Interlude 1-4: Candles
Interlude 1-4: Candles
The sun was setting, as was wont for early evening this time of year. As the ember glows of the diminishing skyline danced luminescent echoes across the leaves of deciduous trees, the lawn was awash in a glow of radiant, slowly dimming oranges, yellows, and reds. Nocturnal creatures welcomed this premature twilight, as it granted them more and more time to hunt and gather. Field mice ran from emboldened owls in parks and wide lawns across town, their hoots and squeaks perforating the dying sounds of the suburbs at night in chorus with a dozen other night-friendly sounds.
Of course, the lawn full of teenagers behind Sunset’s house didn’t give a flying rat’s ass about any of this. “Never Have I Ever!” Rainbow Dash shouted, only to be countered by a chorus of groans that drowned out the noises of nighttime approaching.
“Not a chance, girl,” Applejack said sternly, pointing an indignant finger at her friend. The whole group was now sitting at one table, or, one table setting. All of the smaller tables had been brought together to form one rather awkward geometric seating arrangement. Technically everyone was facing everyone else, so there were no complaints. Although both Rarity’s and SciTwi’s eyes had twitched at the arrangement. The farmgirl pressed on in her protest. “The last time you conned us all into that little game none of us could look at each other for a week.”
“But that’s why it’s FUN!” Dash protested, crossing her arms dramatically and leaning back in her seat. Her pronounced pout and glare at the table indicated she had forfeited the idea, however.
Pinkie raised her hand just as Sonata threw hers in the air. “Oh, you go ahead!” Pinkie insisted.
Sonata shook her head. “Nah, you go!”
“No you!”
“No, you!”
“No-”
“JUST PICK ALREADY,” Dusty, Rubble, and Treble barked.
The girls looked at each other, and said at the same time, “Truth or Dare!”
The reaction was much similar to that of Dash’s suggestion, save for one exception: Treble simply stood up and walked away, chanting “Nope, nope, nope, nuh-uh, nope, no, no, no.”
He made it as far as the almost-empty snack table before Dusty yelled at him, “Oh sit down you pencil-peckered cockholster!”
The looks on the girls’ faces was nothing less than indignant, though nobody chose to say anything. They were long used to the boy’s foul mouths, and ‘creative’ insults. After a silent pause, Rarity coughed, and re-railed the conversation. “Yes, well, I think the general consensus is no, dears,” she said consolingly, to a rather put-out Pinkie and Sonata.
“Awww, but why not?” Sonata whined.
“Besides avoiding the horribly over-abused teenage party tropes?” Sunset deadpanned. “It’s even worse than ‘Never Have I Ever,’ especially since Dash is here.” The aforementioned athlete beamed with a disturbing sense of pride. “It’s honestly easier to just punch yourself in the face, post a naked selfie on Facebook, and call it a night. You’ll feel better about yourself in the morning.”
“I dunno,” Sonata said slowly. “That sounds like a fun night.”
Those sitting next to her scooted away slowly. “Well,” Princess Twilight said, mainly to fill the silence, “What should we play? I mean, it’s only seven or so, if that. I’m not exactly keen on going home after so little party, especially since we just… I dunno, talked and ate food? Isn’t there supposed to be more… partying going on?”
Spooks gave her a thoughtful look. “I think you’ve been getting your information on how teenagers act from the wrong sources. Mind you, we aren’t exactly the best examples of ‘ordinary’, but most of the rambunctious parties you see in movies or TV are greatly exaggerated, especially from a school like ours. I mean, Pinkie Pie is the biggest ‘party animal’ here, and most of her parties are pretty tame compared to the booze-and-sex tropes you see in teen dramas.”
“Yeah, I’m waiting for college to do all that stupid stuff,” Pinkie volunteered.
Rainbow gave her a wide smile. “We SO need to go to the same college.”
The Princess looked actively disappointed. “Well, I guess that makes sense. I mean, you’re all underage anyways. I’d feel pretty awful drinking around all of you.”
Rubble’s eyes widened behind his can of soda. “What are you talking about? You’re a teenager here, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes,” Twilight conceded. “But in Equestria I’m almost th… thi… thirty-y-y….” she stammered, with a visible shudder. Well, barely visible. It had gotten dark out rather quickly, and they had opted to light some standing torches to provide some outdoor lighting.
Sunset rolled her eyes. “Oh boo-hoo. I’m well past that back home. I’m just glad I was like, 14 when I got here. Woulda been super-awkward trying to corrupt a bunch of teenagers as a twenty-something with no teaching credentials.”
Dusty rolled his eyes. “Not as hard as you think, honestly. Just like, get a job as a janitor and hand out pot.”
“Isn’t that how the last guy got fired?” Treble wondered aloud. “What was his name?”
“Discord,” Fluttershy offered. “And he wasn’t as bad as everyone says. I mean yes, he did hand out… marijuana, but he was a nice guy.”
“I think Aria would have liked him,” Sonata mused. “But yeah, if we’re talking drinking age, I’m like, thirteen hundred something.”
Dusty looked from Sunset, to Twilight, to Sonata. “So what you’re saying is you’re all a bunch of ephebophiles.”
The three girls protested loudly as a few others burst out laughing. After some heated discussion about semantics regarding dating across dimensions, The group settled down as Applejack motioned for everyone to be quiet. “Alright, y’all, it’s just a good ol’ fashioned ribbin’. Nothin to get all twisted up about.”
“And it sure as hell doesn’t answer the question of what to do with the rest of the night,” said Dusty. “I’m with Twilight on this one, I mean, Princess Twilight, you are the Princess, right? Right. I’m not about to call it a night at like, seven p.m. on a Friday night. Even my P.O. would laugh at me.”
“Well,” Spooks spoke up after a moment’s quiet. “We could always play Candles.”
