Aurora
Sweet to Eat
Tales of Nightmare Night
Tale II
Aurora
Celestial Year 1002, October 16
Bounding is nervous about this trip. I can't say I blame him. Not only has the poor, lovable oaf never been camping, but he has to meet my father to boot. I know we should have introduced them to one another months ago, but with Bounding going all over Equestria to play and having such a good year…
Well, Hoofball season's over. We can get this out of the way.
This looks to be a new experience for all of us: Dewey was finally able to lease that lake with the cabin. Thank Celestia we have a lawyer on our side! I wonder how different it will be without tents? Father is no doubt against the whole plan, but he knows Price Hike's proud of her son and wants to be supportive.
He'll still sleep outside, though, or my name's not Waywords!
Celestial Year 1002, October 20
Bounding Forward has charged headlong into a line of burly stallions three times his size. He's lifted weights bigger than his head, kept his hooves on the ball despite being crushed under ponies determined like hell to get it from him, and I once saw him literally leap into a gang of brutes to defend my honor.
And yet he was pale as a ghost meeting my father today. For pity's sake, the old stallion is like a straw in comparison to Bounding's heft! Still, I suppose it's my fault. All those stories I told him about how intimidating Deep Roots can be, the way he handles himself on the farm without so much as breaking a sweat. My father might be small, but I have no doubt he could teach my fiancé a lesson or two.
I think Bounding left a good impression. Father is a big hoofball fan after all, and Bounding has the supreme advantage of not playing for the Hoofington Outlaws. When Bounding admitted to having never been camping, I saw a particular glint in Papa's eye, the kind usually reserved for city folk visiting a farm for the first time.
Poor Bounding has no idea what he's getting into, and as amusing as it is to wonder what Papa has in store for him...
I hope Bounding left a good impression.
Celestial Year 1002, October 22
We went into town today to gather provisions for the camping trip. I got to see Price Hike. She was nice to Bounding – I expected no less – but I saw the way she shared that mischievous grin with Papa behind his back. And her wings, they give off this familiar ruffle when she feels like having fun. I need to have a talk with those two; I won't let them scare off my fiancé like they did so many colts in my teenage years!
Little Caster had already arrived from Canterlot. It was nice to see her without her uniform on and relaxing. I understand that the Royal Guard is serious business, but she doesn't have to take it quite that seriously. Spending some time with her mother will do her good.
She likes Bounding. The two hit it off like they were old friends. I guess when you get two big, burly ponies together they're bound to have something in common. Caster is insistent that she take him fishing and show off her expertise. She seems convinced that once he learns to wet a hook he'll never want to leave the lake.
Dewey won't join us for a couple more days. Sounds like his current case is taking longer than planned.
Celestial Year 1002, October 23
Dewey sent a letter claiming he'd meet us in the town of Northern Falls. He's arranged for a small balloon service to take those of us without wings out to the lake. Apparently the balloon owners weren't eager to go there. What is it about northerners and superstition?
Bounding and Caster are pulling the wagon. It's a wonder Bounding’s ear doesn’t fall off with all her chatter. He doesn't seem to mind, and there's nothing to do about it anyway; once Caster knows there's fishing in the near future, it's impossible to still her tongue. Papa's making sure to help with the fish stories; "I think you're wrong, I think it was the length of the whole leg!"
If I've got Bounding's reaction right, he's buying it all hook, line and sinker.
Hike and I are staying in the back of the wagon, catching up and making sure we have everything we need for the trip. Papa forgot to bring eggs and a few other things, so a small shopping spree will be necessary. He didn't forget the cabbages, though.
Never does.
Celestial Year 1002, October 24
It's always wonderful to see Dewey Screwem again! So charming, so funny. If only he didn't know it. He jumped right into the subtle litigation jokes with Bounding. He was only poking fun, but I don't think Bounding was entertained; if there's any real enemy of the Hoofball player, its lawyers. Worse, this lawyer has wings and can thus escape a pounding.
Dewey lost his case, so he didn't get payed a single bit. I feel for him, but he doesn't appear too bothered by it. He says the case was a long shot, that he'd have never taken it if his boss hadn't been so insistent. The stallion has an incredible record, but records like his get scrambled once somepony over his head decides what cases he has to take on. Dewey is seriously considering starting his own firm. Considering he can front enough bits to lease the lake, I have no doubt he can afford it.
