• Published 13th Feb 2019
  • 2,354 Views, 24 Comments

There is Something Wrong in Ponyville - TooShyShy

Something very strange is happening in Ponyville and only Spike seems to notice.

  • ...

Tape #3


“I've been seeing smoke in the sky.”

Its been a whole week since his last tape. Spike's eyes are sad and his smile is forced. He knows no one can see it, but he tries to smile anyway. He tries to make himself feel more in control.

“I see fire in the distance. Buildings burning. I don't know which buildings.”

At least it's a break from the darkness of a perpetual night sky. Another color, something new and vibrant.

“There hasn't been screaming in a while. But the knocking is getting more frequent.”

A steady tapping. Spike has learned to ignore it. He can sleep through it. He even hears it right now, a steady background noise the recording can't quite pick up. Rhythmic. Spike knows what will happen if he opens the curtains again.

“I haven't been out of my room in a while. I went on a food run about a week ago. Grabbed everything I could from the fridge and cupboards. As much as I could carry.”

He pauses.

“There wasn't much. I'll need to go outside at some point.”

If there's even any food left at the market. Spike is doubtful. He might need to start looting. The idea sickens him, but what choice does Spike have?

“Twilight has locked herself in her bedroom again. I don't know what she's doing in there. I hear her walking around sometimes. She just walks in a circle for hours.”

The repetitive sound of hooves comforts Spike. At least he knows she's there, that she hasn't abandoned him. Spike keeps expecting her to be gone.

“I boarded up the doors.”

He feels like a liar, even though he hasn't told a single lie. But Spike knows it wasn't a simple precaution, a necessary security measure. It was as much to keep Twilight in as it was to keep those other ponies out.

“I grabbed every book I thought could help me.”

Spike takes a moment to admire the books stacked floor-to-ceiling in his small bedroom. He's only read half of them and he feels like he still understands very little.

“I've been trying to figure out if this has ever happened before.”

Spike nudges an open book near his foot.

“I've read about cases of mass hysteria, but nothing like this. Nothing that lasted this long. Nothing that turned regular ponies into...this. And I still have no idea what's going on in Canterlot.”

He's lost hope. That mailpony isn't coming back. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe Spike doesn't want news from the outside.

“Star-swirl the Bearded mentioned something called “Pale Eye Syndrome” in one of his books about dark magic. It's the closest I've found to an explanation. But the symptoms don't line up. Nothing lines up.”

He nudges the book again, flipping it over. The page is covered with illustrations Spike would rather not look at. The horrific consequences of prolonged dark magic use.

“Mass possession? I guess it could be that. But what am I supposed to do about that? I'm not a unicorn.”

There's a few rituals in the book. Forbidden magic. But it doesn't matter very much at this point. Spike no longer fears breaking the rules. He only fears what might happen if he just sits in his bedroom and does nothing.

“I guess I could try it. First I'd need some stuff.”

He is tempted to read out the whole list, but Spike stops himself. It doesn't matter. The things don't matter. It's the action that takes precedent, if he's even willing to try.

“I'd have to go outside.”

The thought never occurred to him before. Spike thought he could stay a little longer, maybe forever. But saying it out loud, he feels the urgency of it. He wants to go, to get it over with, to let the horrors in his head be replaced by brand new ones.

“I bet Zecora has everything I need.”

The name catches Spike off guard. He hadn't thought of her yet. Hadn't considered Ponyville's lone zebra. But she has to be alright. Living alone in the Everfree Forest. And she must have seen the moon, must know what was going on.

“I could visit her. I know the way. I just need to avoid being seen. I've done that before. I should be fine if I don't try to leave town.”

He can't know that, but he can pretend he does.

“I'll need to leave right away. My things are still packed.”

Spike no longer fears the Everfree Forest. Whatever is in there, whatever wishes to harm within those trees. It can't be worse than what's out there, can't be worse than the screams or the fire. Can't be worse than whatever is going on in Canterlot.

“Okay, I guess I don't need to leave right now. But soon.”

Spike glances at the open rucksack. He's been taking some thing out of it. But he's not letting it sink in. His failure to escape, the fact that he may never leave.