A mixed bag of reactions met this statement. The girls all seemed confused to varying degrees, looking to each other to see if anyone had any idea what this game was about. The boys, however, regarded Spooks with much the same level of apprehension one would approach a headless body that’s still twitching. “Dude, we said ‘party’, not ‘trauma center’,” Treble said quietly.
Rainbow and Pinkie were immediately intrigued. “Ok, out with it, Bones, how do you play?” Dash pressed, leaning as far into the table as she could.
“You really don’t want to know,” Rubble insisted, regarding the athlete with a serious expression.
“Oh come on,” Sunset groaned. “I’ve seen this schtick before. This is that whole bait and switch where you all act like you’re scared of this game so that we’ll want to play it more.”
Dusty threw up his hands and leaned away from the table. “You guys wanna spend the next three days awake in the dark, you go ahead. I am out.”
Fluttershy leaned towards her prismatic friend. “Um, maybe we should take them seriously. I mean, they do know a bit more about scary stuff than we do...”
“Pffft,” Dash scoffed, waving a hand dismissively in Fluttershy’s direction. “How bad can it be? Come on, skinny boy, gimme what you got.”
There was a general air of defeat amongst the other boys as Spooks explained, “Well, it’s getting dark, so that’s good. You’re supposed to play it in a dark room, or outside when the sun’s set. Everybody lights a candle, plus an extra one at the center of the table that isn’t lit. Then we all take turns telling scary stories. When you’ve told your story, you put your candle out. And you can’t talk if your candle’s out. The last person uses their candle to light the center candle, putting out their own. The winner is the last person to leave the table, touch the last candle, or talk.”
“That. Sounds. AWESOME,” Dash exclaimed. “We HAVE to PLAY THIS.”
Fluttershy seemed to share the exact opposite sentiment, regarding her friend with the kind of wide-eyed terror she reserved for crowded spaces. Or loud noises. Or pop quizzes. “Um… no?” she said hopefully.
“I’m with ‘Shy,” Treble groaned. “No way I’m playing that game with you again, man,” he explained to Spooks. “You all want to play, have at. I say the rest of us go like, watch a movie inside or something.”
“Yeah, yeah, go sprint off to your sappy romance movie, or whatever. I’m with Rainbow, it doesn’t sound that bad,” Sunset said, regarding Spooks with all the air of a poker player calling a bluff.
Dusty and Rubble regarded each other carefully. “Man, we can’t puss out now,” Rubble whispered.
“I know. I was hoping to get some sleep before we go ghost hunting tomorrow,” Dusty hushed back.
“Alright,” Rubble said in his normal voice. “We’re in. Anyone else?”
Rarity gave an uneasy grin. “I… I think not. I believe a nice relaxing movie is just the thing on a night like this. Shall we?” she added to Fluttershy and Treble, who were just standing up to leave.
Pinkie and Sonata exchanged excited looks, remaining firmly planted in their chairs. The Twilights however, were not so in sync with their opinions. “Oh, that does sound exciting!” Princess Twilight exclaimed. “I’ve heard and read all kinds of urban legends and myths from Equestria, but never from here! I’d love to play!”
SciTwi was less than enthusiastic. “I’m, um, I’m out. Wait up!” she called to the retreating trio, reaching them just as they got to the back door. She didn’t even stick around long enough to hear the Princess’s protests.
“Right, ‘I’ll go get the candles,” Sunset offered, following the group to the door. “Wait up you guys, I’ll show you how to set up the TV.”
-------------------
Some time later, the remaining teens had gathered around a smaller table, helping put the rest of them away, along with the dirty dishes and now-unused grill. Soon all that was left in the backyard was a single table with a cloth on it, and an oblong of lit candles around a single, unlit one. The house served to cast a great shadow over the darkened yard, blocking street lights and, by chance, the moon. Truly the only light there was the tiny flames barely illuminating the faces of those attending. It looked less " like a party game and more like a séance. Which, given those in attendance, was almost as likely.
“Ok, so there’s not really a way to choose who goes first,” Spooks mused, approaching the game with the same deadpan, ghastly demeanor he regarded most everything else with. His light, wispy voice echoed across the quiet yard as the candle danced across the light patches on his face, the rest blending in with the pitch of night behind him. At times he seemed only partially there, more like a ghost than ever. “But when we do, we keep it going in a circle, counter-clockwise. That means to my right,” he added, to no one in particular.
A few people gave sarcastic groans. “Ok, I’ll go first!” Dash volunteered, to the surprise of no-one.
“Now hold on,” said AJ. “What if someone else wants ta’ go?”
“I’m all for it,” Dusty jumped in. He gave Rainbow an approving look; Spooky was just to her left, which meant he’d be going last.
“Same,” said Rubble.
Applejack rolled her eyes. “Fine. Jus’ sayin’.”
Rainbow motioned for her to be quiet. “Alright, here goes: the Tale of the Headless Horseman!”
Sunset gave half a smile. “Really? That’s what you got?”
“Hey, it’s scary when I tell it!” Dash insisted.
“Ooooookay,” Sunset conceded, leaning back in her chair.
“Right,” RD grunted, leaning over her candle. “So like, a long time ago, Canterlot was just a really small town, you know? Maybe one or two streets, no cars, a few rows of buildings. Everybody had farms and stuff, so your closest neighbor was like, a day away. There was this one guy named Ichor Bodycane-”
“Ichabod Crane,” Sunset corrected.
“-shush. Anyway, he was this really decent guy, you know? Bit of an egghead, but he was like, good looking? And popular in the town. But there was this guy that worked for city hall that was super jealous of him, cause there was this girl the guy liked that liked Crane, so he spread this big lie that Ichor-”
“Ichabod.”
“-I said SHH. Anyway, Ichabod this guy said, was like, a witch or whatever? So he rounded up a bunch of paranoid guys that accused him of witchcraft, and decided to hang him! Except it didn’t work! Ichabod was like, super smart, so he knew how to keep himself alive on the noose. So when that didn’tkill him, they were for sure he was a witch, so they up and cut his head off! So now he rides around town chasing down people that were descended from the guys that killed him, looking for someone to replace his missing heaaaaad. Oooooo!” Dash finished, in a dramatic voice with lots of arm waving.