Price had a few choice words for her son. She never did like that he moved to the big city. It always makes me wonder why she gets so bent out of shape over Dewey – easily the most successful of us – when her earthbound daughter did more or less the same thing joining the Royal Guard. Sometimes I think it's because Caster is such a big mare and Dewey is so small. Caster seems to think it has more to do with how much Dewey resembles his late father.
I'll have to keep an eye on Dewey and Bounding. Something tells me they're going to have trouble getting along.
Celestial Year 1002, October 25
Hah! All this time I wondered if there was anything that scared my massive coltfriend. I thought my father was it, but I've discovered he's afraid of heights! The balloon ride to the lake is going to be entertaining, to say the least. I tried to be comforting about the whole thing with him – after all, we’ll have Hike and Dewey to catch him should he fall, and my magic too – but once he was out of earshot the rest of us had a good laugh!
But seriously, the ponies here in Northern Falls are an anxious lot. They suggested different lakes to camp at, warned us to avoid Lake Aurora. My literary instincts were tingling, so I roamed around town with Price and Bounding asking questions. Most of the older folk weren't willing to talk about the lake at all, like it was a taboo subject. The younger generation was more open, but they admitted to not understanding what made everypony so afraid.
I wish I had more time to explore and investigate the situation. Northern Falls is a lovely little mountain community and might make for a great article subject. Perhaps I can start up a series of articles about haunted camping sites. I'll run it by one of the editors later.
---
It has never been more apparent that my sweet Bounding Forward is a city pony. All this talk of potential spirits and terrible consequences has him worked up worse than the Season Endgames! Papa, Price and Caster teased him over it at supper, actively trying to convince him that ghosts and other superstitious nonsense are real and they have personal experience on the matter. I'll have to give them a stern lecture later about toying with my poor fiancé.
I made sure to reiterate to Bounding that I've been to dozens of campsites throughout Equestria and not once encountered a spook, ghoul, spirit or anything even remotely frightening. Well, there was that one bear on the shores of the Merrander, but that hardly qualifies. At least Papa and Price didn't bother to bring that up.
Dewey finds all this talk of superstition frustrating. Turns out he had to pay more than triple the usual asking price for the trip because of such whimsical ideas, so I don't blame him.
Tomorrow we will be at the cabin. I can't wait to get there!
Celestial Year 1002, October 26
This place is beautiful! It's nothing like the Bay of Antlers or the Merrander River. As soon as I stepped off the balloon onto the soft, moss-covered soil I felt this great, relaxing air. There is a sensation to this place, a feeling that nopony has set hoof here in hundreds of years. The mountains that surround us, the lightly lapping lake that stretches out around our campsite in three directions, the chatter of birds and squirrels... It's almost breathtaking in its natural serenity.
I must practice my description. These words don’t do this lake any justice. I am not a novelist, purely a writer of magazine articles, but I have read prose in books that leave me feeling inadequate and amateur. Perhaps here I can be inspired to write in such a flowery fashion as the great writers of the ages... without falling into purple prose, of course. I'm so terrible about that.
---
Our cabin isn't all that big, but it's enough to make six ponies comfortable. It is interesting, being so far out in the wilderness and yet having a roof over my head. I have the strange feeling that this isn't really camping. No matter, this is a new experience for all of us! It helps that the cabin hasn't been touched in ages.
For having been all but abandoned for nearly six decades, the place is in pretty good shape. With work, we could turn it into a proper habitation. A few walls to be rebuilt, fix up the stove, make a new table... yes, this place would do nicely. I can't imagine why the locals abandoned such a wonderful cabin.
---
Caster already has a hook in the water. Didn't take her more than an hour. Bounding has been watching her with no small amount of curiosity, having never fished in his life. He's awfully concerned for the fish; we tried to explain to him that it's all a game even to them, that the rounded metal lures don't actually hurt the fish. He's still mystified by the whole practice, but as a sportspony he can certainly understand the appeal of learning a new game.
There's a boat resting on some rocks just a few yards up the shore. Papa and Price think they can have the hull repaired and ready to go by tomorrow morning, much to Caster's delight. She wants to explore the lake and see if she can't find all the best fishing spots. I keep asking why a pegasus needs a boat to go fishing, but she always insists that “Fishing must be done properly.” Oh well, leave a mare to her oddities. I suppose it’s no different from Bounding’s hoofball myths.