“I'll rest. An hour-long nap.”

He has so little strength these days. Even making these recordings is draining. It's the lack of sleep, Spike theorizes. Lack of sleep and that general feeling of hopelessness that permeates his brain. Spike feels both inside and outside of his body, struggling to lift a claw, fighting to control every part of himself. Afraid to sleep, but terrified of what might happen if he doesn't get a good rest every now and then.

“I broke all the clocks.”

Spike delivers this nonchalantly, like it means nothing to him. He doesn't mention the incessant ringing in his head, how his vision burned as he tried to follow the numbers. Then Spike was sweeping his claws across his nightstand, knocking the clock to the floor. He was watching it fall to the ground, reveling in its destruction. That was the first clock. The rest came soon after, falling victim to whatever blunt object Spike could get his claws on.

“It was so satisfying. I wanted to do it. What's happening to me? Why does it hurt?”

Spike's claws shake. He feels either too old or too young at any given time. It switches. He no longer remembers his age. All Spike knows is his body.

“I'm going to sleep now. I'll feel better when I wake up.”



“I took a nap. It was nice.”

Spike feels silly, giving these little updates. But it makes him feel better. He knows he's alive, that he's coping, that he might be able to do this.

“I'm not sure it was an hour. It doesn't matter. Time doesn't exist anymore.”

It's a ridiculous thing to say, but Spike lets the words hang there. He doesn't know how long its been. A week? Two weeks? A month? Spike feels as if he's been sleeping through most of it, tossing an turning and unable to get any peace in his dreams.

“I can't leave town.”

He lets himself take the full implication of the words, lets them settle inside of him.

“But there are places I can go. Places inside town.”

Spike thinks of those ponies guarding the way out of Ponyville. There are more. He hasn't seen them, but he knows. Spike knows he's trapped.

“The food is about to run out. I need to make a food run soon.”

It would be so much easier if it wasn't just him. If he had Twilight's magic, Twilight's ingenuity, Twilight's intellect. But Twilight has been in her bedroom for a long time. Maybe a week. Spike can still hear her in there, pacing and bumping into things.

“I think I'll do it today.”

He hasn't heard anything from outside since he woke up. Every time this happens, Spike lets himself hope. He hopes the town has finally fallen into silence. A part of Spike wants to be the last one alive. Sometimes he wants the quiet more than anything else, the safety that comes with silence.

“I'll try Sugarcube Corner. It's not far.”

And Pinkie Pie wouldn't mind, he adds to himself. Spike remembers the thing he saw there, the things he refuses to mention on the tape. Its been so long, but he still can't. The images come back and Spike feels like the floor is collapsing out from under him. He almost doesn't catch himself in time.

“I've been trying to keep quiet.”

He lowers his voice.

“I don't want to draw any attention to myself. I don't want them to remember I'm in here.”

Have they forgotten him? The thought almost sends Spike's brain into a spiral. He imagines himself as he is, erased from their memories, purged like some kind of traumatic event. Which version of Spike—if any—lives inside their heads? Is it the small dragon who likes baking? Or is it the larger dragon with the sharp claws, the dragon who still likes baking but doesn't do it as often?

“I should do a supply run too. I don't know what I need, but I'm sure there's something.”

The guilt is already settling in, even though Spike hasn't done anything. Looting. That's the word Twilight would use. It doesn't seem fair. His friends are alive, they could help him, they could get him through this. But they're not Spike's friends anymore. There's no love in their eyes anymore, no will to resist whatever is happening to them. They succumbed to it, but Spike is still here. He wants to know why he was left to suffer, why he has to be the only one.

“I need another nap.”



“I made my supply run.”

Spike expects every tape to be his last. He hasn't been listening back, but he always remember the final sentence. It can't always be interesting, it can't always be filled with finality. Sometimes it's a statement, other times a question. Spike imagines each one being his last words.

“They're not just on the outskirts anymore.”

He sits down on his bed, the springs creaking underneath him. Has he grown? Spike feels bigger somehow, more powerful. But his claws look exactly the same.

“I saw a few of them wandering around town. They weren't dazed like the others. They weren't wandering around aimlessly. Each one I saw had some kind of weapon.”

