as if the cold itself was turning her friends against her, turning them into constructs of sin like itself. Fluttershy jerked away from her.
“It’s ok, silly,” Pinkie said with a warm smile, “I’m probably cold too, let me go down to the cellar and put some wood in the furnace…”
As if in answer, a shrill cry erupted from a room down the hall. The Cake twins were up. The look on Pinkie’s face fell for a split second before being replaced once again with her signature smile.
“Could you go down to the cellar and fill the furnace? Pretty pretty pretty please? With sugar and whipped cream and a cherry and nuts on top?”
Fluttershy nodded, “Of course.”
For a brief moment, the lips on Pinkie’s face sneered into a twisted grin. It was a grin devoid of any warmth or tranquility that was usually worn on its owner’s face. This grin said something. It said something sinister. It said that Pinkie knew something that Fluttershy did not. A strange wind whipped through the house, a wind from an undetermined source, of an undetermined cause. It made Fluttershy shake in fear as the grin became wider.
“Oh, uhm… if it’s… if it’s okay, I was going to go to Twilight’s. Is it okay if I go? I mean, after I put the wood in the furnace.”
Pinkie grin quickly changed into a polite puzzled expression, then a frown, “Well, okay… But you have to stop back after you’re done. It’s really cold outside and I want to make sure that you’re still okay. Okay?”
Fluttershy hesitated, “Okay.”
“You Pinkie promise?”
She sighed. She really didn’t want to come back. Not here. Not in the cold. But even more frightening was the thought of breaking a Pinkie promise. It was almost like doing so would invariably bind their souls, so that anywhere she might go, Pinkie would be liable to be there.
“Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a… stick a c-cupcake in my eye,” she whispered feebly.
“Okie dokie lokie, then!” Pinkie smiled, “I’ll see you when you get back!”
Fluttershy attempted and failed at smiling back. She walked with ungraceful footing toward the door, where she donned her soaking wet coat and boots. The door at the top of the stairs shuttered with an ominous boom as Fluttershy closed it behind her. Just refuel the furnace and get to Twilight’s. That’s all you have to do.
As soon as she exited the door at the bottom of the stairs to the outside, she immediately regretted leaving. The whipping wind once again started biting at her face, her eyes teary and dripping from the assault. A harsh yet subdued murmur filled her ears as she pushed through the cold toward the trap door leading down toward the basement. She could feel an angry presence all around her, as if the very eyes of the cosmos were judging her. The water in her coat and boots began freezing once more, turning to ice around her skin. As if to mock her, a flurry was called down from the heavens. Large particles of snow swirled around her, completing the dreary atmosphere of the bleak midwinter. She gritted her teeth and trudged on.
A trap door built into the ground at the side of the house came into view. It was covered with a mild dusting of snow, which she shakily brushed off with her boot. A cold iron handle protruded from the center of the doors, which she deftly grabbed with her teeth and pulled back. The rusted metal ground at her teeth angrily, and she was only too glad to finally be done. Trepidatiously, she tiptoed to the edge of the opening and peered down.
It was dark. Very dark. No visible candle or lantern existed in this wet stone pathway. She could barely make out what seemed to be a large wooden door at the bottom. She wondered if she would even have the strength to open it in her current state. She stepped over onto the first stair, a faint sound of hoof on stone echoing through the hallway.
“Don’t go down there.”
Fluttershy froze, her heart rapidly beating out of her chest. There was something – somepony – behind her. The voice was definitely feminine, and somewhat familiar. She could say it took a lot of courage to stay where she was, but that was a lie. Fear paralyzed her. Fear flew through her veins like a phoenix of ice. Then why was she turning around?
She had no control over her body. She wanted it to run; instead it made her turn to face her accoster. A mare stood in the shadows of the alley, away from the light of the full moon. It was holding something close to her chest, but she couldn’t see what it was. She didn’t want to see it – whatever it was filled her heart with foreboding.
“Wh…Who a-a-are you?”
The figure stepped forward into the light. Fluttershy recognized her immediately. It wasn’t someone she interacted with much, but she knew her. Grey coat, blond mane, bubble cutie-mark. In front of her stood Derpy Hooves.
Only she didn’t sound like Derpy. The Derpy she knew had a clumsy, almost endearing manner of speaking. The mare in front of her had a voice more comparable to an icicle. Cold. Sharp. Deadly. Her eyes were another thing. The Derpy she was familiar with had adorable, albeit slightly unnerving walleyes. This pony’s eyes seemed almost anarchic. They would look at something like a normal pony would, then would spin and twist and move in directions she was sure weren’t possible. However, it was the bundle in the crook of Derpy’s foreleg that disturbed her the most.
