The Blot

by Flint-Lock

Checkers

Up in his bedroom, Tinker Toy hunted voices.

Sitting in front of his jury-rigged transmitter, the earth pony pressed a hoof against his earphones, twisting the radio dial with the other. Like an old-time prospector panning for gold, he sifted through the electromagnetic muck, searching for even the smallest, faintest signal.

Nothing. Frustrated, Tinker pulled the microphone to his muzzle and pressed the “talk” button. The hunter was becoming impatient;time for some bait.

“Attention, this is Tinker Toy of Ponyville, broadcasting on all frequencies,” he said slowly and deliberately. “If anypony is receiving this, please respond.” Releasing the microphone, Tinker listened again, hoping to hear something, anything, other than the frying haybacon sound of static.

Again, he was disappointed.

Tinker slumped in his chair, rubbing his apple-red forehead against his workdesk. “Great Queen of the Universe,” he mumbled in a voice only She would hear, “please, help me out.”

A response. That’s all he wanted. It didn’t have to be anything complex; a sentence, a fragment of a sentence, a word, something to prove him right. Something to show him that the world wasn’t dead.

Feeling a little better, Tinker pressed the send button again.

“Repeat, this is Tinker Toy of Ponyville broadcasting at all frequencies. If anypony is out there, please respond. Please respond.”

Again, he twisted the dial, methodically searching through all the frequencies. He stopped. There, between 750 and 760 mhz, there was something different- a faint whistling sound- barely audible over the torrent of static.

Tinker’s heart leapt. “Come in, this is Tinker Toy, I repeat, this is Tinker Toy of Ponyville, can you read me, over?”

There was a smell like burning rubber bands, a loud pop, and the headphones went silent.

“Horseapples!” With a growl, Tinker flicked off the set and tearing the headphones off his head in disgust. With a screwdriver in his teeth, he opened the back of the set and with a pair of pliers, pulled out a chunk of magically-conductive crystal; clouded, fractured, and completely worthless.

Of course. The stallion turned the burnt-out crystal over in his hoof, as if glaring at it would solve all his problems. This monstrosity of his had a voracious appetite for spare parts. That was the third crystal he’d burned out in as many days. It’d take hours for him to get the damned thing working again. It was times like this he really wished that his friend, Timer Turner, was here. That stallion had had a knack for working with tiny parts.

For a moment, the radio became a symbol for his life. Just as it seemed like he was making progress, the universe pushed him back. Go up a step, and fate would push him back down. All of existence had turned against him. That’s how it’d been, ever since the sky went dark. Ever since the Blot.

-
Tossing the crystal into a wastebasket, Tinker brushed a strand of greasy, lemon-colored mane out of his face and slipped off of his stool, catching a look out the window as he did. It was black, same as always. If Tinker hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought it was midnight, even though it was only eleven a.m.

The Blot. As a name, it was fitting and unfitting. At first it sounded so innocuous; like the sound of a bowl of pudding being dropped on somepony’s head. But really, what else could he call it? If there a better name for an unholy, all-consuming darkness, Tinker Toy was all ears.

Shaking his head, the stallion fished a replacement crystal from a drawer. He needed a distraction, fast. The less he thought about the Blot, the better.

There was a soft clicking of hooves on plywood.

“Dad?”

Tinker snapped out of his trance and turned to see his son, Gearhead, trot into the bedroom.

“Dad, did you raise anyone?”

Putting on the most genuine-looking smile he could muster, Tinker turned to face his son. “Yep. In fact, I just ordered a pepperoni pizza from Extra Cheese’s Pizzeria; It’ll be here in about twenty minutes.” He sighed, trotting over to the colt and putting a hoof on her shoulder. “Sorry, champ, nothing today. But I think I’m getting close!” Tinker said.

A low growl came from Tinker’s stomach. “Guess it’s time for breakfast,” he motioned to Gearhead. “Care to join me?”

“Mmm, okay. Sure,” Gear said, nodding

With that, two trotted out of the bedroom, squeezing their way past skyscraper-like piles of boxes and crates as they made their way to the house’s tiny kitchen for a hearty breakfast.

At least that’s what they called it. In this land of eternal midnight, night and day were a memory. Morning, noon, evening, weeks, months, had all blurred together into a single, continuous stream.