Spike shudders. They looked so much more alert, so much more aware. But still lost. Lost somewhere in their heads. He recognized some of them, but he tries not to think about who they were.

“I had to sneak past. It's so dark out there now, even with the moon in the sky. I stayed in the shadows and they didn't see me. I made it without being spotted.”

Spike frowns. It sounds so ridiculous out loud. Darting in and out of the shadows like a thief, terrified of being spotted by his neighbors. Why does Spike feel so guilty?

“Someone left the back door open.”

He hadn't been planning to go through the front of Sugarcube Corner, so he felt a rush of relief when he saw those open doors. A stroke of luck. So rare these days.

“It was dark inside. I think its been a while since anyone turned on the lights. I had a flashlight with me.”

He remembers how desolate the place felt, as if someone had robbed it of everything valuable. Sweeping his flashlight back and forth. Glimpsing broken jars and smashed containers in the beam of light. Shuddering at the destruction, trying to ignore the splatters of dried blood.

“I went into the kitchen first.”

He can hear himself now, the memory bouncing around in his head. His slow footsteps. Pausing every few seconds, wondering what he'd stepped in. Not wanting to know if it was blood or something else.

“The fridge was fully stocked. Cakes and cupcakes and all kinds of stuff. Baking stuff. I stuffed my bag with everything I could find.”

Spike smiles a little. He remembers trying to shove an entire box of cupcakes into his rucksack, only to give up and start stuffing his face. Those were delicious cupcakes.

“I couldn't fit most of it. I got a few containers of frosting, some baking stuff, some hay cakes, and basically anything else that was wrapped. I didn't expect there to be so much.”

He feels a little regretful, having missed out on those delicious cakes. He did eat a little of them, filling his stomach for the first time in a while. Spike felt no remorse, no shame as he stuffed his claws into a raspberry-vanilla cake and shoved a huge glob of it into his open mouth.

“I filled my entire rucksack. I didn't think I'd be able to.”

He stops. It's never the end. It's never the final sentence. There's always something bigger.

“I went to Pinkie Pie's bedroom. She still lives upstairs in that loft right above the shop.”

Spike is already making excuses inside his head. But he can't lie to himself. Not out loud.

“I wanted to see if she had a photograph of Applejack. Some proof she existed.”

She had to, Spike reasoned at the time. She was Pinkie Pie. But Spike isn't sure what he intended to do with the photo, what he hoped to accomplish. Maybe a part of him was starting to doubt that Applejack had been real, that she wasn't a hallucination or a fever dream.

“I knew she wasn't up there. I saw her wandering around outside on my way there.”

She wasn't smiling. That was what Spike noticed first. Pinkie Pie's indifferent expression, the way she moved without purpose through the streets. It almost broke Spike's heart. But he left her. He slipped past and kept going.

“The loft looked exactly the same.”

It was such a serene image, so perfect. The loft exactly as he remembered, untouched by the surreal horrors of the outside. He almost cried. Spike does cry as the memory comes flooding back, dragging an arm across his face to soak up the tears. His voice shakes as he continues.

“There weren't any photos. I don't know what she did with them.”

He remembers the photos. An earlier memory, from maybe a year or so ago. A group photo on the dresser, some scattered snapshots all over the bedroom.

“I looked everywhere. I pulled open all the drawers. I even checked the walls for secret compartments. Nothing.”

Spike knows he can't blame himself, that he is the most innocent in all of this. But the guilt blooms in his voice as he speaks. Spike feels that if he—and he alone—had noticed sooner, he could have saved his friends. Could have at least saved Applejack. If only he'd been more perceptive and less inside his own head.

“I decided to check the bed. I'm not sure why I thought of it. It was the last place. The only one I hadn't looked at.”

Maybe there was a reason. Some primal feeling of wrongness that kept him away. But Spike fought it. He shouldn't have. He really should have just left it alone.

“It smelled. There was this sickly-sweet smell coming from it. I was scared, but I went closer. I could tell there was something under the covers. Something big. I pulled back the covers and...”

Spike shuts his eyes, but only briefly. He sees it behind his eyelids. The smell comes back to him, stronger than before. But Spike knows it isn't there.