She didn’t know why. She knew what was probably there – it was Dipsy, Derpy’s baby foal. If her memory served her, Dipsy was born around the same time as the Cake’s twins. Loud, almost licentious sounds assaulted her ears as the foal suckled on her mother’s teat. Derpy paid no attention to this as her eyes spun around to look deeply into Fluttershy’s own, boring into them as if she were trying to unearth her very soul.
“Don’t go down there.”
“W-w-why?”
“Don’t go down there. Don’t trust anypony.”
“Uhm…”
“Don’t trust anypony, least of all yourself.”
Fluttershy tried hiding behind her long pink mane. It was an instinctive reaction, one she often put into effect whenever she was nervous. She just wanted to hide, but she had to know what the other pegasus meant.
“Uhm… Derpy?”
But there was no answer. She looked up, and found she was quite alone in the alleyway. There were hoofprints were Derpy had stood just moments previously, but in all honesty, she couldn’t tell if they belonged to the wall-eyed pegasus or her.
“Derpy!” she cried desperately, but the call was muffled by the dampening effect of the snow. The only echo she could hear came from the stone passage at her hooves, where it echoed malevolently, morphing into a vitriolic cry of hate and desperation. She couldn’t take it anymore – she had to get to Twilight’s.
Her fear and apprehension fueled her as she galloped through the oppressive snow as fast as she could. She even attempted to spread her wings and take flight, but found them quite immobile from cold. The ice in her feathers wouldn’t allow for much flight even if she could. As she got within a few blocks of the Golden Oaks Library, she found that she was unable to continue at the same pace, and reluctantly slowed down to a walk. The cold was pressing into her, as if struggling closer to ice over her very heart.
Glancing into the distance, the faint light of the moon was just able to illuminate the silhouette of the dead branches of a great oak tree. A much needed warmth spread through her – she was almost there. Twilight would make her feel better. Twilight would show her how illogical her fears were. She had to. She needed her to.
The miniscule glimmer of hope that she had conjured was quickly frozen over with one horrifying realization – she wasn’t alone out here. There were eyes everywhere. Eyes coming from all directions, glowing in the light of the moon. The figures were whispering. Whispering about her.
“Is she the one?”
“Where is she going?”
“What do we do?”
Fluttershy emitted a mild squeak and hid her eyes in the snow. If these figures were to attack her, then she didn’t want to see the end coming. She would rather lay down in the sheer deprivation of the snow, not feeling, not seeing, not hearing.
She waited for several minutes, but nothing came. The menacing whispers of the figures around her continued, but she could no longer understand the words over the howling wind that bit at her ears. She chanced looking up.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could now make out the shapes of the spectres. They were ponies. Hundreds of ponies, and they all stood out in the cold without hat or jacket for the sole purpose of staring at her. She didn’t want to talk to them; she could just feel something in her gut telling her that would be a bad idea. She decided the best course of action was to ignore them. With some effort, she raised herself up out of the snow and timidly walked on to Twilight’s house.
With a hoof that was like ice inside her boot, she tapped on the door of the Golden Oaks Library with all the energy she could muster, as meager as that was. After a second, as if she was waiting by the entrance, Twilight opened the door.
Fluttershy had rarely seen her in the state she was currently in. Twilight was not usually one to worry about her looks too much – that was Rarity’s realm. But she usually at least tried to keep a hygienic appearance. Right now her mane was in shambles, a veritable bird’s nest of misplaced strands of caked, unclean hair. There were great bags under her eyes, as if sleep had eluded her for many nights. But it was her eyes themselves that were the most unnerving – they were askew much like Derpy’s had been. Pupils small, focus uneven, a gaze that stared out into the innumerable void. Even as she looked toward her guest, her eyes focused through her.
“Hello, Fluttershy. What brings you here?” she asked with a smile – a smile, much like Pinkie had given her earlier - entirely too big, too inappropriate, too happy.
“Oh, uhm… hi, Twilight. I was wondering if we could t-t-talk?”
“Of course, friend,” her smile, if even possible, became more manic upon uttering this word, “Please, come inside.”
Fluttershy breathed a sigh of relief. Even if Twilight’s mannerisms were unnerving, at least she would be out of the hateful, insipid cold. She followed her into the dark of the treehouse, lit only by a lonely candle flickering on an end table. Twilight sat down on a couch in front of the empty fireplace and looked up toward her friend. She nervously sat down on the other end of the couch, keeping as much distance as possible between herself and the unicorn.