There was a moment of silence, followed quickly by laughter. “That isn’t even REMOTELY how that story goes, Dashie!” Pinkie howled.
“Where… where did you even hear that version?” Dusty gasped.
Dash just leaned back into her chair, meeting Sunset’s smug glare with an angry pout. She grunted something about ‘the internet’, then barked, “Fine! Let’s see what YOU guys have!” She blew hard on her candle, and it went out quickly.
AJ wiped a tear out of her eye, and chuckled a few moe times. Finally settling down, she said, “Alright, alright. I guess it’s my turn?” Looking to Dash on her right, she nodded at the disgruntled teen, who just “Hmph”ed loudly. “Well, I got one my Granny told me. It’s actually about our farm. I don’t know if it has a name or somethin’, but here goes:
“Dash was right about one thing: this used to be a farmin’ town. Small little settlement that turned into a big city cause of how close to water and forests and stuff it was. A lotta people settled here way back when, and it got really big. But this here story takes place before all that, when there was only a handful of folk roamin’ around. Wasn’t even really a street proper, jus’ a town square. There wasn’t really enough people to call it a town, even, only like a dozen or so families an’ their livestock roamin’ around. But you put enough people together in a town, and somebody gotta be in charge, ‘know? So everybody got together an’ elected this fella named Gold Star t’take care of folk. Real high’n’tight fella, liked everything all neat ‘n orderly.
“Everything went smooth sailin’ for a while, till the winter rolled around. Oh, they’d done all their winter prep, you bet. Cuttin’ firewood and savin’ up supplies an’ the like. But back then cold weather made cold hearts. People could keep warm enough, but if’n ya had to go out in the cold ‘n snow too long, you got grumpy. Doubly so for Gold Star. He hated the cold. Hated winter, an’ the holidays. Wasn’t too fond of people ‘bout that time of year, neither. Then this kid up and stumbles out into the woods, chasin’ his dog. Some folk suspect the dog just caught wind of a rabbit who hadn’t gone hibernatin’ yet, tohers think the dog knew what was really goin’ on. Cause what the boy found in those woods…
“Ol’ Gold Star had his cabin out in the woods. Not too far from town, or he’d never be able to show up in time to help nobody when they needed it. But them woods is thick, an’ it’s easy to stay outta sight if yer’ doin’ somethin’ ya aught not to be doin’. Turns out, with everybody stayin’ in doors, and lotsa folk holed up by the snow, Star figured nobody would miss one or two of the more annoyin’ settlers. Like I said, they didn’t really have a town so much as a bunch ‘a people that lived near each other an’ talked once in a while. So what the boy found was ol’ Gold Star choppin’ up some poor soul that’d wandered out to his house for some advice. Some people think he was askin’ for help cause his cattle had gone missin’. They’d found some dead cows that weren’t his out behind his cabin later on, see.
“The boy tried to do the smart thing, and turned and ran. Mighta got all the way, too, if that dog hadn’t set to barkin’. Gold Star looked up in time to see the kid leap over some bushes and disappear towards the town, an’ he chased off after him. They ran through the woods right quick, like a fox ‘n hound. The kid even got all the way to the middle of the town square, but never made it to his door. Cause outta the blue came Gold’s ax, flyin’ through the air to land right between the poor boy’s shoulders. Fell over like a sack a’ potatoes. But he’d made enough noise screamin’ and hollerin’ for help that when the folk nearby poked their heads out to see all the ruckus, they saw ol’ Gold Star diggin’ the ax right out of the poor kid’s body.
“A death like that, you don’ just move on into that wild blue yonder. You stick around. Some folk think the kid don’t even know he’s dead. Cause when it gets real cold, real dark, and real quiet, just like the night he died, they say the shadow of the kid runs around town lookin’ for his house. Course, it ain’t there no more, so they say he’s just gonna keep runnin’ forever,” she finished. After a moment of silence, she blew out her candle.
It was quiet still for a few seconds after that. “Wow, AJ. That’s...” Rubble started, not finding any words.
“That wasn’t scary,” Pinkie whined, her eyes full of tears. “That was just saaa-a-a-ad!” She and Sonata cried into each other’s arms for a moment.
Dusty let them cry it out for a moment, then coughed politely, looking to Sunset. “You, uh, you’re up next, Shimmer.”
Sunset looked dumbfounded for a moment, then snapped to attention. “Yeah! Right, ok. I got one. This one’s from Equestria, actually, so I don’t know if you’ve heard this one. It’s called The Pony of Shadows.”
Rubble stifled a laugh. “I’m… I’m sorry. I still have a hard time taking anything with the word ‘Pony’ in it seriously, especially since you’ve told us you basically look like adorable talking rainbow marshmallows.”
There was a round of laughter after that, and the solemn air cleared into one of subtle joviality. “Yeah, ok, that’s fair,” Sunset agreed, “But this one really got to me as a filly. So it goes like this:
“Over a thousand years ago, Equestria was ruled by two sisters: Celestia, the eldest, who rose and set the sun; and Luna, the youngest, who rose and set the moon. Most everypony knows the story of Nightmare Moon back home, but it boils down to this: Luna had grown jealous of her sister, who got all the attention, and who’s brilliant sun ponies walked in all day, while they slept through her beautiful night. She was convinced that nopony cared about her or her contributions to the country. They all only had eyes for her older sister, because she was the only one they saw. Her jealousy consumed her, and turned her into a monster, who called herself Nightmare Moon.
“Nightmare was banished to the moon for a thousand years by her own sister, after a fierce battle. But here’s where it get’s weird. Some ponies think that Luna was possessed. Possessed by a creature called the nightmare, which was banished to the moon with her. Except, part of it stayed behind. A shadow of it’s former self. The Pony of Shadows. Legend has it that it roams the site of it’s own defeat, the Castle of the Two Pony Sisters, waiting for some fool to explore the ruins, so that it can possess them and set out to do what it tried to with Luna: bring about the slow and inevitable dath of all of Equestria.”