Dewey's in the cabin trying to clean up a couple rooms to make them habitable. I'll join him in a few minutes, just to make myself seem useful. We writers are known for being lazy, and they all have me down as being a very serious writer, so I have to put out an effort or they'll start giving me tasks outside my comfort zone.
---
I never took Dewey for the imaginative type. Tonight, while we sat around the campfire, he claimed he could hear music. We all went quiet over our beans and perked our ears to listen, but we heard nothing. Still, he insists it is there; a quiet tune that plays just beneath the lapping lake waters. Papa says he's had too much moonshine.
Most of the others have gone to bed for the night. Here I sit on a rock overlooking the mirror-smooth lake, taking in the total silence of this place. It's a delightful reprieve from the big city noise. I feel as if all of nature has set into a tender lull, waiting with bated breath and sleepy mind for the coming sun. I gaze up at the full moon in wonder, for it is brighter and more brilliant than I have ever seen it.
I find myself wondering if Princess Luna is a pony of nature. The sun has its uses and if gives us life, but it is always there even when hidden behind the clouds, regardless of whether one is in the cities or out here amongst the wildlands. The moon, however, seems dim and dull from my apartment window. Why would it shine so brightly in this place, so far from civilization, unless the Princess of the Night was herself a lover of these far off, mysterious lands?
Maybe I'll sleep under the stars with Papa. This night seems filled with opportunities for inspiration.
Celestial Year 1002, October 27
Caster and Price decided to take the repaired boat out for a test and do some fishing. I encouraged Bounding to go with them, since he's never been in a small boat or fishing before. He's so anxious: he wanted me to come along, but there's no way four ponies will fit in that little thing, not if they want to do any fishing. I assured him that there were no better boaters than Price and no better fisherponies than Caster, but he still had that scared puppy look as they set off on the calm waters. It was adorable.
Not that I'd ever tell him that.
Papa and I are going to go exploring the woods. He keeps teasing me about bears, the old fart.
---
Nope, no bears.
---
Bounding may become a country pony yet! Price and Caster both claim he made an exemplary first-time fisherpony. Normally I'd accredit their tales to exaggeration, but Bounding seems thoroughly pleased with himself so I have to assume there is at least some truth to their 'big fish' stories.
I knew going out on the lake would be good for Bounding! He's become so excited, and he's really hoping to go fishing again tomorrow. Even Papa cracked a smile for the guy. I may have to go with them this time.
---
Price wanted to talk to me. She dragged me out of my bunk and brought me to the dock. She asked if I could hear the music. It's actually a bit of a surprise; I thought I was only imagining it, like a song deep in the back of the conscience that refuses to go away. But she hears it, too. We spent some time speculating on its source, but could come up with nothing.
I think Price is spooked. As much as she made fun of the Northern Fall ponies, she's turning to be a bit of a superstitious pony herself. We'll bring it up tomorrow with everypony and see if we can't determine the source.
Celestial Year 1002, October 28
First thing in the morning, Caster's already fishing off the dock. That mare is obsessed, I swear. Oh well, let her have her fun; she only gets off three weeks out of the year, after all.
---
Bounding is napping. The two of us are situated behind a tall ridge, well out of the way of everypony else. I'm... I can't describe my feelings. Usually when we have our 'fun,' as he so playfully calls it, it's all so much energy and sin. But there was something profoundly different about his touch this time, and a very different light in his eyes. I know Bounding loves me, I know it with all my heart and soul, but today...
Today I felt it. With every breath, every whispered word, every adoring gaze.
I knew this trip would be good for us, I just didn't know how good.
---
By the Sisters' Holy Mother, Papa saw us! He won't say it outright, but there's no question in my mind. His incessant teasing, his wry smile, the subtle threats made in jest... I've never been so embarrassed! It's pretty clear Bounding is aware of it, too; he's as white as a ghost!
---
Caster brought it up. The music. She mentioned it around the campfire tonight. It's such a huge relief, I really thought I was imagining things! But once Caster mentioned it, Bounding confessed to hearing it, too.
I asked about the lights in the water, and they confirmed them. It's not common, maybe once every few hours, but sometimes I swear I see a shimmering... something beneath the waves. Caster has been at the lake nonstop, and she swears on her father's grave that there's something moving down there. She's hoping its some unknown fish and is hoping to catch it.