“Am I right in thinking you’re here with the winter blues again?” Twilight asked her.
“Oh… yes.”
“Maybe I could get you a book. I have one about psychology and the environment that might help.”
“I don’t know, Twilight. I don’t know if I can really concentrate on reading…”
Twilight turned her overbearing smile toward Fluttershy, “I really don’t see how you girls can get bored reading, but I might have something a little more engaging. How about ‘The Madness of Ponyville’?”
“T-t-the madness…” she stammered, unable to finish the title that inexplicably filled her heart with fear.
“‘The Madness of Ponyville’, right. It’s one of my favorites,” she explained as she floated a worn and stained leather book over to them, “It might be easier for you to stay focused because it’s a narrative. Why don’t we read it together?”
Twilight set the book down on the couch between them and turned toward the barren fireplace. With her magic, she picked up a rusted poker and agitated the cold, dead ashes. Fluttershy felt a chill. She desperately wanted to ask her to build a fire to ward the cold away, but something in the back of her mind told her not to. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew that talking to her friend was a bad idea – a deathly bad idea. She felt like acknowledging the strangeness to anypony but herself would somehow awaken it, would somehow give it ultimate power over her. She remained in obedient silence as shivers of fear and cold overtook her.
“This entry is dated ninety years ago,” started Twilight, “‘I sat and watched as the entire town, no more than a hundred ponies, chanted of misery. The air was cold, full of hate. I so wanted my torment to end that I would do anything to stop it, but it would appear that I am the only who feels the pain without succumbing to it. Pain will make a pony go mad. Hopelessness will make a pony yield to insanity. The town watched in stoic reverence as the moon was made as blood, and the spirits of their sin made manifest.
“‘They chanted as every evil of ponykind grew from the rotted cadaver of decency. Ponies I knew, ponies I loved, ponies that were kin stared into the empty space, every semblance of restraint and reason conspicuously absent from their lustful eyes. If blood was to be spilled, it was to be spilled by all of them, guiltless all, or so they convinced themselves.
“‘For they all, whether it be known to them or not, just wanted to see the spring once again. They all wanted, no – needed, the winter to end. In the spring, they could once again pretend to themselves and the world that they are guiltless. In the winter, nature herself will remind them otherwise. As I watched, monuments to their sin erected from the ground and consumed every innocent structure they had erected. Great macabre structures that I dare not speak of manifested themselves to me. Those around me who allowed themselves to be taken in by the madness seemed not aware – their minds too far gone. The horrors that I saw, the blackness that I felt – it was too much for a mind intent on clinging to the last crumbling edge of sanity.
“‘I write this entry in my journal now before I do the only decent thing possible. The very foundations of the world conspire against me to sentence me to the torment I so deserve. Mayhaps the cosmos will find forgiveness for my dark soul. I can only hope that spring will come.
“‘QUIA DE SANGUINEM, REMISSIONEM PECCATORUM'”
Twilight gently closed the book and turned to smile at Fluttershy, who was quivering more so than she had all night.
“Did you like it?”
Fluttershy could only shake in response. What would Twilight say if she said no? What would Twilight do if she lied? Either option seemed perilous. Twilight only continued to smile at her, as wide and unnatural as she ever had. Her right eye twitched.
“Uhm… I-I… what I mean is… W-where did you get that book?”
“Oh this thing? That really doesn’t matter. I just hope it helped,” Twilight’s eyes spun around to stare straight into the other mare’s, “Do you feel it? Do you feel like winter is about to end? Do you feel like spring is coming?”
“Uhm… I better get home. I need to…”
Fluttershy could not finish her sentence. All she felt was the desire to get away – the need to escape. She wanted so badly to get out of the cold – to find peace and warmth. Even as Twilight smiled at her, deathly and pale from frost, she did not shake or chatter her teeth. This was a creature who embraced the cold. She was no friend.
Fluttershy ran as fast as she could out the front door of the library. The snow seemed to have picked up, and was even now beginning to cover the yellow pegasus in flakes of discomfort. Somewhere behind her, muffled by the wind and the damnèd snow, Twilight called after her in a guttural shout –
“The spring is coming!”
