Grogar: Screams Upon a Winter's Night

by Jade Ring

I - September, the Year of Our Princess 843

From the Journal of Snowfall Frost

When I granted that insufferable young writer the rights to publish the events of my haunting last year, I had no idea he would transform the entire event into something so blasted... schmaltzy. It reads like the simplest tripe one could ever imagine. Under that colt's foalish pen, I have been reduced to caricature, a one dimensional humbug of a pony whose one defining characteristic is a burning, undying animosity for a bloody holiday. There's no mention of my experiments these last few years in turning our excess coal into gold that could be used to solve the looming bit crisis. My idiot assistant Snowdash is written as a lovable scamp when the flesh and blood one I deal with everyday is a boorish, lazy half-wit. The spirits that haunted me with visions of my painful past, elements of the present that I really should not have been privy to, and horrifying glimpses at a future covered with snow and ice all now have a clearly defined purpose.

That purpose? Apparently, I was planning on erasing Hearth's Warming from the calendar entirely. News to me.

The book is filled with these sorts of inaccuracies and the worst kind of adaptive liberties. The story has been moved from my home on Trottingham to Canterlot because "it will help the story to sell better." Apparently my self-distancing (my mother calls it anti-personal) behavior can be traced back to a single instance in my foal-hood.

The story is tripe. It is overwrought, poorly written, and thin.

And the public loves it.

I cannot go anywhere in town without seeing copies being read by ponies of all ages. Those who know me give me strange looks or snicker behind their hooves. When I give my name at an eatery or while picking up a package of supplies, the ponies think I'm joking.

He made so many changes, this egotistical young stallion. Why could he not just change my name?

My goal in publishing my haunting was to recieve aid of some kind. I hoped that some like-minded pony would come and talk to me, to help me unravel that last spirit's message. The Spirit of Hearth's Warming Yet to Come's vision was more than just a vision, I just know it. The future is a frozen wasteland, a terrible wrath brought about by the Windigoes.

But is there anything I can do to stop it? Perhaps that is why the spirit showed it to me. Even now I can feel her spirit watching me, like she's trying to tell me something...

There are surprisingly few books on the nature of Windigoes. Despite being major monsters in our folk-lore, they fail to appear in that many stories. Besides the Tale of the First Hearth's Warming, the only other stories they appear in all seem to come from the nomadic ponies of the Distant North.

According to them, the Windigoes come from an ancient city in the mountains.

My decision has already been made. Preparations are underway. Perhaps it will be good for me to leave the city for a while. It will give this ridiculous fad a chance to die down.

I will continue my research into the Windigoes and the terrible future they plan.

I will venture to that mythical city known only as Tambelon.

Comments

[Yami Vizzini]

Well, let's see how much more trauma you can inflict on this timeline....

[BlueColton]

I see the hidden message.