Raven Night School

by Impossible Numbers

I'm Bad

I had that weird dream again last night. You know, the one where I’m wearing a dark crown. Violet cape fluttering in the wind. Standing on top of a pile of bones. Looking down on the blackened buildings. Seeing all the tattered ponies marching past in chains. That one.

I like that one. I wish I didn’t. But I really, totally dig it.

Not that I didn’t try to block it out. I've always tried to block out dreams like that. And dreams worse than that, too. When I was a filly, I used to open my eyes suddenly in the middle of the night and scream. I wouldn’t stop until Mother came into my bedroom.

It didn’t matter what dream it was, though I remember the one with the zombies most. She always told me not to read those adult comics, but they were OK at magic kindergarten. I could read one over my boring grass sandwiches – I mean under them, sorry; they always got taken away if the teachers saw them – and not feel any problems during the day. I thought they were fun. Still do.

It’s different at night. And I was only a little kid back then. I can handle zombies no problem now. I just dream up a red necklace made of evil and zap them into ashes. But when you’re a kid, you haven’t got to that stage yet. Everything’s so big and intense.

So there’s me, waking up screaming. Mother’s just come in – yeah, I actually used to call her “Mom”, but Canterlot fillies are taught “Mother” until it sticks, so eh – and she’s doing the usual stuff, hugging and patting my head and saying “there, there”. No big deal. That’s what all mothers do, right?

She taught me a trick. How to block out the bad dreams. I had a big bedroom by Canterlot standards, but not a lot of stuff to fill it. So what she used to do was, she used to walk to my stuffed teddy in the corner. Reach behind it. Pull out these special goggles. And she’d come over to the bed to put them on me.

Nice goggles, too. Like those ones the Wonderbolts wear, but these ones had amber-tinted lenses. Mother used to say that the blue sky was what kept us awake during the day. I dunno. Some stuff about blue light telling your brain to keep up, or something. Even at night, there was always a little of it hanging around. That’s why the goggles were amber-tinted. Keep out the blue stuff keeping me awake.

It’s not stupid. Stop smiling like that. It's not.

And as I got older, she’d switch it around a bit. One day, I’d get the goggles but then I’d have to put them on myself. No issue. I got my magic around that point. Easier than clumsy hooves. But then once I got that, I had to get the goggles from across the room. Mother watching, obviously. The walk was supposed to be good for my courage.

I hated that walk. I hated the teddy bear. Everyone had one. But when I got close and reached behind it, I always ducked back the first try. That thing looked like it wanted a hug. No: it looked like it wanted to grab me. I hate being grabbed. And in the dark, it was grinning at me.

And then one day Mother didn’t come in. I had to walk over to that awful teddy on my own and get the goggles. I didn't even try half the time. Sure, I was a big girl by that point. So what? You don’t care about that sort of thing when you’re a kid.

I was so glad when I won that stuffed spider toy at the carnival one day. The carnival sucked, but that spider was cool. I dunno. All I know is I threw out the teddy around that point and put Spidey in its place. I had no problems then.

Spiders are awesome. So beautiful and webby. I used to have a tarantula for a pet until Mother threw it out.

So every night I walked over to Spidey on my own and got the goggles every time. Every night. I liked Spidey more than I liked Mother. Wish I still had him. Had to get a replacement. Crawley, she's called. Still got her somewhere.

Anyway.

This weird dream. The one with the bones and the slaves and things.

Maybe I just stayed up too late or something. I couldn’t help it. The girls and I had a night out. Doughnut Joe’s, The Tasty Treat, The Red Manticore: we even got Sassy Saddles to lighten up and join us, and she and Minuette got into this big doughnut-eating contest. Crazy stuff, I know. Besides, Minuette won. Duh: she talks enough to make room for a wedding cake. Didn’t beat the record, though. Apparently, some pink pony from out of town ate his entire stock once. Whoa.

You know how it goes. It starts out sipping some fine upmarket cocktail. Classy tropical slurp. Like that one I had, what was it? Lemonade with coconut milk and a dash of some sprinkles or something. Oh yeah, Liquid Opal.

I thought it was a bit sweet, but who gives a feather’s flap, right? You can tell I’ve been talking to pegasi. We met some at The Red Manticore. Good karaoke night. Of course, I sang “Night Wish” by Dread Juggernaut. What else?

And then before the moon’s had time to warm up, you’re dancing down the road shoulder-to-shoulder. Singing something, I dunno: the Cloudsdale anthem, I think. Like in Bridleway when those skimpy mares do their kicks. Except we kept tripping up. Took me ages to get back home. Sassy fell over twice. Stick figure.

But yeah, bed. I got in, and it said two, three ‘o’ clock? Barely noticed, to be honest. Hit the bed. Didn’t even get out of my dress. Missed the alarm this morning too. What a sleep schedule, am I right?

Nah, I don’t think it’s that, actually. I don’t go out that often.

Well, OK, I didn’t do much this night either. I don’t like talking.