Fluttershy didn’t bother looking back. All she knew was that she needed to get back, to get back to warmth and sanity. That is, if it was even possible to make it all the way home without freezing to death. The farther she trudged through the impeding snow, the less likely it seemed. And there was always the thought toying at her from the edges of her mind – she had promised Pinkie that she’d stop back.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, Pinkie would undoubtedly refuel the furnace when she notices that Fluttershy hadn’t done it, right? Maybe she could just stop by long enough to warm up before finishing her trek home. It wasn’t like she had to go down to that basement, right?
The eyes continued to gaze at her. They seemed to be organized in a circle around her and yet no matter how far she traveled, she never seemed to be any nearer. The insidious chanting continued, exact words muffled by the cold. There was no way she was going to make it home. She was going to succumb either physically to the cold or psychologically to the ponies watching her every move. She wished she could just lie down and push it all from her mind, but desperation did not allow it.
After a time that seemed entirely too long, she reached the Sugarcube Corner once again. The imposing building, almost entirely devoid of color saturation, stood before her. Doing her best not to look in the direction of the basement trap door, she mustered up courage she didn’t even know she had, and rapped on the door.
It seemed an eternity that she stood at the doorstep. It wasn’t like Pinkie to keep anyone waiting like this. Perhaps she couldn’t hear the knock? This seemed improbable, for even though the outside door was quite a distance from the house proper, that had never stopped her friend from answering the door before. She could hear noises, not from inside the house, but from the vast void behind her. Chanting. It was growing louder. The mob was fast approaching. The murmurings gained fervor. The beast neared its prey.
The door creaked as it slowly opened.
The chanting stopped. Pinkie Pie stood in the door, only immeasurably different from before. Her hair hung straight on her head. The normally bubbly, bouncy earth pony stood dejectedly in front of her, the very essence of melancholy.
“Uhm, are you alright, Pinkie?”
Pinkie nodded slightly.
She left it at that, staring toward the ground. Fluttershy waited for her to say something else, but nothing else was said.
“Do you… do you mind if I come in?”
Pinkie seemed to hesitate, and looked briefly back behind her toward the heavy door at the top of the stairs. She gestured faintly for Fluttershy to follow her, and started up the stairs.
Fluttershy breathed a sigh of relief. She was worried about her friend of course, but the gnawing cold reduced her brain processes to a stupor. All she worried about was getting warm - getting warm and escaping from the hellish landscape outside. She followed her friend up the stairs and through the large oaken door. It was almost immediately that she knew something wasn’t right.
It was cold. The damnable cold! Was there no relief from it? No place it wouldn’t haunt her? She shivered involuntarily and quickly refastened her coat that she had been about to remove. There was more to this dark home than mere cold – it was almost hateful. Fluttershy could feel the walls breathe, she could feel the furniture talking, the knickknacks staring. She felt nothing but pure venom from this house – it didn’t want her here. She recoiled instinctively, not wanting to go out into the icy inferno outside, but even more she wanted to escape the hatred she felt in this place.
As she stood there, Pinkie hadn’t made a move other than to stare at her stoically. Fluttershy was at a loss for what to say, after all, if there was one feeling she knew, one truth she could feel above all others, it was to never state out loud that anything was amiss. As she pondered what she could say, a shrill cry from the bedroom down the hall relieved her of the burden. Or so it would seem. Pinkie made no acknowledgment of the noise, and continued to stare at the pegasus.
“Uhm, shouldn’t you go take care of the foal?” she asked tenderly.
The earth pony didn’t say a word, but after several seconds, she turned and headed down to get the crying foal. In a moment, she returned, holding Pumpkin Cake in her front foreleg. The baby was crying bloody-murder, and appeared sticky and matted. Pinkie made no move to comfort the crying foal, only continued to state at Fluttershy.
“Do you think maybe she’s hungry?”
Pinkie ignored her. Fluttershy was about to ask her once again if anything was wrong, but a sudden feeling stopped her. It wasn’t a feeling of fear or warning, but a feeling of pain. Pain emanating from the filly in front of her. There was definitely something wrong with Pumpkin. It wasn’t something physical - that was apparent. Something was spiritually torturing this child, and her pain filled the room with unbearable sadness and hate. It was more than Fluttershy could take. She could tell somepony tomorrow. The Cakes were returning, right? Right, it could wake.
“Okay, well, I’m going to go,” Fluttershy said softly with an unsure smile.
Pinkie made no movement, so Fluttershy walked down the stairs as quickly as her frozen limbs would let her. The gentle sound of hoof on wood mixed with an indistinguishable utterance coming from behind her. Hesitantly, she turned and looked at the top of the stairs. Pinkie stood at the top of the stairs, the crying baby in her hooves.