“It was an animal. Some kind of huge animal. I wish I knew what it was, but I really couldn't tell. It was completely torn apart. Fur and bones everywhere.”

He shudders. First the bird, now this. He's seen too many dead animals.

“I think someone had been eating it. There were some parts missing. I think I saw bite marks. I can't be sure.”

He swallows hard.

“That wasn't the only thing. I found something else. It was under Pinkie's pillow. I saw a corner of it sticking out and just grabbed it.”

Spike remembers how it felt in his claws. Soggy. Limp. Wet. At first he thought it was an over-sized sponge.

“It was a book. A notebook. I don't know who it belonged to. There was nothing on the cover. No name.”

He stretches his claws. Spike can't believe he touched it, that he held it in his claws. It looked like someone had retrieved it from a large body of water.

“I opened it. I thought maybe there would be answers. Somepony had to be taking notes, right? There had to be someone as sane as I was, someone who knew enough to document everything that was going on.”

It's what Twilight would have done. It's what Spike should have done. But he has his tapes. The tapes are better than a notebook, more reliable than pen and paper.

“There was only one thing written in it. Over and over again. In big letters. I didn't recognize the hoofwriting. It said “The moon looks beautiful tonight”.

He flinches at the familiar phrase, as if it physically hurts him.

“That was it. I flipped through all the pages. The moon looks beautiful tonight. That was the entire notebook.”

Spike smiles bitterly. At the time, he wasn't focused enough to be disappointed. He just wanted to get out of there, to distance himself from the animal remains in Pinkie's bed. But now Spike has the full weight of it on his shoulders. The regret of having found the opposite of what he needed.

“I went into the bathroom. I thought I'd splash some water on my face. I thought I'd look at myself in the mirror and tell myself everything was going to be okay.”

Spike hadn't showered in a long time. He did when he got back to the library, for the first time in maybe weeks. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, Spike couldn't quite get the smell off of his scales. It still isn't entirely gone, despite hours of scrubbing and four bottles of soap.

“The bathtub was full of notebooks. Damp notebooks. I grabbed one and opened it. I must have read through at least four of them. They were all the same. The moon looks beautiful tonight. Over and over again. There must have been at least twenty notebooks in that bathtub.”

Spike sniffs his claws. They're the only part of him that doesn't vaguely stink of animal remains. Spike doesn't know how the aroma ended up clinging to him. It's just there, like an insidious reminder of everything he's done wrong. Or maybe it's all in his head.

“I left after that. I might have seen something on my way out. I have no idea. I just wanted to get back to the library and forget.”

Another bitter smile. He wanted to forget, yet he's making these tapes. It's the contradiction of Spike's new life. The deep desire to put everything behind, yet the need to document it.

“I'm going to take another shower.”



“More smoke in the sky.”

It's thick and dark, somehow visible even against the equally dark sky. It stretches upward towards the sky, funneling up from somewhere unknown. Spike doesn't want to speculate.

“Fires. I can't smell anything. It must be far away. Somewhere on the other side of Ponyville.”

Ponyville doesn't really have an “other side”. It's so small and intimate, but it gives the illusion of immensity. Spike used to find that jarring. Now he relishes it. He relishes the distance between him and whatever is happening out there.

“I heard my first scream in a while. It was so loud that it woke me up.”

He's huddled under the covers, safe in his makeshift bed fort. Spike doesn't want to look out the window anymore. He doesn't want to see the smoke or hear the screams. He wants to pretend everything is fine, even as he speaks into the tape recorder.

“It sounded like a stallion. I can't be sure. It might have come from right outside the library. I didn't check.”

Spike doesn't know why he's talking about this. He doesn't have much to say. But his own voice soothes him. He knows he's real, that he's still here, that he's still trying his best.

“Twilight has been eating more. I leave food outside her room and it's gone when I get back. But I can't bring myself to knock on her door.”

He's afraid of what—if anything—he might see in her face. Spike worries he might not recognize the mare who basically raised him.