She wrapped up her story with an intense stare as she slowly put out her own candle, which was met with… little enthusiasm.
“Really?” Sonata groaned. “I wasn’t even IN Equestria when that all happened, and I can tell you that sounds just… stupid. Like some kids’ story parents tell their foals to keep them from wandering into a broke-down dangerous old castle.”
“Actually, that’s pretty much what it was,” explained Twilight. “My friends and I actually explored the Castle of the Two Pony Sisters, and even hung out there for a while. Let me tell you, no Pony of Shadows there. Although Luna did seem to be particularly fond of trap doors and secret passages.”
Had there been any light to shine on Sunset’s face, they would have seen how disappointed she was. “Man, that was one of my favorite stories as a foal.”
“Exactly,” Rubble pointed out. “As a KID. Right, Dusty, you’re up, man.”
The skater grunted, rolling his shoulders. “Right, you lot. This one’s got some kick to it, so hold on to your hats. It’s called ‘The Burning Orphan’.”
“Ooh,” Spooks crooned excitedly. “I like this one.”
“Hush you, don’t give it away,” Dusty chided playfully. “Here goes:
“In Old Trottingham, there was a small, derelict street on the edge of town called Trotter’s End. There wasn’t much on this street, save for a grocer, a post office, and an orphanage. More of a halfway house than anything, it was a simple three-story building with just enough room for the dozen or so young souls who gathered there. Only two adults worked the orphanage, called Planter House, a Mrs. Weaver and the young Ms. Bluebelle. Mrs. Weaver was a stern old broad, with a heart just big enough to be considered normal. She didn’t beat or abuse the kids, no, but some days she wanted to. Sorely outnumbered and poorly armed, the kids had a tendency to run rampant, in as much as they could. They listened to her, of course, but there were only so many places she could be at once.
“Ms. Bluebelle was the spitting image of a young maiden. Beautiful, kind-hearted, well-groomed, and from good stock. Her family was well enough to do, but she insisted despite their protests that her place was with these kids. In fact, it was almost purely through her that the building stay standing at all, as she used almost all of the money at her disposal to keep the place together. That and force of will. She was a fiery one, that Bluebelle. And the kids loved her. She was like the mother, and Mrs. Weaver the grandmother. It wasn’t perfect, and far from a well-oiled machine, but it held together.
“That is, until the new kid came. Number thirteen. Bad enough luck at that, but nobody really knew where he came from. One day the constable had shown up, with a plea to Mrs. Weaver to take the boy in He’d been found in an abandoned house, no parents, no nothing. Stealing food from neighbors and burning the furniture and decorations for warmth in the winter. Some of the officers even swore that he slept on the piles of ashes cause it was the warmest place in the house. That’s where he got his name: Ash. Kid never spoke, you see. Not a word. No idea what his name was, where he came from. So of course Mrs. Weaver took him in. It helped that the city had offered to chip in with a stipend to keep the kid in house and home. Kept the locals from raising a fuss about the poor boy going ignored in that empty house for so long.
“First few weeks, all was just fine. Ash ate, slept, played like the other kids. Even got along well enough with one or two of them. Even though he couldn’t speak, they found out he could write. So they gave him a small blackboard and some chalk, and he wrote down what he wanted to say. It was like a game to the rest of the kids: seeing if they could guess what he was writing before he finished. It was something new, you see. Something different. They all had their own sad stories, so they ween’t about to turn coat on some poor kid from nowhere.
“Then the first fire started. Nothing big. In fact, they wouldn’t have even known abut it if Mrs. Weaver hadn’t made a habit of doing rounds late at night to keep the kids from digging through the pantry in the dark. They didn’t have that kind of food, you know? She walked right past Ash’s room, and saw the glow under his door. At first she thought it was just a light, something to read by, until she smelled the smoke. She ran through the door, and found that Ash had broken down a chair and started a fire in the middle of his room. He was just sitting next to it, warming his hands. He’d even put some bricks around it to keep from spreading. When Mrs. Weaver asked him what the hell he was doing, he just wrote down one word: cold.
“The adults realized nobody had taught him that he didn’t need to burn furniture to stay warm. Inf act, it made sense, because that’s all he’d been doing all winter. So they let it slide, and showed him where the spare blankets were. He didn’t start another fire for a few weeks after that. Of course, when he did start the next one, it was even more confusing. It was the middle of the day, and he was just standing on the blacktop behind the building where the kids gathered to play, burning an old clock. When they asked him why, he wrote one word: broken. So they showed him that broken things could be fixed.
“But the fires got more common after that. Once he burned a painting from the hallway, hiding the fire in the basement. They asked him why, and he wrote: ugly. He got punished for that one, and they tried to explain that he couldn’t just destroy things he didn’t like. The next one he burned a stray cat. Before they even got to ask him why, he held up his board, with the word ‘bite’ written on it. And sure enough, one of the kids told Ms. Bluebelle all about how this big, mean, feral cat had run at her and bit her on the arm, even showed them the mark. They took her to the doctor, of course. And they punished Ash. Not as severely, because they thought his heart was in the right place. The cat had been dangerous, and really, how else was a kid like Ash going to know how to deal with a feral animal in his own back yard?
“After the bite, the fires stopped for a while. Then a man came to visit. A guy named Iron Stove. Decent enough looking, he was the latest in a long line of suitors for Bluebelle. The kids didn’t like him, though they never really liked anyone that tried to take Ms. Bluebelle away.