“Alright,” Tinker set some paper bowls on the table. He cleared his throat. “Good day, monsieur, and welcome to chez Tinker,” he said in a terrible Prench accent. “My name is Jacquez and shall be zour waiter tonight.”

Gearhead giggled. “Very well, good sir,” the colt said in an equally horrendous Trottingham accent, studying an invisible menu. “I say, what is your special today?”

“Monsiuer, our zpecial today,” Tinker suppressed a giggle “...is ze canned peaches in zyrup, along with a glass of our finezt water.”

“Hmmm…” Gear put a hoof to his chin, tapping a hindleg. “Very well, I shall have that.”

“Ah, an exzellent choice, monsieur.” Tinker scribbled something down on an invisible notepad. “I shall be right back.”

With that, Tinker trotted over to a crate labeled “Rich’s Barnyard Bargains” and started rummaging through the worryingly low contents. Like an archeologist extracting an artifact from a chest, Tinker fished out a can of “Peachy Keen’s Canned Peaches”, perhaps the last of its kind in Equestria. Gripping the pull tab in his teeth, he peeled back the lid and scooped out the syrupy lumps into two paper bowls, which were soon joined by two cups of water.

“Here you are, monsieur,” he said, placing a bowl in front of his son. He blew a kiss. “Bon appetit!”

Both ponies stared at each other for a bit, struggling to keep their respective faces straight. Pressure built in Tinker chest, he put a hand to his lips, then burst into laughter. Infected, his son also burst into laughter. For a moment, the world felt safe again; Tinker and Gear were just a father and son, having breakfast together.

Once the laughter reservoirs inside them depleted, Tinker finally returned to his meal, spearing a peach with his fork and slowly chewed it, trying to trick his stomach into making the bare-bones breakfast more filling than it really was. Gear subscribed to a different school of thought, scarfing down his peaches like Pinkie Pie at a pie-eating contest.

“So, Dad,” Gearhead said, wiping syrup from his lips, “what are we gonna do today? Play some checkers?”

“Later,” Tinker said, throwing the bowls into an overstuffed garbage bag. “First, we have chores to do. You slop the hogs, while I milk the cow.”

The colt rolled his eyes, “Really Dad, what do we need to do?”

Tinker started down the stairs. “I’m going to charge the batteries. While I do that, you inspect my portable charger, I think one of the crystals might be burning out.”

“But Dad, I checked it last night, the crystals looks fine.”

“Gear...” Tinker said, frowning and tapping a hoof.

“I know, I know,” groaned the colt, “if it looks good, check it twice. If it looks great, check it thrice.”

“Exactly, now go on.”

With that, Gearhead trotted off into the workshop, lugging one of the portable generators on his back. There was the clunking sound of tools being taken off a shelf, followed by the the ratcheting clicks of a socket wrench. As his son worked, Tinker connected the house’s main generator to a modified exercise bike, then clambered on.

Two hind legs pushed against the rubber pedals, fighting against inertia. The pedals turned slowly at first, like they had just gotten out of bed after a good night’s sleep and still needed their morning coffee, then slowly built up momentum. A belt attached to the bike’s flywheel spun, turning a wheel attached to the generator. There was the itchy, ozone smell of magic, and the generator’s mageometer lit up, needle twitching.

“One two three four, one two three four...” Tinker counted off, trying to get a good rhythm going. It was funny; before the Blot, he’d rarely use the thing. Now he pedaled every day- or whatever passed for a day in this sunless land- each pedal adding a few more seconds of life.
Without light, the Blot would smother you in seconds, squeezing the air from your lungs. Without magical energy to power the light crystals, there was no light.

On the plus side, he was getting in great shape.

The alarm clock went off with a cacophonous ring. The mageometer needle pointed firmly in the red; the batteries had finished suckling on magic. Stretching, Tinker slid off the bike, letting it freewheel for a bit, then decoupled the generator from the storage batteries. The moment he did, the interior lights shone a bit brighter, pushing the Blot back a little more. His little private universe felt a little safer.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Tinker trotted over to the workshop, joints popping and cracking all over his body. He poked his head inside to see one of the precious portable generators lying partially disassembled on the workbench, like a patient on an operating table, while Gearhead examined its crystal, poking and prodding the crystal at its center.

“How’s it look?”