What did I do? Guess. Sat and listened, mostly. Looked at flowers in the windows. Thought up some sweet haikus. Nothing much. I’m more the sit-back-and-let-it-wash-over-me type.

Thing is, I don’t know them that well. It was just a night out. They’re cool once every blue moon – heh – but not as a regular thing. I like poetry readings better.

And I got up… Eight-thirty, I think. So that’s, what, six and a half hours of sleep at best?

No wait, hang on… Three, sorry. Got in at three. I remember ‘cause I tried to check the alarm was set. Sometimes I do that. Bit paranoid.

Five and a half hours of sleep. Yeesh. The doctor always said at least seven.

They gave a lecture on it in the magic academy, way back. Sleep cycles. If I remember it right, every cycle lasted ninety minutes. Your brain goes up and down through these different stages: light sleep, deep sleep, alpha… beta… uh…?

So they go up and down. You get the best sleep if you wake up at the end of a cycle. That’s every hour and a half. Time it right when you go to bed, and you get up right when you want, fresh as the final falling flakes on a winter morning’s drift.

It’s the poet in me, I guess.

That’s probably it, then. I messed up the cycle. Weird dream. End of story.

I think, anyway. I don’t know.

The first time I had that dream? What, you think that might help? I doubt it. You reckon so?

Sheesh, if you insist. What, you think you’re some kind of armchair psychoanalyst or something? It was just a stupid dream. I just wanted to share it with another soul.

Well, since you’re so interested… it was at the academy. In the dorm room. The end of my first week.

It wasn’t exactly a happy time for me. I remember sitting in the middle row of the classroom, at one of those desks with the lid that you can stash books and apples under. I never hid my comics in there. Too easy to find. Anyway, that place was worse than Tartarus. Everyone with their neat little manes covered in oil or combed with a parting or twisted up in those ugly pigtails. Ugh.

Miss Thistlecroup was the worst. One of those types with a bun clamped to the back of her head, glasses with the chain going up behind the ear, voice like broken glass and thrown icicles. She didn’t shout at us or crack a riding crop to make her point, or anything like that. Give her an apple, she might actually smile. In fact, she wasn’t so bad really, now I think about it.

But she had this way of tutting. I flubbed telling the time once when she chalked pictures of clocks on the board, and she always asked me to give it another look. And the first day, I couldn’t get it right. I always got the big hand and the little hand mixed up. Lots of kids did, I guess. Just not the ones in my class.

Tut, tut, tut. I heard that one a lot. Didn’t matter if I was magicking up a gemstone from a black box, or carrying a pipette full of vinegar in chemistry class, or wondering what this “calculus” equation stuff had to do with squiggly lines on a grid. I wasn’t that slow. She just made me sound slow.

I don’t even want to talk about what happened when I tried to bring Spidey into the canteen.

Oh right. Out of nowhere. Sorry. I smuggled him in via the luggage. Big fillies aren’t supposed to do that. Like I cared what Mother said. She and Father were always out of the house. Garden parties. Political seminars. Stupid shopping trips for stupid wedding-dress-like clothes I didn’t even wear, not that they cared.

It didn’t matter for the first few days. Spidey was my little secret under the bed, with his amber-tinted goggles. He reminded me of my pet tarantula. But then I got to talking to a couple of the fillies in the dorm, and we thought we’d get to know each other better. I forget their names. We never talked again. No one wants to talk to a weird kid who likes spiders.

Yeah, you can pretty much figure out what happened. Canteen trays got dropped. Lots of screaming, lots of funny looks. Some snitch ran off to tell the teacher. They had to teleport Spidey out of my hooves, though. You bet they did.

Well, at least I got Spidey back at the end of the year. Big deal.

I mean, I guess school was OK. Looking back, it wasn’t the suck-fest I thought it was. I just had to fight not to fall asleep during class. I tried arguing in the canteen once, saying how spiders are good. ‘Cause they eat flies and are more afraid of you. Rubbish I picked up from a nature guide once.

I was a weird kid.

Ah, now it comes back to me. The dream didn’t come right away. I stayed up on the last night of the week. Snuck a firefly jar out of the store cupboard during lunch. Good light if you want to write in the dark. And I could hear this ticking from the common room. There was this giant grandfather clock. Antique. Huge pendulum swinging back and forth. I used to stare at it for hours.

Wow, was that a good story. Princess Ravenstone and her Night School. Bet I still got it buried under my old folders in the attic. Ghouls and ghosts and goblins and grim deathhounds all over the place. And I gave Princess Ravenstone – yeah, she was obviously me – this sweet cane-thing, like, like one of those royal sceptres but made of amethyst. Giant iron pendulum behind me: I got that from the ticking clock. Swinging like the relentless blades of an axe. All that writing. All that turned up in the first dream.

Whoa. I was a really, really weird kid…

No kidding…

This isn't going to be easy, is it?

All right. I need to head out for a bit. I’ll be right back.

I swear. I’ll be right back.

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