“But Ash really didn’t like him. Hated him. Glared daggers at him whenever he walked past. And all he would say about Iron was ‘bad man’. But that wasn’t gonna stop Iron Stove. He was a metalworker by trade, but he practiced painting. That’s how he intended to win Bluebelle’s heart, by painting her. He thought, however, that maybe the kids would warm up to him if he painted all of them, first. Something to make them feel special. So he did. He sat them all down, and painted a small portrait of all the kids in Planter House. Even Ash sat for the painting, on the insistence of his friends and Ms. Bluebelle, who everyone liked.
“The painting was nice enough. It was a small canvas, so there wasn’t much detail in the kids’ faces. You could tell who was who, of course, but any outsider would just see a generic group of kids gathered around a couch. Except Ash. Stove went out of his way to get Ash right, because Ash hated him the most out of everyone there. He got his little vest, his buttons, even his hair just right. Right down to the very very politely blank expression on his face. They hung it up in the main hallway.
“Of course, Ash didn’t like the painting, but they’d hung it up where he couldn’t get to it. Even after he’d shown that he didn’t feel the need to burn anything that bothered him, Mrs. Weaver was still wary of the way Ash looked at that painting. Some days he would just glare at it for hours, just leaning on the wall and giving it the Evil Eye like he was holding it at bay.
“A month or so later, Iron Stove came by with a big announcement: he’d finished the painting of Ms. Bluebelle. He was so convinced that she’d love it that he bragged on and on about how she’d swoon for him and they’d run off together to a happier life. Of course, this didn’t sit well with any of the kids, least of all little Ash. So when Ms. Bluebelle brought the painting home the next day, Ash was furious. He holed himself up in his room, not talking to anyone. The adults just chalked it up to kids being kids, and let him be.
“Then the next evening, the Constable that had dropped Ash off in the first place came by, asking for Ms. Bluebelle. As it turns out, Iron Stove was dead. Dies of massive burns on his chest. They wouldn’t go into detail around the kids, but people later found out that the words ‘Bad Man’ were burned into his torso. Nothing else in the house had burned, as a matter of fact. Ms. Bluebelle was of course, distraught. She hadn’t been so taken by him that she was ready to run off, of course, but she still considered him a friend. Then the constable explained that Iron Stove was, in fact, dirt poor. The only thing he had going for him was his art, which no one would buy. He lived by himself in a tiny hollow on the far side of town, and it seemed, according to a journal they’d found, that his only interest in Bluebelle was her wealthy family. He had intended to convince her to stop putting money into the orphanage, and instead use it all on him.
“Mrs. Weaver was instantly suspicious of Ash, although nothing could be proven. Bluebelle thought the idea was outrageous. ‘How could he have started a fire across town all by himself when he was here all day?’ she asked. ‘How,’ Mrs. Weaver countered, ‘Had he started all the other fires. We hid all the tinder, matches, and candles long ago.’ Bluebelle didn’t have an answer for that, but was adamant that Ash couldn’t have done it. And she was outright indignant at the suggestion that the kid possessed some kind of… supernatural ability.
“But then the fires got more common. Worse, even. One kid had taken one of Ash’s toys, and the word ‘thief’ had been burned into their bedding. Almost took the room down. Ash want’ anywhere near it, but that only made Mrs. Weaver more suspicious. And still, Ms. Bluebelle defended him. ‘It’s impossible for some poor boy to start a fire with his mind! I was with him the entire time! There must be someone trying to blame this on him,’ she reasoned.
“Mrs. Weaver wasn’t convinced, but without evidence, there was nothing she could do. Until the worst fire of them all happened. It had started in the portrait Stove had done of the orphans, that much was for sure. In the middle of the night, the thing just burst into flames. Mrs. Weaver saw it happen. In fact, she was the only reason no one got hurt. She was able to get the entire group out, and they all stood in the street in the middle of the night in their pajamas as their home burned down. Lots of the kids cried: Ms. Bluebelle was horrified. But in the middle of the group, one person wasn’t even looking at the fire. Mrs. Weaver only had eyes for Ash, who stared at the house like he’d stared at the portrait; hate on his face, and flames in his eyes.
“They moved into a new, bigger building after that, paid by the city. The official word was that the people responsible for building it hadn’t brought it up to code, and so they’d received a nice payout to keep the whole thing out of court. They’d bought a new place with the money, but when they’d all moved in, they noticed some people missing. Ms. Bluebelle never showed up to the new orphanage, and in all the confusion, Ash had simply disappeared. The cops went and searched the wreckage of the old orphanage for clues, as well as Bluebelle’s home. What they found convinced Mrs. Weaver, and the Constable, that Ash was never just an ordinary child. On the back of the portrait of the kids, which otherwise didn’t have a scratch on it, and on all the walls inside of Bluebelle’s home, was a single word, written in scorch marks: MINE,” Dusty barked the last word loudly, as several of the girls jumped.
Laughing, he blew out his candle.
“You ASS!” Sunset shrieked, though she was laughing, too. “That was… ooh, that was really good. I liked that one.”
“I like the part with ‘Bad Man’,” Spooks mused, with a small smile.
“You would,” Rubble groaned. “Alright, alright. Settle down, you lot. Twilight, I think it’s your turn?”
The Princess nodded, then thought for a second. “Well, I’ve got a bunch of stories I could tell, but I think your definition of ‘scary’ is a bit different than Equestria’s. There’s a bunch of campfire stories that the other Rainbow Dash likes to tell, but I don’t really know any of them. Applejack shared the Headless Pony story with me, but you already told… well, a version of it, at least, Dash,” she said apologetically. They couldn’t quite see her, but they hear RD grunt. “Ok, I think I have one. It’s called The Crying Game.”
Pinkie and Sonata looked at each other, then at Twilight. “Is this gonna be another sad story? Those suck,” Sonata groaned.
“No, I don’t think so,” Twilight replied thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a short one. More of an old pony’s tale than anything.