The colt looked up at Tinker, the magnifying goggles on his head giving him a comical, bug eyed appearance. “It looks good, Dad,” Gearhead said, gently placing the crystal in its nest of conductive wires, then screwing the generator back together with a socket wrench. “Crystal’s a bit scratched, but not too bad. Be a while before we’ll need to replace it.”

Tinker smiled. It seemed like just yesterday his son had been a curious little colt, playing around with his dad’s tools, trying to take apart the radio. Now he could disassemble and fix pretty much anything in barely any time at all. In a few more years he’d probably surpass his old man.

If only his mother could see him...

Once the generator was reassembled, Gearbox slid off the stool, placing the magnifiers on a hook by the workbench.

“Well, now that the chores are done,” Tinker grabbed an old checkerboard and a bag of game pieces off a shelf, “what do you say we find out who really is the Grand Checkers Champion of the Universe?”

“You’re on!” Gearhead said, trotting over to a nearby barrel NS setting up the faded cardboard board. Missing pieces replaced with washers and nuts.

“So,” Tinker said, arranging the pieces on the board, “what’ll be this time? Red or Black?”

“Black. Gotta be black.”

“Excellent choice.”

Gearhead moved one of his pieces. Tinker responded in kind.

Something was wrong. Gear was making all sorts of mistakes. By his third turn, Tinker had already captured two pieces, and was ready to jump a third. He didn’t like this, at all.

“Gear?”

Gearhead looked up from the board. “Yeah?”

“Is something wrong?”

Two orange ears flattened against Gear’s head. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think that things will ever return to normal?”

Tinker smiled. “Of course they will.” He jumped one of his son’s pieces.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I know our Princesses,” said Tinker, placing the piece in the POW camp aside the board. “ I’ll bet that right now, all four of them are whipping up a spell to destroy the Blot.”

“But Dad, we don't even know if they’re still alive.” Gearhead shouted. “ We don’t know how big the Blot is; for all we know, the entire planet’s been gobbled up! We might be the only ponies left!”

“Not necessarily,” Tinker replied. “We saw some ponies make it indoors. They could still be alive.”

“Then why haven’t we seen anypony? What happened to them?”

The two stared at the floor for a second. Tinker tried to find the right mold for his thoughts. “Look, Gear, I know that things look pretty bleak. Wait, scratch that, they are pretty bleak,” he said, forcing out a light chuckle. “But this isn’t the first time it’s been like this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Remember when Nightmare Moon returned, how we thought we’d never see the sun again? Remember when that magician enslaved the entire town or when Tirek tried to steal all the magic in Equestria? Things were definitely bleak then.” He sighed. “I won’t lie; there were times when I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry.”

“But you know what? It all passed. Nightmare Moon was destroyed. Ponyville was freed, and Tirek was cast back into Tartarus. This won’t be any different.”

While Tinker tried his best to sound confident, there was a little seed of doubt in his heart. Every word he said fertilized it. Every suppressed feeling watered it. Every time it’d grow a little bigger, its’ roots would spread a little deeper.

The Blot was nothing like Nightmare Moon or Tirek. It hadn’t made any grandiose speeches about how it was going to conquer the world or how futile it was to resist it. All it wanted was to smother the town with its presence, snuffing out anything unfortunate enough to be caught within it.

Worse, whenever he looked into the Blot, he swore he could feel it looking back. Examining him. Probing him. Stalking him.

There was another pause. “Dad, if...when the Blot goes away, will things ever get back to normal?”

Tinker sighed. “Gear, I won’t lie.When the Blot goes away, things won’t return to normal at once. In fact, they may not be normal again for a long time. But you know what? We’ll survive. We’re Earth ponies, aren’t we?”

Gearhead gave a half smile, “Yeah, we’re strong like that.” The smile turned mischievous, as the colt picked up a piece and, with a Clack Clack Clack, jumped over three of his pieces.

“King me.” Gear plucked three of Tinker’s pieces off the board, a smug smile on his face.

“Dangit! I left my guard down.” Tinker moved to jump the brave little piece, then froze, sniffing the air. He caught a whiff of something disgusting, like rotting fruit mixed burning rubber.

Something froze inside Tinker. A lead weight dropped into his stomach. That smell...

“Dad?” Gear tilted his head. “Are you-?”