“Don’t go down there.”
Fluttershy’s face flickered in fear and surprise. Was she serious? Did she know Derpy told her that earlier, or did she remember the story? A surge of fear ran through her veins, even as Pinkie’s face remained as impassive as ever. She galloped down the stairs and slammed the door behind her. Closing her eyes, she struggled to catch her breath as large quantities of frozen air filled her chest. She needed to get home. She needed to…
“Come with me,” a voice to her left called.
Looking up, she almost passed out in shock. Standing calmly in the snow was an exact copy of herself. This Fluttershy lacked her coat or boots, and its mane was brushed haphazardly to the side of its face, completely covering all but the left half of it. The doppelganger walked down the alleyway toward the dreaded basement door. Fluttershy hesitated, but an unseen force goaded her into following. Whatever this apparition wanted to show her, it was important – she knew it.
The figure stopped in front of the trap door, which sprang open as they approached it. A gust of fetid air assaulted her nostrils, but she continued forward, stopping in front of the other Fluttershy.
“You need to go down there,” it said.
Fluttershy’s eyes went wide, “But… but… I…”
Its glance grew hard and serious, and it spoke in her voice – not soft and timid, but uncharacteristically firm, “You are in danger, Fluttershy. You must do as I say. Go down there, and realize that it is naught but a basement. Then you must go home. Go home and sleep. If you do not do this, then all hope is lost. Things are not as they seem.”
“B-B-But, well, I mean…”
“Go.”
She turned and looked down the stone stairs. They looked as dark and uninviting as ever. For reasons that were beyond even her comprehension, she started downwards. The impact of her steps resounded through her frozen legs, and there was sharp pain in her hooves. Frostbite. She had to do this. She didn’t know why, but she trusted the apparition. It was the only thing that seemed to have an answer. Her submissive personality couldn’t resist so clear an order and resolution as that… thing offered. She grabbed the door handle in her teeth and pulled.
The blackness of the basement room overtook her. The stench of mildew at once assaulted her senses. Indecision ran through her mind, and she looked up at the other Fluttershy standing at the top of the stairs. It gave her a reassuring smile, all that was needed to persuade the lost and desperate pony. She stepped timidly into the room, unable to see anything in front of her.
A barely audible dripping sound came from the back corner of the room. She made her way toward it, occasionally bumping into crates. She could fear her heartbeat pounding against her frozen chest the closer she got to that back corner.
Thump-thump. There’s something back there, something on the floor.
Thump-thump. The air smells sickly sweet.
Thump-thump. Something is very wrong here.
Thump-thump. There’s a lantern on this crate.
With shaking hooves, she gingerly coaxed a spark from the flint lighter and the lantern glowed to life. The sight she saw would be burned into her mind for all eternity.
A mare and a very young filly lay dead on the floor. One of Derpy’s eyes had rolled into the back of her head with only the white remaining. The other was pointed directly at Fluttershy impassively. A giant, bloody gash had torn open the side of her head, and dried blood crust covered her fur. The filly at her side was unmistakably the foal she thought she had just seen – Pumpkin Cake. She had a great bruise on her face, and her head was crushed and flattened, as if somepony had dropped her onto a hard surface. She laid there pure and innocent, and yet covered in the blood of her companion in death.
The dripping sound somehow pulled her eyes away from the grisly scene. A basin sat on a table next to the corpses. Next to it was a can of some kind of paint or dye that had been upturned and dripped slowly upon the floor. Orange dye – the same color as Pumpkin’s fur.
“I told you not to come down here.”
Fluttershy dropped the lantern, which shattered on the floor between her and her pink visitor. She trembled and drew away, wary of the shadowy presence of the earth pony before her.
“Why couldn’t you just go home?”
“Wh-what did you do?” Fluttershy whimpered, tears flowing down her cheeks at the thought of the dead child.
“Well, when you left, I had a little accident. Little Pumpkin was squirming so much, she slipped out of my hooves and bounced down the stairs. I didn’t want the Cakes to be sad, so I came up with a plan!” Pinkie smiled unnaturally as she explained, “All I had to do was find a replacement, so I got some orange dye we use to make food coloring. Nopony will ever know the difference, and little Dipsy will grow up nice and happy, because she’ll never know that she’s not Pumpkin!”
Fluttershy’s jaw shook and she reached the back of the basement. There was no way she could escape if she stood here like this; she would end up like poor Derpy. She had to move. Come on, Fluttershy. MOVE!
She ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She had to get away. She had to tell somepony about this. With a renewed burst of adrenaline, she dashed past the impassive Pinkamena and up the stairs. She climbed the stairs and anticipated where she would go for help? Applejack? Too far. Rainbow Dash? She didn’t know if she could fly as cold as she was. Rari… Something at the top of the stairs made her stop.
Standing still in the snow exactly where she had been when Fluttershy saw her the first time, was Derpy Hooves. Unlike the first time, her fur was matted with dried blood and there was a gash of open flesh and brains upon her head. She looked exactly like the pony she saw in the basement. Derpy didn’t move, didn’t talk, and did nothing other than hold that same bundle of rags and stare at her.
Even as Fluttershy felt the last remnants of sane composure slipping, a layer of sheets fell off the bundle Derpy was holding. She was holding not Dipsy, but Pumpkin Cake. The foal was just as bloody and destroyed as the mare holding her, perhaps even more so. She suckled at Derpy’s teat in ignorance of everything else as drops of blood steadily stained the snow.
Fluttershy couldn’t take it anymore – she screamed at the top of her lungs. Dashing away from the horrendous figure, she bounded toward a destination that her subconscious seemed to have predetermined for her.
The farther she fled, the more daemonic the landscape became. The moon became as of blood and almost as bright as the sun. Moonbeams travelling through the cloud cover impacted the ground, like a light beaming from hell itself. The entire town was watching her, the blood red light of the unholy moon reflecting off their eyes. The chanting was thunderous, as harsh, cold strokes across stringed instruments accompanied the satanic hymn. The volume was such that it was all she could do to continue desperately toward her destination in lay of covering her ears. No longer was the chant indecipherable.
“SANGUIS. SANGUIS. SANGUIS.”
Every utterance shoved Fluttershy’s heart into chaos, and every step seemed to drain any physical energy still remaining in her body. The town of Ponyville was completely unrecognizable. Where once pastel colored houses stood, grotesque structures made of flesh and bone and plastered with caked blood dominated her vision. No other pony seemed to notice or care, being completely obsessed with staring at her. Staring and chanting.
Rounding the corner, she could see the colossus of the Golden Oaks Library. It seemed taller and more significant than ever before, towering over the town, hellish fires illuminating every window. Corpses of lynched ponies hung from every branch in various states of decay. Not even stopping to think, she panted up to the front door of the oak tree, knocked as hard as she could, and collapsed.
The chanting grew louder, and it grew nearer. She could hear hoof steps all around her, a carrion swarm coming to feed. Panic consumed her. Where is Twilight? What’s taking so long?
As if in answer of her prayers, the door to the imposing structure creaked open. A very tired and listless Twilight stood over her, rubbing her eyes.
“Fluttershy? What are you doing here?”
“Twilight, I…” She couldn’t finish her statement. She was so exhausted she couldn’t stand up. She was so cold and pale the snow simply felt soft and uncharacteristically comforting, like a bed one would lie down and die in. Her mouth refused to work, even as she couldn’t think of what to say.
“Oh, hi, Pinkie! You’re here too?” said Twilight brightly to a figure behind Fluttershy.
Craning her head, she saw the pink earth pony grinning behind her. It was horrifying. Nothing about this figure looked anything like Pinkie Pie. The grin was anticipating, hateful. Every evil emotion one could have, but also… affection? Fluttershy was confused. Scared, yes, but also confused. The large crowd of ponies had gathered around them, the red din and furious snow storm obscuring their features, but their unholy chant built up into a crescendo as the wording changed –
“EAT OF THY FLESH. DRINK OF THE CHALICE OF THINE BLOOD. ONLY THEN WILL FORGIVENESS BE GIVEN TO THEE. AMEN.”
In an apocalyptic change of emotion, Fluttershy died. What did it matter anymore? Why let the fear take hold? If this is to be the end, then letting fear boil over inside of her would do no good. She let out a great sigh, a sigh of loss and resignation. Pinkie Pie leaned over her, an inch from her face and grinned even more broadly.
"I love you, Fluttershy."
"I love you too, Pinkie Pie."
Pinkie smiled lovingly as she bit into her friend's right eyeball. Teeth tore away a chunk of flesh like the white of a hard-boiled egg. Blood and occipital fluid gushed forth, matting the fur of Fluttershy's face.
Spring will never come, but at least the horrors of winter will end.
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gawd that cover pic
- I always like a good use of "tessellation". "Susurrations" is good, too.