“The story goes that there’s a game you can play when you’re alone in your house at night. You have to turn all the light off, and go into the room in your house that’s used the least. Like your basement, your attic, or a closet. Someplace nobody actually goes into regularly. You sit outside the door, which has to be closed, and locked, if possible. You knock once, count to five, knock twice, count to five again, and knock three times. Then you count to ten. At ten, you ask, ‘Are you ok?’ Then one of three things is supposed to happen. If there’s no response, and nothing else happens, then the game is over. You can turn the lights back on. If, after a few seconds, you hear someone crying, then it means someone died in your house. And it’s said that, if the person who plays the game caused the death of someone else, they’ll start crying. But it won’t be tears. It’ll be blood. And it’ll stay on our face forever, so everyone knows what you did.”
She waited a moment to gauge everyone’s reactions, then blew out her candle. Rubble and Dusty traded looks over Rubble’s candle. “We HAVE to play that at the house tomorrow,” they said in unison.
Twilight looked back and forth to the boys on either side of her, confused. “What? What house?”
Rubble shrugged. “A friend of Principal Celestia’s hired the four of us to investigate a haunted house she owns. What was her name? Inkwell?”
Pinkie gasped, really loudly. “NO WAY. You’re going to go to the Inkwell House? That place is TOTES SUPER HAUNTED!”
Again, the boys traded glances. “Sweeeeet,” they said in unison.
“Oh good,” Spooks piped up. “I was hoping it’d be something worthwhile. The last place just had lots of rats in the pipes.”
Sonata leaned as far away from Spooks as she could. “Eeeewwww….”
“Yeah, yeah, Rats in the Walls, blah blah blah. My turn,” Rubble said excitedly. “This one’s my favorite. It’s called No, Mr. Walker. Here goes:
“There’s this house in the middle of a big valley far outside the city. There’s road that go by it, of course, and some shops and other houses nearby, but this house is pretty special. It’s the biggest house in the valley, and the people who live there own most of the land in it. They’re not really rich, per se, but the family’s owned the land longer than there’s been a house on it to live in. It’s not a big family, either. Just a mother, father, and their son. The parents love their kid, but he’s a little peculiar. He’s got all these toys, all this land to roam around in, but all he does is play with this one toy. It’s a weird-looking doll with arms that are too long and legs longer than that, in a pinstripe suit with a bowler hat. He’s got a weird face, too: the eyes are too small, the nose is crooked, and his mouth is painted in a frown. The boy calls the doll ‘Mr. Walker’, and takes it with him everywhere he goes. His parents don’t mind, cause the kid is so young, so they figure he’ll grow out of it eventually. At least, that’s what tey tell everyone. Cause you see, they’ve met the real Mr. Walker.
“It all started when the parents decided to surprise the boy for his birthday, and take him to the zoo. The only thing the kid liked as much as his doll was giraffes. They figured it was because of the long legs or whatever. But he was just as excited as any kid should be, so when the day came, and the parents told him to leave Mr. Walker at home, he didn’t put up much of a fuss. Oh sure, he protested, but they explained that the zoo is a very busy place, with lots and lots of animals and people, and they wee afraid he would lose Mr. Walker. So the boy said “OK,” and off they went.
“Well, the visit to the zoo was just like they imagined. The boy looked at all kinds of animals, and laughed at the monkeys and ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed at the tigers and bears. Then they got to the giraffes. The little boy was ecstatic. He saw them from a mile away, and pulled on his mom’s arm. They picked him up, and put him on his father’s shoulders, and marched up to the giant animals in their big, wide enclosure as proud as could be. They were just the picture of a happy family, as the little boy pointed and giggled at the tall giraffes, clapping his hands.
“Then the father saw something strange. One of the giraffes seemed to be… different. He couldn’t really tell. Like it’s leg was bending weird or something. He watched the animal for a moment, worried that it might be injured, and he didn’t want his son’s day to be ruined if his favorite animal got hurt. But all looked normal, and the father chalked it up to the shadow of the tree behind him. He’d never seen giraffes himself, of course, so they were a new and alien creature to him as much as his son.
“They were about to leave, seeing the boy grow tired and sleepy, when the father saw it again. One of the giraffe’s legs was bent at a weird angle. Except, with a closer look, he saw it wasn’t the leg. It was the shadow behind it. A long, spindly shadow that walked behind the giraffe, hiding in plain sight. Then another, behind the other leg. The father was very confused, until he looked up at the giraffe’s neck. He saw another shadow there, too. Although it wasn’t a long, spindly thing. It was a face. An angry, crooked face with a bowler hat. A face with beady eyes, and a crooked nose. And a big frown full of big, wide teeth.
“Then the father heard the boy say something in his sleep. ‘No, Mr. Walker, not them. Not mommy and daddy.’ The father looked with wide eyes at his son, then back at the shadowy face. He caught just the barest glimpse as it disappeared behind the animal, a flash of row after row of teeth where the mouth should be.
“From that point on, they let there son take Mr. Walker wherever he wanted,” Rubble ended, with a wide, toothy grin, his face hanging just over his candle. He blew it out quickly, with a puff of air.
The back yard was quiet, much like after all of the other stories. “That… that was jus’ creepy as hell,” AJ said quietly.
“No JOKE,” agreed Pinkie. “I mean, I like dolls and stuff, but… nuh-uh.”
Sunset shivered. “Speak for yourself. I hate haunted doll stories. Next, PLEASE.”
“Ok!” Sonata said cheerfully. “I got one! This one’s called The Vietnam War. Ahem,” she cleared her throat, only to be stopped by Spooks holding up his hand.
“Um, Sonata? These are supposed to he fictional stories. Like, ghost stories and stuff,” he explained gently.
“Oh, really?” she said, disappointed. “That sucks. I don’t know anything about ghosts and stuff! All my scary stories are things that, y’know, actually happened.”
“And I’m sure we’d like to hear exactly none of them,” said Rubble with a sense of false cheer. Before Sonata could protest, he blew out her candle, and said quickly, “Pinkie, you’re up!”