Bounding was the one to raise the possibility of the area being haunted. That prompted my father to laugh raucously. Bounding was clearly offended, but he had to admit that the thought was foalish.
Papa says it's all just our imaginations playing around with us. He says the 'music' is just background noise; the trees rustling in the wind, the quiet lapping of the lake, animals scurrying about beyond the trees, all combining to create an effective illusion of music. I know he is probably right.
Even so, Bounding and I will be sleeping together tonight despite the small bunks. We could both use the company.
Celestial Year 1002, October 29
It's unusually warm today. Caster says it's perfect fishing weather. She, Bounding and I are going to take the boat out on the lake and try out what she claims are superb fishing spots. Bounding seems excited to be going out on the lake again, but I have to admit: I'm nervous. Those lights keep coming, and the music hasn't stopped.
I won’t voice my worries to the others. Bounding seems in such good spirits and Caster continues to insist that the lights are some kind of special, rare fish.
---
Good Goddess, Bounding might be a better fisherpony than I am! He caught this Northern Trout that was nothing short of gargantuan! Caster says he has graduated from the lowly status of 'city pony' and advanced to the role of 'rookie fisherpony,' much to his amusement. Even the trout seemed to think it was amusing, going so far as to wink at Bounding. We gave it some food as thanks for being a good sport – as is customary – and released it back to the lake.
We've returned to camp for some rest and lunch. Caster thinks she'll be able to catch the 'glowfish,' as she's calling the lights, if she goes out for some night fishing. We'll be leaving her to it; if anypony knows her way around the waters in the dark, it's Caster.
---
Caster won't be back until early in the morning, so Bounding and I have the camp all to ourselves. We intend to take full advantage of the opportunity!
---
Camps at night are an inherently spooky environment. I lie here next to Bounding – who is sleeping with such a pleasant smile on his face – and stare into the fire. It's died down quite a bit. The unsteady light fills the world with a ghostly image, and the cabin looms beyond like a behemoth upset with our trespass.
We're so isolated from the world. No carriages, no roads, no lights. Every now and then I see the shining eyes of some unknown animal peering at us from the woods. Frogs, perhaps. As a child, I used to think they were poltergeists waiting to pounce, and tonight that strange feeling has hit me harder than it ever did my childish brain. Sometimes I hear a twig snap or the leaves rustle at something's passing; why does it bother me so much? I haven't been this jumpy in years.
Maybe it's the music. Or is it music at all? If it is, then it's nothing like any music I've ever known. I can't catch the rhythm, perhaps because it is so quiet. It doesn't even seem to come from anywhere; it's like it's internal, being created directly in my brain. It's silly, I know... but Caster and Bounding confirmed hearing it.
What of those lights? Caster is out there right now, trying to catch her elusive 'glowfish,' but I remain uncertain. The lights don't move in any way that makes me think of fish. They are too slow, too steady, and when they do move it is so gradual that I can't imagine any wild animal behaving in such a fashion.
It's not fish. I know it's not fish.
I wish Bounding was awake, but I won't disturb him. No, I'll just snuggle up against his burly chest and let his presence comfort. In the morning everything will feel normal again.
I'll look back at this diary entry and smile.
The boat is gone. It makes no sense; neither Bounding nor I used it since our fishing trip yesterday, and I made sure the landing ropes were tight. Yet as sure as I'm sitting here writing this now, the boat is gone. It's as if somepony came in the middle of the night and stole off with it. Not just it, but all our fishing tools and the tackle box, which we are both certain was taken out at some point.
If the boat simply drifted off, I might be able to find it. It's only a lake, I could surely walk the perimeter. But Bounding doesn't want to leave the camp. I think he's afraid.
I don't blame him. Something really weird is going on in this place.
---
I am so terribly confused. I didn't want to admit to any of it, but the more I look at the evidence the more I believe we are in a very real and present danger.
We were sitting around the fire, quiet and anxious in our isolation, when Bounding asked me a question, a very simple, obvious one: how did we get here? I realized the relevance nearly instantly. We came to Northern Falls on a wagon which he drove, we got on a balloon there.
Neither of us could remember booking the balloon.
Neither of us can remember leasing the land, or who owns it.
At this point I was convinced it was an oddity, a lapse of memory in the two of us. I was convinced that if I went back through my diary I'd learn the facts. But what I discovered...