“Before all of this, Twilight asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I told her I was okay staying with her for however long she needed me. But she pointed out that dragons live much longer than ponies, so what was I supposed to do after she was gone? Wasn't there something else I'd like to do? It wasn't like I could keep being her assistant forever.”

He shifts uncomfortably, but he keeps going.

“I don't think it was really about Twilight's mortality. It was about her wanting more for me. More than being her assistant. It's all I've ever wanted to do. But there's more to Equestria, isn't there?”

Spike really did think he'd be alright, just being Twilight's faithful assistant for the rest of her life. But he looks at his claws, the way his face and body have changed. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees someone else entirely. Spike no longer knows what he wants. But it doesn't seem to matter in this nightmarish new world.

“Maybe I could have gone to Canterlot. I could have become a baker. I like baking. I like making ponies happy. I'm sure Twilight would have approved.”

There are other things, other paths he could take. Joining the Royal Guard like Shining Armor, maybe taking care of animals like Fluttershy. But Spike didn't have time to think about any of those. By the time the thoughts entered his head, this nightmare had already started.

“I can still do those things. There's time.”

If he ever gets out of this, if somehow everything is okay, if he ever gets to Canterlot, if things ever go back to normal.

“I'm just not sure how much time I have left in this place.”



“Can you hear that?”

Spike is talking to the tape recorder like it's a friend. He feels more lonely, more affectionate. He's starting to become desperate for companionship.

“There's someone outside. Laughing. Or is it crying? I don't know. They've been there for a while.”

He listens closely. The sounds alternate, jumping between muffled sobs and high-pitched shrieks of laughter. The transition is seamless. It almost sounds planned. The pit in Spike's stomach grows with each passing moment.

“I'm not going to look.”

Spike makes the promise to himself, but he knows he won't keep it. The curtains are calling him. Its been four days. Four days since he opened them. Four days since he looked outside. Five days since he went outside.

“Twilight is pacing in the library.”

He can hear that as well. Faint and comforting. Twilight out of her bedroom for the first time in a long while. The sound of her hooves on the wooden floor woke him up.

“She's been pacing for hours. I haven't checked on her.”

Spike is afraid. Afraid of seeing that dead-eyed stare, that hollow look in her eyes as she paces back and forth.

“Everything is still boarded up. No one can get in.”

He says it to bring himself some much-needed comfort. But then he considers those flimsy wooden boards, easily broken by the persistent hooves of an Earth pony. Spike still hasn't found the safety he craves, only empty reassurances and placeholders.

“The laughter is getting louder now.”

He moves closer to the window. The sound has lost its meaning. It no longer sounds like laughter. It sounds like the hideous wailing of an animal in pain.

“It stopped.”

Spike listens. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his blood pumping. There is something unfamiliar and dire about the abrupt stop, the way the laughter just cut off. The pit in Spike's stomach swells, swallowing everything. A primal fear claws at Spike's insides.

“They went away. They....”

It explodes into Spike's ears, into the recording, into the silence. A scream. The loudest Spike has ever heard. It knocks him backwards like a punch to the gut, sending him scrambling away from the window. It's sudden and brief, yet it burns itself into Spike's eardrums. It lingers, a ringing in his ears as he stares at the closed curtains.


It's a woefully inadequate response and Spike knows it, but it's all that comes out. Everything else gets trapped in his throat. He feels like he's going to vomit.




“I can't find Twilight.”

Spike drums his claws against the tape recorder. The repetitive sound gives him comfort.

“I went downstairs for the first time in a while. I thought I'd make dinner for the two of us. Something normal. I wanted something normal.”

He saw it so clearly in his head: the two of them sitting down to a nice home-cooked meal. Laughing, joking. Normalcy. Spike saw it so vividly that he actually went downstairs, driven by his absurd fantasy.

“I've been sleeping longer and longer. I don't mean to. I say I'm going to sleep for ten minutes, but it feels more like hours.”

Spike is getting headaches, likely from over-sleeping. But there's not much else for him to do. The books aren't helping. Documenting isn't helping. Even the tape recorder isn't helping.

“So I decided to make dinner. Or breakfast. I'm not sure. I was going to make Twilight's favorite.”

Oat cakes with honey and fresh-squeezed orange juice. The first breakfast Spike ever made for Twilight.