- Having said that, you might want to dial down the vocabulary in some places. "Cohabitate" is a bit much, and I normally only see "diaphanous" in reference to fabric and/or clothing.
- "Fluttershy fears the cold above all else." I'm gonna go with dragons, actually.
- "something she was not wont to notice" While "wont" is another good word, it's the sort of thing that might lose you some readers, especially the younger ones.
- "The whole had a stone staircase in it that led downward." Oops!
- "voice, deep and shrill at the same time"
- Another place to dial it down: "reticulate".
- "Glancing into the distance, the faint light of the moon was just able to see the silhouette of the dead branches of a great oak tree." I think you might be missing a phrase like "for Fluttershy" or something like that in this sentence.
Not gonna lie, I'm not in the habit of reading fics with the Dark tag, especially not the ones that also have the Gore tag, and I've never been fond of the "psycho Pinkie" set of fanon... but your story was well-written. Not just in terms of technical skills (which are well above average), but also as far as ramping up tension, increasing intrigue, and keeping the reader off-balance. You should probably start promoting this.
3585806
Thanks, I'll get to work on those mistakes you pointed out. I usually have bad luck with editors, so I tend to edit my stories myself.
I'm not really that concerned with how popular my stories get - I write solely for the joy of honest feedback (positive or negative). Even I were to promote, I would have no idea how.
3585882
1) Join groups.
2) Whore yourself out.
3) Repeat.
(Well, that and adding your story to relevant groups...)
First thought : Winter is Coming.
Second thought : Holyshitwhatjusthappened.
I both love and despise this story. AND THE DAMN PICTURE AT THE END WHY DOES THAT EXIST. WHY DID PINKIE PIE EAT FLUTTERSHY' S EYEBALL. WHO WAS PHONE. DERPY. DON'T TRUST ANYONE LEAST OF ALL YOURSELF. Ugh. And the writing is just too perfect for words. Why is this not popular? I'm definitely not sleeping well tonight.
I myself am working on a creepypasta-themed story and I can safely say that this story surpasses it ten thousand times over. Bravo, you wonderful and twisted person!
3597801
Thank you very much. I'm humbled by your comment. I can think of no greater praise than to hear that somebody thought my story was scary or unnerving. I'm glad you liked it.
This...this...this was...this was...
3632231
Insane, crazy, sad, cool, confusing and surprising?
Hmm, it's a bit confusing but I enjoyed it. Also if you're looking to promote yourself check this page out. Definitely a fun read.
3632247 Ee-yup. Basically.
Now this is a good grimdark. It has something to it that not many others I've read do. An actual story rather than mutilation, mutilation and more mutilation.
but that picture at the end SHIT ME THE HELL UP. I wasn't expecting it at all. Over all, a really good story though. Worth the read
3670907
Thanks a lot for the feedback. I was hoping you would like it.
3674524
Thanks! I'm glad you like it!
Just so you know, homely means ugly.
That aside, I'll grade this using my school's grading system adapted to critique a story. This will be graded on plot, pacing, detail, and grammar. Each will get a score from 0 to 4.
0-1.4 Practically doesn't exist.
1.5-2.4 Pretty bad.
2.5-3.0 Mediocre.
3.0-3.4 Well done.
3.5-4.0 Shakespeare would be proud.
Side note: I'll have to spoil some plot points to do this, so to anyone who didn't write this story, go read it before continuing on.
Read it now? Good.
Category 1: Plot. I'm not really the person to grade grimdark stuff, but I know what's cliche in the genre, and this, unfortunately, is. Psychotic cult? Check. People going crazy? Check. Buckets of blood? Check. Cannibalism? Check. Main Character goes insane and/or dies? Check. One thing I can say definitively, though, as that Pinkie Pie's mini arc with the Cakes and Pumpkin seems disconnected, somehow. It's as if two unconnected creepypasta-type events are happening at once; the cult and Pinkie Pie really have no connection to each other whatsoever. Each could easily stand independant from each other in their own story. and forcing them together makes both of them lose depth. 2.0 of 4.
Category 2: Pacing. Done quite well, as it lulls you into a sense of security before bringing out the scares. I personally believe that your hand was shown just a bit too soon, and that the first and second scares needed just a bit more time between them to get maximum effectiveness, but those are some minor issues. 3.5 of 4.
Category 3: Detail. Damn immaculate. If there is a single thing that you didn't go all out on describing, I didn't see it. 4 of 4.
