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For the rest of the day I stayed at home, working on my second novel. Work progresses smoothly, and whilst writing I even was met with a rather impromptu shower from outside as the sound of rain came falling down. I quite enjoy writing in the rain, as it is a noise of great comfort, but to my surprise as I looked to shut my window, the skies were clear and the ground dry.

Of course, there was no noise of rain or anything of the sort, but sometimes when you long for something enough, a whisper of a phantom can come to you. It has been a while since it last rained. My poor flowers are wilting.

However, it was probably for the best, since the rain would have hindered Twilight’s investigations as well. Being a small town, shelter is few and far between, and an umbrella is the best friend of the unwary pony around these parts. I shall have to lend Twilight one tomorrow, I do feel, just in case. It might pour any day, now!

But as good fortune favoured, Twilight returned home today dry as a bone, and as tired as she was yesterday. Once again, she had pushed herself too far, and she appeared knocking on my door in quite the state!

I did give her a slight chiding, which she took on the chin, and agreed that perhaps she should have stopped for lunch and dinner. Both meals had she not taken! It was shocking to hear. When we were but a little younger, I would catch her doing this perhaps once or twice, but as she was now, she couldn’t afford to be this reckless.

I quickly rushed to the kitchen to fix us some middlings for nourishment, while she regaled me with her adventures of the day.

She delivered upon me a book that she had found in the local library, one of myths, tales and other such superstitious nonsense. It was a book bound in old string and yellowed glue that flaked off on my precious dining table, and you can be sure I cleaned all that up in a hurry!

But as old things were, this one was quite presentable otherwise.

For the rest of the day, Twilight had spoken to a local historian, which I did not even know we had here, and spent a great deal of time walking the length of the town, trying to find something, but failing, in her own words.

What it was she was attempting to find led to a heftier sprinkle of book dandruff upon my table as she pushed me to a page within the old folklore book.

My description here does no justice to the actual text, but I was left with an odd chill as I finished reading the description, which was full of archaic tongue and terms from parallel minds with parallel understandings.

From the few things that I could, or would, piece together, the text told of a gathering that existed within Barnsend unspecified hundreds of years ago, a clandestine organization that went by the name ‘The Watchers of the Stars’. I barely had the wherewithal to process their purpose, for as it was written, it read as though they were intentionally hiding the meaning behind their activities, merely stating in broad strokes how they wished to ‘observe the truth’ and ‘wait on the path’. There were other mentions of nurturing their ilk, and hiding their sires within reflection and

It is to be certain — I will never attempt my hoof at writing horror, for my constitution will simply not allow it!

Even such things as this, an old story from a day gone by, caused me such anxiety that Twilight had to sit me down and fetch me my own tea in my own home!

After we both had time to calm down and had our fill of tidings, we finished speaking about the subject; I cannot admit to not being a curious mind, something which has frequently got me into trouble in the past.

As always, my questions revealed more truths, for it is in my nature to poke and prod at holes.

As it turns out, this historian, that Twilight so tactfully described, was actually Old Stallion Fenseed from up the hill, our current oldest resident. He and I have a sort of shared understanding, as it were. I have written about him in the past (see: #84, #113) but I shall recollect that we both do not leave our houses much unless necessary, although of the two of us, he is more frequently met with disdain in the town square.

It is a shame, however, for an old man to be treated as such, for do we not all one day grow old and rely on the kindness of others? Of course, he is, as Twilight complained, also a rather unpleasant sort to deal with, due to his excitable temperament, but as I have noted before, I feel a kinship with him for the both of us being odd hermits in some way or another.

Twilight said, as I had expected, that Old Stallion Fenseed did give Twilight nothing more but cryptics and wordplay, and grew agitated whence Twilight produced the item for him to observe. He bade her leave his home that instant, Twilight bemusedly explained, stating he had important work to do at that moment, but gave promise that he would meet her once more.

From there, Twilight neglected to provide details herself, for it was late, and she was tired, but summarized the rest of her experience by saying that she had been led to find the book that was now sitting upon my tabletop.

I asked her then, if she had found what she had been seeking. But the answer was a very wistful ‘no’. Although, she clarified, it was a step in the right direction. What she sought was something beyond mere tales of legend. What she had to find was something far more tangible, but still, she had no idea what form it would take.

Again, she asserted that she would definitely know once she found it. The object, she said, would tell her, as magic usually did. But she gained, today, a few leads and a few clues to where she might search next. The sound of waves, was the last thought she muttered on before giving off a great yawn.

The hours stretched long, and we both decided to retire to our beds, again, with her proclamation that the object must be found.

It only comes to me now that I have once again forgotten to ask her how the object came into her possession. Such a mind, I have!

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Skeeter The Lurker

Skeeter The Lurker #1 · Jun 18th, 2016 · · ·

A town hiding a secret. Naturally.

Not much else to go on save for maybe Luna knows a bit about it?

~Skeeter The Lurker

Journeyman

Journeyman #2 · Jun 18th, 2016 · 4 · ·

In a way, these Watchers remind me of the old Yithians and their library in Shadow out of Time. My first guess for the inspiration of Barnsend is of course Innsmouth, but that feels both too easy and not quite right with... uh, the lack of "fish stench" in the air. Honestly my first thought was that old story "Townsend", a story by Cyneryk that was cut off before it had a proper chance to shine.

More research is needed. in case it is not apparent, I am a huge Lovecraft fan. I will be finishing this story tonight.

Corejo