“She'd stopped pacing a while ago, but I wasn't paying attention. I thought food would make everything better.”

It did feel nice, at least for a little while. Cooking. Being in front of the stove. Humming as he prepared the meal, forgetting all of their worries. Forgetting he was trapped in this cursed town.

“I went to Twilight's bedroom and knocked on the door. I wasn't really thinking about the fact that everything was so quiet.”

He doesn't remember when the pacing stopped, when the library went completely silent.

“She didn't answer, so I opened the door and went in.”

Spike hadn't started to panic yet. He recalls the uncharacteristic calmness in his heart, the stillness of his mind as he entered Twilight's bedroom for the first time in weeks. But it was only temporary. The peace of mind is always a placeholder.

“The bed hadn't been slept in. I don't think Twilight's been sleeping.”

It's the first time he's thought about that. The fact that Twilight had been pacing day and night, with only brief pauses in between. The fact that Spike heard her wandering around the house. Spike doesn't know—doesn't want to know—the last time Twilight actually went to bed.

“I've searched the entire library. I even went down to the basement.”

Spike pauses. This memory rushes over him suddenly, like he's standing at the top of the stairs again. He remembers calling Twilight's name, listening to it bounce off the walls. Descending the stairs quicker than he wanted to, his footsteps far too loud in the silent room.

“There were more dead birds in the basement. A lot more. A pile of them in the corner. The smell was unbearable.”

He wonders where those birds came from. Did they fear what was happening out there? Had they—driven by instinct alone—mistaken the library for a sanctuary? Maybe it's the result of hanging out with Fluttershy, but Spike feels a twinge of remorse in his stomach.

“I locked and re-boarded the front door after I came back last time. The boards are still there. None of the windows or other doors have been touched.”

Spike glances at his own window, like it might hold some answers for him. He still hasn't sewn up the curtains. He needs to find a needle and thread.

“But she could have teleported somewhere. She could be anywhere.”

Spike's claws are restless. He flexes them, gently runs them across his arm, scratches the side of his face. They move almost on their own, extending and retracting in quick movements. When Spike says Twilight's name again a moment later, he feels them curling towards his palm.

“Twilight couldn't have made it out of Ponyville. She has to still be in town.”

He could wait. Spike has no idea when she's going to come back. She might waltz right into his room at any moment. He might wake up and hear her pacing.

“I'm going to look for her. Outside.”

Outside. The word doesn't set off the same rush of panic, but a shiver skitters up Spike's back. He's never prepared for the outside. He waits hours, days. The memories dull over time and suddenly every trip outside—however brief—feels brand new, as if it's his first time stepping outside of the library.

“She couldn't have gone far.”

But she could have. She could have and probably did, but Spike doesn't say it. Not out loud.

“I'll take some supplies with me. Just in case. In case I run into trouble. Have to be ready.”

Ready to defend himself. Ready to hide from his fellow townspeople as if they're zombies. Spike is chilled at the thought, afraid of what might happen if he gets into a fight. No, Spike is fully aware of what will happen. Hooves vs. claws. Horn vs. claws. It doesn't matter. They'll be torn to shreds. He's never fought anyone before, not with just his claws. Spike has never lost control of himself, but he knows it can happen. He knows these instincts live inside him.

“I'll find her.”



“Why did I go outside?”

Spike is shaking. This is his second time trying to record this. The first time, the tape recorder slipped from his claws. He just stood there, staring at it like he expected it to move. Shaking and holding back tears. Feeling helpless. But somehow, Spike pulled himself together. Somehow he forgot that he's still so young, still far from being a fully grown adult dragon.

“I thought I'd find Twilight and everything would be fine. I'd find her and bring her home and snap her out of it. We'd figure this out together.”

Spike had an entire speech planned, a series of questions he wanted to ask. Words he hoped would bring Twilight to her senses. He can no longer remember those words, those questions. But Spike is sure they wouldn't have worked. This is deeper than words, more complicated than any question he could ask.

“I packed up some stuff I thought I needed. I took the tape recorder with me just in case. I was really worried about leaving the library. Worried about it being empty.”