Category 4: Grammar. Dissertation-level word choice abounds, which is certainly a pleasant surprise on this site. Near-perfect grammar; I only caught about four errors. That being said, every time I did, it yanked me out of the story violently, and while this may be somewhat biased, I tend to give a story with one or two grammatical errors that break immersion a worse score in this category than one with quite a few that didn't detract from the narrative. Even so, not bad. 3.3 of 4.
I'll admit it openly; near everything was great here, but the poor plot just brought it crashing down from making Shakespeare proud. 2.96-3.2 of 4, with the first score weighing the plot twice and the second making everything evenly weighed.
3728678 Oh yeah, one other thing. The picture was a nice touch.
3728678
A few things (not disparaging your opinion, just trying to defend myself a little bit)
First:
Second:
I don't really think of a general idea or concept as a cliche, just more specific elements. Is space travel a cliche of science fiction? Are mystical animals a cliche of fantasy? Or are frequently, yet subtly differently, used aspects of their respective genres? I would consider a cliche to be more akin to a character shouting "NOOOOO!" after someone dies.
It's true that I used several plot points that are, for lack of a better term, cliches. However, I was hoping the underlying theme would shine though over these, which, if you figured it out, are probably non existent to begin with.
This story was written as an abstract consideration of fear, commucated through the motif of cold and winter. It's true that this would have been better served, and the unreliable narrator more clearly identified, through the use of first person. However, I find Fluttershy boring to write for, so I have nothing to blame for this lack of clarity other than my own laziness.
Again, I thank you for your input. At the very least, it gave me some things to think about.
I read this story once before, but forgot to leave a comment. This was hands down the best example of grim/dark I have ever seen.
I wanted to personally thank you for sharing this with us. Have a nice day, and please, for the love of Celestia, continue to write.
4401482
Thank you very much. I usually only write grimdark when I get the particular shade of inspiration it requires, so it doesn't happen often. This particular one was inspired by a vivid Lovecraftian dream I had, and I tried my best to mirror the mood of my dream using the prose.
It really means a lot to me that you took the time to let me know how you feel. If people like you keep letting me know how they feel about my stories, good or bad, then I'll keep writing them.
The cover is already telling me this is going to be dark as fuck, but I'm totally going to read it because I love stuff like this.
Wow. That was something.
I usually stay away from gore fics, because, like I said earlier, I believe you don't have to have enough blood to make Evil Dead blush, but the level here was tolerable. It took a while to figure it out, but I got the gist of it. I like the idea of a cult slowly taking over ponyville, and I like how you didn't reveal too much about it. Even though at the end, I was left wondering how or why it chose this moment to pop out and say 'hi,' but then I realised that I didn't care. The reason lies with your writing. It's descriptive enough to draw the reader in, losing them in the world that surrounds them on all sides like an ever present danger that you know is there, but can't quiet figure out when or were it will strike as the world around them slowly tail-spins out of control.
The only thing I didn't like was the Pinkie sub plot, which just felt like filler. I say this because I really wasn't as interested in her like I was with the rest of the town. They had an air of mystery, while the pinkie sub plot was a little predicable. The lack of parents, the kids crying all lead me to the obvious conclusion, but kudos to you for the way you handled it.
When the ending was presented, I was both disappointed at the predictability and shocked by what actually took place. It wasn't the ending I thought would happen, which is why it still came as a surprise to me, and honestly that's the whole point of it.
I hope I've made myself clear here. I was just writing down what came to mind after finishing it. Still, if anything confused you, let me know.
Final Verdict: While the plot is nothing to write home about, the experience of reading it is a literary mode expereince akin to "A Night on Bald Mountain." Minus the calm and plesant endding. A calm beginning that builds up with an oppressive atmosphere to a chilling climax.
5660522
Thank you for the feedback. Unfortunately, you're absolutely correct about the plot.
This was actually only the fourth fiction of any kind I've written since I was twelve, and it shows. I was experimenting with a idea that seemed good at the time, but in hindsight was too vague for anyone to catch on to. I was trying to create a story in which the style and atmosphere drove the reader's emotions, and a vague plot would, I hoped, add to the feeling. I was dead wrong, but I've learned from that mistake, and I've improved since.
The idea was that Ponyville is the sight of a horrible, sleeping evil and acts of great sin would awaken it. That's how the two plot lines tied together. Fluttershy was the only one not affected by it, and I was hoping that this would cause the reader to question her sanity.
In the end, I just didn't spell out everything enough, and the whole thing was style over substance. Thank you for taking the time to read it.
5662816 this story didn't dare me at all
It was that last picture.........the ending traumatized me in more than one way