Who are these ponies I wrote about in my diary? I don't even remember writing about them. I had a father? I read that question over and over again, and it seems preposterous; of course I had a father.
So why can't I remember anything about him? Not a face, a voice... nothing.
I remember nights on the Merrander and the bear. I remember the Bay of Antlers, and so many other wonderful camping trips. But I went on those journeys by myself... didn't I? Why can’t I remember the whole bear attack? I feel like somepony saved me… but… but that’s impossible.
These other ponies... Price, an old friend of a father I don't remember. Her children, Caster and Dewey, with whom I supposedly grew up with. I see their names, I read about us together. How can there be so much history in these pages when I can't remember a thing about them?
We never should have come here.
---
Bounding wanted to leave by hoof, run out into the woods and try to make it to civilization. I corrected him; I know, from a lifetime of experience, that we'd never make it to Northern Falls. We don't have the supplies and nothing here is edible for our equine stomachs.
Our best hope is to stay here until the balloon returns, which should be in two days. We can make it that long, I'm sure of it. Bounding is terrified – he's seen the same diary entries I have – and he may attempt to leave without me. I pray he doesn't. He hasn't the experience necessary to even know which way to go, and I fear he'd never survive.
I don't want to be left alone tonight.
---
I've taken a much closer look at my previous entries. If I'm right about what I'm seeing, then we don't stand a chance. First Dewey Screwem, whose disappearance was so sudden and deceptive I didn't realize he was missing from the entries at first. Then Price Hike, his mother, the very next day. Just... gone, and we didn't even notice. Deep Roots – the pony who was supposedly my father – was next, followed by somepony named Little Caster. If my entry is accurate, she's the reason the boat's missing.
Now there's just us. Us and that horrid noise in our heads, an unequine 'music' that I've been hearing since the second day. They all heard it, too. And what of the lights that continue to shimmer in the lake? They've grown brighter these past few days.
If this pattern is what I believe, one of us will not be here tomorrow. Goddess, I can't imagine not existing. But to leave the camp, to try and make it on our own...
I think Bounding is right. Our chances of reaching Northern Falls on hoof are slim at best, but after all I've read I am confident we don't stand a chance if we stay. I don't want to disappear, to be forgotten by the world. Dying would be a much better fate.
---
We've been walking for hours. I had hoped that the music would fade as we left the lake, but no such luck. That terrible noise, it invades my mind like a plague! At first it had been a quiet thrumming, but now it seems more akin to nails on a chalkboard. It sounds... angry. I would give anything for it to shut up!
---
Bounding says I'm retreating into my diary. I suppose he's right. The poor, lovable stallion doesn't have something like this with which to take his mind off things. He has to rely on me and our conversations. I don't feel much like talking, but for his sake...
---
I am so envious of Bounding’s ability to sleep so soundly, even under these circumstances. We both know something is wrong – terribly, horribly wrong – yet somehow he's snoring away. So now I lie here next to him, alone and terrified.
What if we haven't traveled far enough? What if I wake up in the morning to find him gone... to not even remember him? My big, strong, sweet Bounding...
I still remember how we met. I'd been in the library, doing research. He was there with a dozen books and looking so stressed. It was pitiable, really. I didn't pay any attention to Hoofball back then, so I didn't really know who he was or that it would be so odd for him to be there. I did notice how ponies kept walking up to him, getting all excited.
Four days in a row I went to that library, and every day he was in the same spot. I thought it curious. Then, one day, he just walked up to me asked me out. Out of nowhere. I almost declined, but he looked so adorably desperate, like a puppy needing a home.
That weekend he brought me to what had to have been one of the fanciest restaurants I'd ever visited. It was so upscale it made me feel downscale. It was then that I found out who he really was and why he was really at that library. I can't imagine what had been going through his mind! Here was a stallion constantly hounded by the press, who had no small number of mares after his tail, and he wasted four days in a library just trying to work up the nerve to ask me out!
I used to wonder why. He says he first saw me in the reserved booths, during that one game I attended thanks to an editor friend who thought she was returning a favor. What was it he said he liked? Ah, yes: he said I had 'focus.' I still don't understand what that means. All I know is he spent two weeks trying to find out who I was and how he could meet me for real.
My sweet Bounding. I don't want to forget anything about you. Maybe that's why I'm writing this now, so that if you disappear tonight I won't forget. It works both ways, doesn't it? Let me do you the same favor, in case it is I who disappears.