Sonata just sat back in her seat, a little grumpy, oblivious to the wave of relief that had quietly swept over the table. Most of Sonata’s ‘stories’ could widely be considered ‘People’s Exhibit A’.
Pinkie jumped at her turn. “Okie-doki-loki! I’ve got one! So, there was this one baker, this guy, let’s call him Doughy! Well, Doughy was a great baker, and everypony just looooved his cakes and stuff! Then, one day, the Princesses came to him and were like, ‘Hey, Doughy, could you make us a big ol’ birthday cake?’ And he was like ‘Of course!’ So he goes to make their big ol’ cake, the morning of their birthday, cause he wants it to be all warm and fresh! Then he realizes, he’s ALL OUT OF FLOUR!” She gasped loudly at the end of her story, and blew her candle out so hard Spooks had to protect his.
Unlike the other stories, there was little to no pause after Pinkie’s. Most everyone just laughed at her exuberance, or raised curious eyebrows at the story. “Umm...” Dash started. “That’s not scary, Pinks. That’s just… no.”
“But… but… he’s OUT of FLOUR! And he has to make the Princesses a HUUUUGE cake! How is that not scary?!” Pinkie demanded.
“Um, the part where it’s not?” Rubble asked politely. That got even more laughs out of the group.
After it had settled down, the group turned to the last lit candle at the table: the one in front of Spooky Bones. Rubble and Dusty shifted uncomfortably in their seats, as the girls looked on anxiously. Even Pinkie and Sonata had forgotten the injustices done to them, at the prospect of Canterlot High’s resident horror expert weaving his own scary tale. Everyone was in the mood, now.
“Ok,” he began. “The name of this story is The Sound of Drums:
“Once, in a city much like ours, there lived a girl named Petal Dancer in an apartment downtown. She was nothing special, in big city terms. Just a quiet girl who worked a flower shop on the waterfront. A tourist trap if ever there was one. As it happened, this story started on Halloween night. Or rather, a few hours before nightfall. It was mid-afternoon, and the shop was as busy as could be expected. Many custom orders had come in, for all kinds of flowers. Some for people to put on graves, some for decorations. One particular order stood out in Petal Dancer’s mind, however. A particular arrangement that had been requested weeks before, to be prepared on the day of Halloween.
“The shop hadn’t carried all of the flowers that the customer had ordered, and in fact some of them had been brought in by the customer themselves. This wasn’t completely unheard of, as certain flowers were rare and hard to come by, or the customer had a particular attachment to a plant, or simply wanted to include flowers they had grown themselves. Well, she had taken great care with the order, putting everything together just as she had been asked. She was elated with the result, and as the customer came in to pick up their order, she carefully brought it out to the front. The person who had placed the order, an old woman in her mid-eighties, if Petal had to guess, stood by the counter with a gentle smile, which only grew wider as the girl brought out the bouquet.
“Setting the arrangement gently on the table, Petal said, ‘Here you go, miss. I hope it’s to your liking!’ ‘Oh, very much so,’ said the old lady. ‘You’ve done wonderful work.’ And so the lady paid, and the customer printed her receipt. However, as she handed the bouquet to the old woman, she pricked her finger on a rose thorn. She flinched, then drew her hand back as the woman took the flowers, nursing the fingertip with her lips. The taste of copper filled her mouth, and when she looked at the old lady, where once was a smile now was a saddened, dark expression. ‘My child, I am so sorry. But there is nothing I can do for you now,’ she said simply. Before Dancer got a chance to ask what she meant, the old lady had disappeared out the door and down the street, moving faster than expected.
“Of course, nothing else of import happened, and petal dancer went about her day. She made more bouquets, helped close up shop, and made her way home. As she walked down the streets, watching the sun set, a peculiar noise caught her attention. It was a steady drum beat. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’ It was consistent, and noisy, distracting. She peeked around, looking for the source, and her gaze traveled down the alley, where she saw a few people in Halloween costumes banging on a drum. She smiled to herself, and went on her way.
“She reached her apartment, and curiously, heard the sound again. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’ She looked around again, and, poking her head around a corner, saw the building’s handyman hammering in a nail into a baseboard. She thought nothing of it, and went into her apartment. Now, Petal Dancer had no special plans for Halloween. It was an enjoyable holiday, of course, but she was in her mid-twenties, with only a handful of acquaintances in the city, and thus an evening at home watching campy horror films and eating discount candy sounded like just the ticket.
“As she took off her uniform, getting ready to change into some comfortable pajamas and turn in for the night, she heard the sound again. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’ Again, she looked around. And again, she found a cause: a decoration from the apartment above hers, on the fire escape, had come loose, and was banging loudly on her window. She opened the window, put the decoration back as best she could, and closed it again. Once again, she paid it no mind. She sat down, put in her horror movie, and settled in with a big bowl of candy. And a sandwich, to say she ate something of substance.
“Halfway through the second movie, she found herself growing tired. She yawned as the monster crept up on its next victim, its heavy feet echoing down the hall in the movie and throughout Petal’s apartment. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’ She didn’t even notice, until she’d turned the movie off to go to bed. And still she heard it. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’ She looked around again for a cause. She checked the window. No decorations had come loose. ‘Boom.’ She peeked into the hallway. The handyman was gone, as were all of his tools. ‘Boom.’ She put her ear up to the neighbor’s door. Nothing. Nothing except the sound. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’
“Now she was scared. Where was the sound coming from? It sounded like the heavy footsteps of the monster. Had it really come to life? No, that’s silly, she thought. But what if someone had broken into the building? Some big guy with heavy feet who was stomping around, up to no good? Maybe they were drunk. Maybe they were violent. The more she worried, the more she scared herself, until she ran back into her apartment and closed the door. And still, she heard the sound just as loudly as before. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’
“What if they had already snuck into her apartment while she was watching the movie? With how tired she was, it would have been easy. She hadn’t gotten into the habit of locking her door yet. Maybe she was being robbed! She ran to the kitchen, turning all the lights on as she went. As she ran, still the sound persisted. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’ She grabbed a knife from the counter, and stalked around the apartment. ‘Boom.’ She went into the hall, and turned on that light. No one. ‘Boom.’ The sound was getting louder now. As she turned on the light in the bathroom, she heard it. ‘Boom.’ But there was nothing there. Finally, she came to the door to the last room in the apartment: her bedroom. If there was someone stomping around in here, they were certainly in there. ‘Boom.’ The closer she got to the bedroom, the more scared she became. ‘Boom. Boom. Boom.’ She slowly opened the door. ‘Boom.’ She flicked on the light. ‘Boom.’ There was no one there. Except…
“Her closet. ‘Boom.’ The sound was getting louder. BOOM. With each step she took, she heard it. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. And then, she threw open the closet door. BOOM BOOM BOOM. The sound was deafening. Yet there was nothing there!