“Shh!” Tinker put a hoof on the floor. He could feel them; tremors. Coming from the east. Fast.

“Gear...” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

“Dad?”

The vibrations grew louder. Tinker could hear a soft ‘thump..thump…’ in the distance, slowly growing louder. Slowly, he turned to face his son, mouthing the words, “Don’t. Move.”

The little colt’s eyes nearly bulged out of their skull. He froze, pieces in hoof. Tears started trickling down his cheeks

The thumps grew louder and louder. Everything that wasn’t fastened down began to rattle and shake. Windows shook in their frames.Teeth rattled in Tinker’s skull. The checker pieces danced across the board.

It’s alright It’s alright It’s alright, Tinker told himself, cheeks wet from fear. The Beast is blind in the light.As long as we don’t move, it can’t sense us. We just need to wait until...

An ear-piercing shriek cut through the air, the strange properties of the Blot giving it a bizarre, electronic peculiarity, like something from a magical synthesizer rather than a living creature. Gear closed his eyes and covered his ears. The ammonia smell of urine filled the air.

The thumping footsteps ceased. Something started scratching at the door, rattling it on its hinges. The doorknob rattled and shook in its socket. Tinker closed his eyes. Dead dead dead they were dead they were dead they were so dead!

The scratching stopped. For a brief eternity, there was nothing. All Tinker could hear was his son’s terrified whimpering and his own frantic breathing. There was another thump, another unholy shriek, and the thing outside moved along.

Stallion and son didn’t dare to move. They couldn’t let their guard down, not yet. For all they knew, the creature was biding its time, waiting for them to move. The smallest twitch was a death sentence. A sneeze would doom them both.

Finally, the thumps grew softer and softer until they disappeared altogether. Father and son finally let themselves relax, legs aching and nerves shot.

“Dad…?” Gearhead whispered.

“Yes?”

“I, kinda...” he motioned to the puddle around his hoofstool.

“It’s ok Gear,” Tinker said, pointing at the floor below him. “So did I.”

---

Author's Note:

Enjoy!

Comments

[Xxswagmaster911xX]

sorry, i don't read horror fics if they are not mature

[Journeyman]

I like these locked off from the world ideas. It provides a fun piece of storytelling. What changes in order to survive? Kinda reminds me of Metro in some respects.

[Flint-Lock]

7512275
Then why did you come here?

[Mcstuffins]

WOW!
This story really made me, an average reader whom only just learned of it today, feel both excited and satisfied.

This sure makes me, the average reader, want to give this Flintlock guy (whom I have never spoken to) all of my money.

[HorseWordFan]

7512360 Your clearly unbiased opinion excites me in turn, as it satisfies my need for unsolicited input! Alas, I have no money, so accept this hearty handshake instead .

[Mcstuffins]

7512544
ACCEPTED.

[Seishin Aozora]

I thought Mickey Mouse took care of that thing. But in all seriousness, this looks quite interesting.

[BlueColton]

Hmmm.ok ill bite. Tracking.

[Misty Green]

Well, you have my attention.
It's nice to see an interesting creepy pasta that doesn't utterly disregard the character of the established ponies.
Hell, I may even ask you if I may use your monster for a story I plan on writing.

[Nickel Alloy]

It has a good villain/force/whatever the Blot is. Often, I don't read OC fics, but this one is interesting.
A couple grammatical things I could point out:
Why does it suddenly switch to bold at the end?
If I'm not mistaken, these are ponies. You use 'hand' a couple times where it should be 'hoof'.

This is definitely left on a cliffhanger. In the next chapter, the thing that scared them should be brought back, at least to figure out what it is. If it is just put in and then forgotten about, it lacks meaning.

I thought this was a pretty good fic with some great characters. Keep it up!

[Xxswagmaster911xX]

7512314 good point

[Midnight Radiance]

Interesting. I await your next update.

[HorseFan022]

Looking forward to the next chapter

[CoffeeBean]

Reminds me of that movie The Mist... just with less mist.

I like it; a lot. The characters are organic, there's a fun bit of 'light through the dark' dialogue, and the dreadful state of things is really pushed through without you straight up saying 'things are dim and black and scary'.

I look forward to more.

[LWOverFlow]

Wicked awesome!!!!! I'm so gonna be stuck on this!!!!!!