I am Waywords Roots, and if this diary is to be believed then I am the only daughter of Deep Roots, though that name is unfamiliar to me. I was born on a farm outside the tiny town of Riverside, and I am a writer for the magazine 'A Walk in the Woods.' It's for naturalists and campers like me.
...I don't know what to write. I want to keep going, but there are so many holes in my head. Is it because of what's happening here? I feel like entire pages of my life have been ripped out. It's terrifying.
What kind of unholy power can do such a thing?
---
Ignore the stains. Please.
I have to keep writing. I have to hide in my diary. It takes us when we sleep, I'm sure of it. I wish I knew what 'it' is.
I must stay awake. All night, if I can. I won't sleep.
The light of my horn keeps his face visible. I know I won’t wake him, he sleeps like a rock. He looks gaunt. I know it's the inconsistent light of my horn playing tricks on me, but I hate the sight. My sweet Bounding...
Keep writing!
Stay awake!
Don't think about the long walk we took, how tired you are, how comfortable it is to press against his broad body.
Keep writing.
About what?
Do you remember how afraid you were to come on this camping trip with me? You'd never been camping before, what if you made a foal of yourself? That's what I remember you telling me. My diary says you were afraid of meeting my father. That strikes me as so... weird. To think of you being afraid of the father I don't recall having. It's a little funny.
Funny.
So why do I feel like sobbing?
Damn it, the stains are ruining my words. How are you supposed to remember me this way?
The lights are dancing in the sky.
---
I love you, Bounding Forward. Please, if I'm gone in the morning, remember that.
Please.
I'm so tired...
I don't remember.
It wasn't my idea to come out here. Whose idea was it?
I don’t remember.
I woke up this morning and felt... loss. Like something was supposed to be there. That hideous thrumming makes my head hurt.
I have to keep going. I have to get to Northern Falls.
I don't want to be forgotten.
---
Merciful Goddess, it hurts. Why was I so panicked, why was I so scared? I even survived a bear attack – though I don't remember how – yet I fled like a frightened schoolfilly who'd never left home! I just couldn't take it, I had to get away from that noise.
Now look at me. One tumble down a cliff was all it took. If it was only one leg, that might have been okay, but two...
Why am I crying? I've had worse than this. Not really, but... but now I feel like there's something missing. So many bad situations have come up in my life; the bear, that cave in the Surcingle range, getting lost in the Evermarsh. I always came through fine.
Because I had something. There was something that watched over me, kept me going, guided me. What was it? Why can't I remember it? I need it so badly right now. I miss it so much, I just know it was an important aspect of my life.
I want it back.
Damn it, stop crying!
---
Deep Roots.
If I say it enough times, will I remember?
---
It took some work and a lot of pain, but my legs have been set in splints. I might be able to drag my way, but I don't like it.
I'll never make it to town.
What other option do I have?
I'll keep going. Something inside tells me I need to. Maybe, just maybe, deep down I really do remember this pony who is supposedly my father.
---
It's over. I won't make it. I don't have the strength to continue, or the supplies to last more than a couple days.
I won’t make it.
Buck me straight to Tartarus!
---
...I had a fiancé. I read about him, and I start crying. I can't help it. It's just a name on paper; I can't remember his face, his build, his voice, and yet the thought of him rends my heart in two. He was an earth pony, or so my diary claims.
I read yesterday's entry. Again and again. He sounds like such a nice, handsome pony. I wish I could remember him. I would give anything to remember any of them.
What is this horrible place?
Why won't that bucking noise stop?
Damn tears...
---
I want to go home. I want to see the farm. My diary says Deep Roots loved that place. Cabbages. I remember growing cabbages as a filly. That's all I grew.
I don't remember being raised. I just remember that the farm is home. How did I get there? Who fed me, clothed me, taught me everything I know?
I want to remember.
---
Maybe I've gone insane.
Maybe all these names, all these ponies are the delusions of a mad mare. Maybe they never existed. It could very well be that they are the workings of a lonely mare desperate for some companionship, so desperate she concocted friends and a family in her mind. Did I flee out here because my illusions are breaking down?
Writers are, by their very nature, an imaginative lot. It doesn't matter what kind of writer you are, it takes a distinct creativity to try. In this aspect I have always considered myself rather bland, but perhaps that's not the case.