“And the old woman’s words came back to her, too late: ‘My child, I am so sorry. But there is nothing I can do for you now.’ And Petal Dancer realized, also too late, what that sound was. BOOM. And as her heart pounded in her chest, echoing in her ears, the poison of the rare flower caused her poor heart to finally give out. Her fear, and the poison, made the poor girl’s heart explode,” and with that, Spooks leaned the candle in his hand to the middle of the table, where it’s light illuminated the untouched candle in the center. He lit it carefully, and blew out his own.
The group sat in silence for a while, not wanting to be the first to talk, or get up. Spooks’ story had obviously gotten to them, as the sound of shifting in chairs could be heard at regular intervals.
Slowly, though, another sound made itself heard. Boom. Boom. Boom.
With only the light of the candle in the center, the faces of the girls and boys could barely be made out by the rest. And still, the sound persisted. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Sunset looked around nervously, as Pinkie and Sonata scooted their chairs close to each other. Twilight was gripping the table with her hands, leaning forward intently, staring at the candle. Dusty and Rubble simply traded worried looks, ones that didn’t go unnoticed by the others. Even Spooks looked around, wide-eyed and curious.
Applejack and RD were trying to remain as stoic as possible, although anyone who knew them well could see the stress forming on their faces. Still, the sound persisted. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Everyone was looking around now, trying to find the source of the sound. Even as it grew louder, they frantically searched. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Finally, it looked like Twilight was going to be the first one to crack. She opened her mouth to speak…
“BOOM!” yelled Treble, jumping out of the dark and slamming his hands on the table. Everyone who was once in a chair was now out of it, save for Dusty, Rubble, and Spooks. The former two had jumped, of course, but their reactions were quickly replaced with raucous laughter as the girls screamed and ran away from the table. Several of them had even made it as far as the door before Sunset screamed at them all, “You absolute FUCKS. I KNEW IT!!”
Throughout the yelling, cursing, screaming, and bellowing laughter, Spooks simply sat in his chair, his proud smile barely illuminated by the last candle.
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I thought Spooks was gonna traumatise them or something. Keheheh.
Well played, Spooks. Well played. No one expected
the Spanish InquisitionDeep Treble.Anyway, I just found this story the other day, and I gotta admit, I'm hooked. I really like the setting you're building here, and the characters (both canon and OC) are absolutely fantastic. I can't wait to see what the next arc has in store for us.
8523899
Not to spoil too much, but if you thought the Beast Arc was fucked, you're in for it.
8523909
You did do a really good job portraying an eldritch abomination from beyond time and space. Though I'm a little worried if things get even worse from here on out. I'm not sure SciTwi can handle too much more. It's really gonna ruin my attempts to ship her and Bones if she's constantly getting broken by everything she sees.
OMGGGG That was just perfect XDDDD
Good game Spooks. Good game.
res.cloudinary.com/teepublic/image/private/s--qsQHeWUL--/t_Preview/b_rgb:191919,c_limit,f_jpg,h_630,q_90,w_630/v1503711216/production/designs/1850893_2.jpg
Thise are some quality ghost stories. And... less than quality ones. Still, some great spine-chillers on display.
I really liked Ash's story..
They get the notions from Hollyweird parties and the raves thrown by 'affluenza' teens.. most of whom are children of either Hollyweirdos or their affiliates in various prestigious circles.
People really do need to get out more. I have witnessed more than 99% of the population, spying as I do upon everything I find suspicious. There is nothing that surprises me any more, other than the woeful and growing cluelessness of the populace in an age where virtually all information is available if one takes a few moments to conduct a proper search. Many farmers in the 19th century USA were more educated than the overwhelming lion's share of tweens in today's age of ignorant arrogance and self-aggrandizement (which more often than not is due to the subject's personal belief that they know everything, despite being so under-educated that they have no grasp of the sheer magnitude of subjects in which they have exactly zero knowledge), and had an astoundingly comprehensive lexicon and grammatical fluency. I've read some of their letters.
Reading, writing, 'rithmatic... the fundamentals of learning. Those, at least, were stressed. Few can truly grasp the disgraceful failure of the education system of today until they encounter the teeming masses of high school graduates incapable of crafting an articulate sentence or calculating simple change from a minor fast food purchase.
China is going to eat us alive one day.
Alondro suddenly appears behind the group, "She pricked her finger on a ROSE THORN, as was explicitly stated in the story itself. Even if the most deadly plants imaginable were present in the bouquet, a rose is not toxic in the slightest, and is in fact an edible flower. This story is internally flawed at a fundamental level."
They all just stare at the strange grey pony with wild hair and green goggles which appeared to glow from within by their own unearthly light.
"YOU FAILED!" the beast roared with a voice that burst forth not from its mouth, but from the very air around them, in seemed as its body morphed and flowed into a shape without shape and a darkness which instantly flooded the room.
A split second later it had gone, and so had the youths. It was as if no living thing had ever been present. The only evidence anything had occurred was a single steeply tipped chair which toppled of its own accord a moment later.
Fear naught but Alondro.
>You in Vietnam, bitches!