He laughs, but without any humor.

“Of course I checked outside first.”

The tiny gap in his curtains remains. Spike told himself he'd sew it up as soon as he returned home.

“No one. Not a single pony standing around. So I decided to make a run for it. I had no idea where I was going, but Twilight was out there and I needed to get her back.”

He smiles bitterly. Spike is glossing over the parts where he was scared shitless, the parts where he legitimately believed he was going to die. He sometimes wonders if he did die. Maybe this is what the other side looks like for a dragon like him. A twisted copy of Spike's hometown, filled with danger and death.

“I couldn't be thorough. I had to alternate between running and being sneaky. I had to stay quiet most of the time. But I paid attention. I looked in windows, even though it was risky.”

He sucks in a deep breath.

“So many empty cottages.”

Spike closes his eyes and sees himself. A third person view of this large dragon—not massive, but large—creeping through the streets, rucksack slung over his shoulder. How did he even manage stealth? How did he manage to keep out of sight?

“The hospital was deserted. Totally deserted. I was scared, but I got closer and peeked inside. There was no one in there.”

He wonders if he's repeating himself, if he's said all this a dozen times. It definitely feels like it.

“I didn't see her. I didn't see Twilight anywhere. I have no idea where she is.”

Spike's stomach heaves. He feels physically ill at the thought of Twilight wandering around out there. Because he doesn't know how far gone she is. Is Twilight more aware than the other citizens of Ponyville? Or is she even more lost?

He takes a deep breath, deeper than the last. But that's not the worst of it. Maybe for Twilight, but not for him. He hesitates, as if not saying it out loud will make it go away. Spike's stomach heaves again as he attempts to focus on what he wants to say.

“When I got back to the library...”

Spike hangs his head. He knows it's not his fault. He couldn't have known. He was naive. But Spike has always been gullible. Without Twilight, he's practically helpless. He doesn't know what to do or how to find answers.

“There were a lot of them. Hanging around outside the library. I don't know if they were waiting for me. I didn't stop to check.”

He only got a brief glimpse of them before he fled. Spike didn't want to see their familiar faces, didn't want to think about his friends hunting him down like a wanted criminal.

“I'm hiding out in the hospital. First floor.”

He knows he should go back. Briefly. Just to check. The library was his only lifeline, his only connection to knowledge.

“I can't go back there. Not yet.”

Spike has boarded up the broken windows and locked all the doors. He doesn't feel safe. He's never going to feel safe in this massive empty hospital, surrounded by countless entrances and exits.

“I have supplies in my rucksack. I should be fine for a while.”

Spike stares at his claws, his eyes slightly unfocused. Of course he'll be fine. He has everything he needs, at least for the time being. But how long? How long until Spike needs to make another supply run, until he's forced to brave the horrors of the outside again? How long until his temporary sanctuary is breached?

“I feel like I should have made some progress by now. But everything is getting worse.”

Who are these tapes for? Spike asks himself this for the first time in a long while. For Twilight, lost somewhere in this nightmare? Too far gone to even remember Spike's face? For the princesses, wherever they are? For himself, to keep the memories alive long after this all comes to an end?

“I'll find something soon. I promise.”

His claws are shaking.

“And I'll find Twilight. And I'll save everyone. I promise.”


Comments ( 13 )

Congrats. Flash Photo Reads and TerraByte would like to narrate your story on YT.

Oooh he’s stuck out of the library!

The build up to that scream was super unsettling, nice work.

As long as I'm credited in the description, that should be fine.

I'm anticipating the update. :pinkiehappy:

When is the next update or are you dead

Your mysteries are always so great. Hope it updates again someday.

Please continue? :pinkiesad2:

Please continue :fluttercry:, it's so great!

Jesus such a crazy amazing read. Will you be continuing it?

Please when continue this story is too good to remain forever incomplete :pinkiesad2:

It was a good read, for what is currently out.
Maybe one day they'll be more but for now, it will sit in my trackings

I was enraptured, and then I looked at the date.

Huh did you took inspiration from the moon is alive and the one where an planet eating spieces that currently are on the moon going down to earth eating and taking over people's bodies.

Login or register to comment