Did I create a father for the sake of having one? Could Price Hike have been the result of my desire for a motherly figure? What about her children?
And this supposed fiancé. A Hoofball player, really Waywords? Talk about wild fantasies.
But what if they were real? They could be my own imaginings, but then I could be going crazy and using that as an excuse.
Sweet Celestia, somepony end that awful racket!
Calm down, Waywords. Just calm down. You're not insane. It's just that stupid noise and the pain worming its way into your head.
I wish I had somepony to talk to.
---
I hate this forest. It's so big and looming and quiet. I need noise to drown out that awful thrumming. I feel so isolated.
I wish my legs would stop hurting so much. I wish I could hear a friendly voice. Even an unfriendly one would be nice right about now. I keep rereading my diary. It's all I have to distract, and it's not enough. I think more and more about the ponies I wrote about. Were they ever real?
Damn trees. Damn rocks. Damn noise. I won't let them scare me any longer. I don't want to disappear, but if that is my fate then I'll face it. I won't let them break me!
---
The sun is going down. I can see the purple twilight through the trees.
They say dawn and dusk are the best times to pray, that Celestia is most receptive to the pleas of her subjects then because her attention is so deeply focused upon her work. I've never been one for prayer; it's too insubstantive, and I never felt that it achieved anything.
I'm praying now.
I'm praying to Celestia for a miracle, for that is what I need. I'm praying to her sister, too. Perhaps Luna is the lover of nature I'd like her to be. Perhaps, in these horrible environs, she will be even more receptive than her sister.
I hope so.
I pray so.
---
It's beautiful. I remember seeing the auroras once, on a camping trip I took in Alabastra. The lights danced in the sky, playful and amazing and filling me with awe. Was I alone? My memory says I was, but I don't trust my memories.
These aren't the same, though. They are darker, yet at stages brighter, too. Their dance seems less random and more synchronized, as if there really were a consciousness guiding them.
They are coming from the direction of the lake. Beautiful... but strangely unnerving. I have this terrible feeling that they aren't natural. When I look closely, I feel as if I am seeing something else within those lights. Forms, shapes, bodies...
...faces?
---
I don't want to be under those lights. They can't be natural. There is some kind of curse on this land, those lights prove it. And the thrumming, it's been getting louder. I think it comes from the lights.
Is this the source? Is this why everypony I know – think I knew – am supposed to know?
They must be faces. I am convinced they are faces. I wish I could make out the expressions, but they are so intangible, constantly fading in and out. It's not the dull, constant pain or the noise in my head or the horrible, horrible isolation. They are faces.
Faces in the aurora.
Celestia, Luna, please, grant me a miracle. Don't let them erase me. Don't let them wipe me out! Even if I don't live, I want to exist! Please...
---
Write.
Stay awake and write.
They are looking. The aurora has strengthened, I can see the faces. Are they screaming, is that what the sound it meant to represent? Or laughing?
They are looking. They seek me out.
Must stay awake.
Don't sleep. They'll find me if I sleep, I know it.
Write. Write anything. Write everything.
Dewey Screwem.
Price Hike.
Deep Roots.
Little Caster.
Bounding Forward.
I am Waywords Roots. Remember me.
Please, somepony remember me.
Don't sleep, Waywords. Don't let them find you.
The thrumming.
Goddess, the thrumming!
Waywords.
I am Waywords.
I am somepony.
Don't forget me.
They are looking.
Don't forget me.
Don't sleep.
Waywords
Dont forget me
Dont sleep
Don
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Well... thank you for the nightmares I'll be having.
Very well done, I kept feeling chills as I read this.
5187275
We haven't even gotten to the best part yet.
Two words:
HOLY CRAP...
This has a very 'Creepypasta' vibe to it. I think I've bumped into this type of story quite a bit. (there's one where the monster is a Wendigo which is probably my favorite.) I'd say the only detracting factor in this story are all the OC's, but as the point of the story seems to be to whittle them down one by one, the story actually becomes stronger the longer it goes on as a result.
Interesting story. There are some parallels here to the movie yellowbrickroad, but I think your tale has a much better execution.
I also have to admit that it is probably a good thing you pointed out that people were disappearing. I guess I would have got it eventually, but I suddenly got confused thinking "Why are they concerned about the missing boat? Was there more than one boat?"
A good and proper psychological horror brr...
🥶